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Memories of my time with Roman flood back—the passion, the intensity, the undeniable connection we've forged in such a short time. Yet underneath it all, the mission has always been lurking, the shadow I can't shake off.
Part of me hates that Vladimir can see through me so easily. Then again, he is my brother. Who knew me this well if not him?
"I remember why I'm in this," I whisper fiercely, clenching my fists to keep them steady. "I remember every night, every tear shed for Iosef. That pain, that rage, it's burned into me."
His face softens, the edge gone. In its place is the brother I grew up with, the one who shielded me from the worst of the world, who taught me how to survive. "I know," he says, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. "But Roman... he's different. I see it in your eyes. I just want you to remember who you are, what you stand for. What his family has done to you."
The weight of our shared history, our losses, our triumphs, presses down on me. "I will do what needs to be done," I reply, determination firming my voice. "For the Chechens, for Iosef, for us. Roman won't change that."
Vladimir nods slowly, his eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt. "I believe you," he finally says, his tone heavy with unspoken emotions. "But remember, the heart has its own agenda. Be careful, Valentina."
His warning hangs in the air between us, a reminder of the tangled web I'm now a part of, and the choices I'll soon have to make.
* * *
Darkness seeps into the city as evening approaches, bringing with it a cold chill that seems to penetrate even the thickest of coats. But for me, the cold isn't just on the outside; it's an internal battle, a freezing grip on my heart that intensifies with every step I take. I’ve been spending the evening gathering more information on the Bratva’s activities in the city for Vlad.
A soft beep alerts me to an incoming message from Vladimir.Any updates?
Gathering a deep breath, I reply, typing swiftly.Roman's been investing in businesses on our turf.
There's a pause before his response appears.Interesting. Anything else?
Just that. But it's enough, isn't it?I reply, more to myself than to him.
His reply is immediate.It's a start. We'll take the necessary precautions. Thanks for the intel.
Turning off my phone, I find myself leaning against the brick wall of a nearby building. The weight of everything presses down, making me feel as though I'm being crushed under the gravity of my own decisions. Every move I make, every morsel of information I share, is like a piece in a giant chess game, and the stakes are life and death.
I glance around, half-expecting to see Roman's face among the passersby. The mix of feelings he stirs within me is like a potent cocktail – dangerous and intoxicating. Guilt is the dominant flavor, with an undercurrent of yearning and regret.
The temptation to warn him is powerful. A niggling voice in the back of my mind suggests perhaps I could send him an anonymous tip-off. But to do so would betray Vladimir. My brother, my flesh and blood. The person who's been by my side through thick and thin. I remember the nights we'd huddle together for warmth, the promises we made to always protect each other. How can I choose Roman, a virtual stranger, over my own family?
Yet, a larger part of me screams out, reminding me of Roman's touch, his passion, his dreams. How can I be the architect of his doom?
An idea begins to form. What if I could find a middle ground? A solution that wouldn't require taking sides? Maybe if the Chechens and the Bratva could come to some understanding, some truce... But such things are rare in this world, and when they do happen, they're often short-lived.
As the night deepens, I find myself outside Roman's building. The lure is too strong, the need to see him, to warn him, almost overpowering. But I resist, forcing myself to walk away.
New assignment. Urgent,the text reads. An attachment follows, which I promptly open. There, in cold, digital clarity, is a face I don't recognize. A businessman, judging by his tailored suit and slicked-back hair. He looks like a man used to power, to having his commands followed.
I read the briefing. This man, Paul Rutherford, a British expat living in St. Petersburg, has made a series of bad decisions that have put him on the Chechen mob's radar. Decisions that require a swift and silent correction.
Take him out within twenty-four hours,Vladimir’s message ends, no room for argument or delay.
I swipe the message away, the weight of another life, another decision, pressing down on me. What choice do I have? Refusing isn't an option. Raising suspicions or hesitating in this line of work can be a death sentence. I've seen it before — colleagues and acquaintances who've hesitated or second-guessed, only to disappear without a trace.
With Roman on my mind and the ever-growing complexities surrounding our entanglement, now isn't the time to falter. Now, more than ever, I need to prove my loyalty and dedication to the cause.
Scanning the digital file, I pick out the necessary details. Rutherford's habits, his daily routine, his likes and dislikes. I mentally sift through my tools and resources, deciding on a plan. With someone of his stature, the job needs to be quiet, discreet, with no traces leading back to the Chechen mob or to me.
When I’m satisfied with my preliminary work, I tuck my phone into my pocket and start off. However, my thoughts once more return to Roman. As I move through the darkened streets, the question remains: How can I save him without losing myself?
Chapter 14
Roman
The streets of the city gleam under the lamplight, the lingering rain casting them in an ethereal glow. I'm driving aimlessly, trying to gather my thoughts after that peculiar encounter with Valentina's brother. His piercing gaze, their tense exchange, and most unsettling of all, the palpable fear in Valentina's eyes. It's a side of her I haven't seen, and it has my gut twisted in knots.
