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I lay down and close my eyes, letting the rhythmic beat of my heart and the city's distant murmurs lull me to sleep. Amid all the chaos, two things remain unshaken – my unwavering love for Ilya and the hope for brighter tomorrows. Challenges await with the dawn, but for tonight, I find solace in sleep's gentle embrace.
Chapter 21
Valentina
The next day I enter our base, an unassuming building in the heart of the city that hides our operations. The dim lighting casts the room in an amber hue. Men and women busy themselves with various tasks, but the air feels dense, charged with tension.
Before I can fully step in, Vladimir's booming voice breaks the silence, ripping through the usual murmurs. "Valentina!" he yells, signaling me to approach.
Our shared blood is the only thing that softens the sharpness of his anger. I hurry in the direction of his voice, making my way to his office and ignoring the curious stares of the men around me.
My brother is the picture of fury as I enter, standing behind his desk, leaning on his fists. Vladimir's anger is palpable, practically vibrating through the walls of his opulent office. The rich mahogany furniture, the plush carpeting, and the golden trinkets from around the world somehow amplify the tension in the room. He glares at me, full of accusation and fury.
“He’s gone,” Vladimir growls, taking a step around his desk. “Roman has fled St. Petersburg.”
I'm momentarily taken aback, trying to summon a reaction suitable to the gravitas of this revelation. “What? How?” I demand, feigning shock. I try to keep my face neutral, not allowing any trace of my secret relief to show.
Vladimir slams a hand down on his desk, sending papers fluttering. “We had the advantage, the element of surprise. And now? Now he’s slipped right through our fingers!”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping to suppress the smirk threatening to break out. Good, I think. At least he's safe. For now.
“It was your responsibility to handle him, Valentina. I trusted you!” Vladimir continues, his voice filled with venom. His piercing gaze meets mine, a storm raging in his eyes. "You promised he would be dealt with. You gave me your word. You said you'd handle Roman!" he snarls, his tone accusing.
I feel the sting of his words, but I won't back down. "I was ready to handle it," I shoot back, my tone just as fiery. "Someone must've tipped him off. Maybe if you didn't have half the city in your pocket, we wouldn’t have leaks."
His face contorts, a dangerous blend of rage and disbelief. "Don't you dare imply my decisions compromised this mission!"
I fold my arms defiantly. "I'm saying you should've left it to me. But no, you think you can control every situation, every person, don't you? Including me!"
His face reddens, veins bulging in his neck. "You think this is about control? Roman is a threat! And you, sleeping with him, getting all... emotional! Can you not see what you're doing? Or who you're risking?"
Our spat draws the attention of nearly everyone in the building. I feel their gazes on us, but at this moment, all that matters is the growing chasm between Vladimir and me.
He points a finger toward the exit. "Go. Go take care of Ilya. Get some perspective. You're of no use to me here."
I scoff, my frustration boiling over. "Oh, how convenient for you. Pushing me out when it suits you. Maybe you're the one who should take a step back. Look at how you're running things."
His expression hardens further, his voice dripping with venom. "I said leave, Valentina. Don't make me say it again."
For a moment, I contemplate retaliating further. But the strained atmosphere in the room and the clear line Vladimir's drawn in the sand make me reconsider. Perhaps this is the push I need to reevaluate my priorities. I turn on my heel, storming out.
As the door slams shut behind me, a cold gust of wind ruffles my hair and skirt. The noisy streets of St. Petersburg surround me, but my world feels eerily silent. The rift with Vladimir weighs heavily on my mind, but there's a silver lining to his demand. Time with Ilya, away from the life of crime, might provide the clarity I so desperately seek.
However, one thought remains persistent amid the turmoil: if Vladimir doesn't trust me, then who in this tangled web of deceit can I truly rely on?
In the muted glow of my apartment, I take out the receiving end of the bug I’d covertly planted in Vladimir's office during our argument. My fingers trace its minuscule form — it’s unnerving, this quiet rebellion against my own family. A web of betrayal, oneI’m caught in the middle of. But given the growing rift between Vladimir and me, this tiny device might be the only thing that’ll keep me one step ahead.
Sliding in earbuds, I press play, taking a moment to still the frantic tempo of my heart. My anticipation coils tighter as each whispered word snakes its way into my ear. The steady rhythm of muted voices fills the background before Vladimir's distinct tone surfaces. "The Bratva have lingered like a damned parasite. St. Petersburg is ours. We take back every ally, every business, everything they think they own. After that? Moscow will fall."
A chill runs down my spine. Moscow? They're thinking bigger than I imagined. And more than that, my brother hasn’t looped me in at all on these plans.
Another voice, tinged with caution — definitely Yura — responds, "So, we target Moscow after? That’s playing with fire, Vlad."
"Fire purifies," Vladimir retorts, his tone smug. "The Antonov-Nicolaevich Bratva have ruled long enough. We'll send them a clear message about who's the real power here."
I take a deep breath, trying to process the implications of what I'm hearing. They're planning a full-scale war. Not just any skirmish, but a methodical destruction that will turn St. Petersburg, and then Moscow, into battlegrounds. The imagery is horrifying — I envision streets turned crimson, innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire because my brother craves power.
Every moment I've shared with Roman floods my thoughts. The fire in his eyes, the magnetic pull that always draws us together, and the unexpected tenderness between us. The mission was simple: avenge Iosef, no matter the cost. But now, I find myself dangerously close to the edge, feelings for Roman muddying the waters. How the hell did I let things spiral like this?
