Page 119 of Velvet Chains
Ksenia is never late.
Where are you?
I type and send, frustration mounting. She’s supposed to have been here tonight, but there’s no sign of her.
Fuck, what’s with the off feeling today? Something’s up.
“All alright, boss?” Misha asks from across the table. He’s sliding his knife back into its sheath with practiced ease while his other hand checks the grip on his gun, ensuring it’s ready for quick action.
“Ksenia’s got a backup plan,” I say, pocketing the phone. “If they try to screw us, she’ll make sure they regret it.”
Ari raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What kind of backup plan?”
I shrug, picking at a loose thread on my jeans. “The kind that involves a lot of firepower and a few well-placed moles in Vasiliev’s organization.”
Misha whistles low, shaking his head. “Remind me never to piss off your sister.”
I chuckle, but there’s an edge to it. “Trust me, bratishka. You don’t need a reminder.”
Being hard and heartless is the nature of the game, the price we pay for the lives we lead. But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.
I think of Laura.
Her sleepy face flashes through my mind, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed from our lovemaking. The way she looked at me, the trust and the warmth in her eyes… it’s like nothing I’ve ever known.
And the baby… Blyad. My child, growing inside her. The thought of it is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I told her I loved her. The words just slipped out in my mother tongue in the heat of the moment. I’ve never said that to a woman before, not even in my native tongue. Except for Mama, of course.
But with Laura… it felt right. Like a piece of me I didn’t even know was missing had suddenly clicked into place.
I’m going soft,
I shake my head.
Turning into a fucking sap.
But even as I scold myself, I can’t deny the warmth blooming in my chest. The sense that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to life than the next score, the next power play.
That maybe I have something—someone—worth living for now.
It’s a dangerous thought, a vulnerability I can’t afford. Not in my line of work. But fuck me, I want it. I want her, want the chance at a future I never dared to dream of.
I stand up, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that’s settled there. “Alright, boys. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Misha and Ari fall into step beside me as we make our way out of the cramped surveillance room and into the main part of the warehouse. The air is thick with the stench of motor oil and stale seawater, the only sound the echo of our footsteps on the concrete.
We’re just about to head out when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, frowning at the unfamiliar number on the screen.
“Da?” I answer, my voice gruff.
“Is this Victor Morozov?” a smooth, accented voice asks.
I narrow my eyes, instantly on guard. “Who wants to know?”
The man on the other end chuckles, the sound sending a chill down my spine. “Someone with information you might find valuable. About your cute little niece and that pretty little wife of yours.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I growl, my heart pounding in my chest. The voice is familiar, naggingly so, but I can’t quite place it.
