Page 18 of Fate and Family

“I can’t imagine how difficult this has been for you,” I say softly, trying to backpedal.

His jaw tightens further, his knuckles whitening as they grip the steering wheel. His head dips, and he exhales through his nose in a long, measured breath. “If you tell anyone,” he says evenly, “I’ll kill you. And I’ll spend the rest of my very short life hiding from Dimitri.”

“Fair,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

Uri revs the car, and twenty minutes later, we’re at his penthouse apartment. The building screams luxury—bulletproof windows, reinforced walls, and heavy doors designed to keep the outside world out. His apartment is stylish but modest, lacking the flashy utilitarian touches still common in post-Communist Russia. A cozy mix of modern furniture and scattered fan memorabilia softens the space.

He presses a button on the wall, and the windows instantly black out, plunging the space into a cocoon of privacy. Standing in the middle of his sleek living room, Uri rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, uh, here’s the thing. I was going to drug you and let you sleep on my couch.”

“Not loving that idea,” I deadpan, narrowing my eyes.

“But my uncle will have people watching the apartment, so you can’t leave until morning.” His lips curl into a sheepish smirk. “I can loan you clothes... something other than the shirt Dimitri gave you.”

I glance at the oversized, modified shirt-turned-dress. “I’m hot in this.”

“Oh, I’m sure Dimitri thought so, too.”

He did. I remember the way he looked at me earlier, the intensity in his eyes. All those after-work conversations where everything clicked—this connection isn’t just in my head.

“Do you like Amanda Chase?” Uri breaks into my thoughts, shrugging casually. I raise my eyebrow like he’s insane. He smirks. “I could loan you something more comfortable and we could watch theBeyond the Moonlightdocumentary. Talk about our favorite fan theories.”

I’m undercover, spying on his family. I’m also in love with his cousin and a huge Amanda Chase fan. Professionalism is officially out the window. If I can’t have what I really want, I will allow myself this. “Oh, I’m in.” Besides, it’ll give me an opportunity to snoop around.

Tucked into his thirty thousand dollar couch, we snack on overly-buttery popcorn and rank our top ten Amanda Chase songs, creating heated song brackets, and engage in a surprisingly passionate debate about her Grammys dress. (I thought it was too bland. Uri argued it was a bold minimalist statement.)

“So why is Grae like the hottest man in the world?” I ask between bites of the chips I grabbed from his stash in the pantry.

Uri groans, “I know, right? Does he have to be super talented and hot. Oh, I have a friend in LA who met Grae once. He’s like literally the nicest guy in the world. It’s not just for social media.” He frowns. “It sucks that he’s stuck in such a shitty industry. The people there are awful.”

“Oh, unlike the Bratva?”

“No, we’re great. Stand up citizens.” We both try to keep our expressions serious, then bust out laughing until we’re wiping tears from our eyes.

For a few hours, I forget my mission. It’s the best night I’ve had in years.

Around two a.m., Uri snores softly with an arm draped over his face.

Perfect.

Walking around the apartment—toe heel, to make the least amount of noise—I get back to work. Uri strikes me as the kinda guy who brings his work home. Starting off in the living room is a bit of a risk, the most dangerous spot because he’s sleeping a few feet away, but I gotta start somewhere. I thumb through the stacks of mail by the door, look inside the end table, and flip through the pages of a few books. Nothing in here shouts international drug dealers. But it wouldn’t. He’s too smart for that.

I find a gun hidden in a secret spot in the door frame between the bedroom and the living room. And in his nightstand is a burner phone. A quick jailbreak, and it unveils its secrets to me. Recipes for salads, puppy videos, and the occasional thirst trap pics—some of himself, but most are of stupidly hot guys. Oh, there’s one of Grae. Mental note to find that insta account and scroll through that later.

His computer is charging on his desk, he’s snoring in the living room, and this is my best opportunity to see the workings of the family. There’s an encrypted message between him and someone in the U.S. named Waverly. It’s a sweet exchange. Apparently her grandmother died and Uri was asking if he should fly home for the funeral. Waverly says no and they’ll meet in England over the summer.

The messages go back years. Is she a sister? A cousin? Whoever she is, there’s no mention of her in any of my data.

A message chain called “Terrible idea” catches my attention, and as soon as I read it, my stomach drops.

This has to be wrong. Maybe I’m having an aneurysm or a stroke and forgot how to read. Because that’s the only logical reason for what I’m seeing.

According to this, the Koslov family has distanced themselves from Majesty and are focusing more on party drugs and guns.

No. This goes against all my intel. The entire mission and the last year of my life. Was it all a waste?

But thinking about my own observations over the years, the Smirnov family did move quicker to retaliate than expected after their meeting with Dimitri. And while The Deviant has been looming in the background, all our evidence led us to believe that the Koslovs and The Deviant were in bed together. But what if it's been the Smirnov family this whole time?

I steady my breathing and try to piece together this jigsaw puzzle. But every solution ends with the same conclusion. We’re fucked.

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