Page 28 of The Enforcer's Vow
I walk past the old church on Sokolnicheskaya, its golden domes gleaming in the weak sunlight. An elderly woman crosses herself as she passes, her lips moving in silent prayer. I wonder what she's asking for. Protection, maybe. Or forgiveness.
Damir's phone stays silent in my pocket. He hasn’t reached out. The absence gnaws at me as I walk the familiar streets toward the track. Twelve days now since he vanished, and each hour that passes makes his warning echo louder in my head.
You need to walk away from this. Now.
But walking away means abandoning him, and I can't do that. Not when he's the only family I have left. Not when he's the only person who's ever tried to protect me from the world we were born into.
I think about the night our father disappeared. I was twelve, Damir was seventeen. We waited for him to come home from work, dinner growing cold on the table. He never came. Mother spent three days calling hospitals, police stations, anyone who would listen. Then she stopped calling. She stopped everything.
Damir stepped up. He always stepped up. He got work at the track, started bringing home money. He never told me where it came from, but I knew. I've always known. The world we live in doesn't offer many choices, and we've made ours.
I stop at a payphone two blocks from work. The number from his notebook is burned into my memory—one of the drop contacts he made me memorize when I was sixteen. Back then, it felt like a game. Secret codes and hidden messages. Now it feels like survival.
The phone booth smells like urine and the glass is cracked, spider-webbing across the surface like ice. I dial with steady fingers, though my heart hammers against my ribs.
One ring. Two. Three.
"Da?"
The voice is unfamiliar, but the response tells me everything. Someone is still watching. Someone is still listening. The network is intact.
"Tell him his sister needs to talk," I say, using the code phrase Damir taught me years ago. "Tell him the books don't balance."
The line goes dead.
I hang up and continue walking, my pulse hammering in my throat. If the message gets through, Damir will know I'm looking for him. If it doesn't... then I'll have to push Maksim harder. I'll have to trust that whatever he's offering is real.
The track comes into view, its concrete façade as unwelcoming as always. Gray walls, small windows, the kind of building designed to keep people in rather than welcome them. I've worked here for four years, and it still feels like a prison.
I slip through the employee entrance and head for the break room, needing coffee before I face the day's numbers. The hallways are narrow, painted institutional beige, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. My footsteps echo in the empty corridors.
Yana Volkova intercepts me before I reach the machine. She's younger than me, maybe twenty-three, with bleached hair and too much makeup. Her lipstick is the color of fresh blood, her nails filed to sharp points. We've worked together for two years, but we're not friends. We're not enemies, either. We're just two women trying to survive in a world that doesn't particularly care if we do.
"Zoya." She glances around the empty break room and steps closer. Her perfume is too sweet, cloying. "We need to talk."
I pour coffee into a chipped mug and add sugar. The liquid is bitter, burnt from sitting too long on the burner. "About what?"
"About the man who's been sniffing around you."
My hand freezes on the sugar dispenser. The granules scatter across the counter, white against the stained surface. "What man?"
"Tall. Dark hair. Expensive suit. Looks like he could break someone's neck with his bare hands." She leans against the counter, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I've seen him before, Zoya. He's not some ordinary suitor looking to take you to dinner."
I sip my coffee and meet her eyes. The taste is harsh, familiar. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you." She crosses her arms, her bangles jangling. "That's Maksim Vetrov. Rolan's brother. He's Bratva, and he's dangerous."
The name punches me in the chest, but I keep my expression neutral. "You're imagining things."
"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're in way over your head." She straightens, her tone softening slightly. "Look, I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but whatever it is, he's not going to help you out of it. Men like him don't rescue girls like us. They collect them."
The words ring true, but I push them away. "Thanks for the warning."
"That's it? That's all you're going to say?"
"What else do you want me to say?"
She shakes her head, disappointment flickering across her features. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."
