I followed Katya halfway across Brooklyn to get here, shadowing her Ducati from just far enough to stay out of her mirrors. Initially, I figured she would be meeting someone. Maybe a Balakin contact or one of Yuri’s guys.
But a car meet? That was the last thing I expected.
I sure as hell didn’t expecther.
She rolled into the lot like she had done exactly that more times than I could count, dirty-blonde braid spilling out from under her helmet. Her jacket clung to her like a second skin, showing off her almost dangerous-looking curves.
The purr of her bike was unmissable, matte black and very much giving off a sense of ‘don’t fuck with me’. Message received.
But as much as she looks like a pakhan’s daughter—and one who is involved in that world—something about the whole scene doesn’t add up to me.
I parked the rental and killed the engine down the line of vehicles, able to see her without being too obvious. The low thrum of bass carried throughout the parking lot, pulsing through the cracked pavement as mufflers roared and laughter cut through it all.
The noise moved on around me, but I was only focused on Katya while she pulled her helmet off and undid her braid, shaking her hair out. The lights caught on her cheekbones and brought my attention to the soft curves of her lips.
Christ.
I already knew beforehand that she would be beautiful. Of course. The daughter of a cold, aristocratic man was bred to be exactly that. But somehow, she was different.
There was nothing cold about the way she laughed at something one of the guys near her said, flashing a grin that lit up her entire face. There was no trace of the sheltered, porcelain doll I was expecting.
No…she seemed bold and sharp, yet outgoing. She looked comfortable in this kind of backdrop, with people who might come across as less than savory to most.
It led me to believe she was the alternative then—a Bratva princess with claws. The kind to not shy away from her father’s exploits, and now, her brother’s.
I’m not so sure anymore.
And suddenly, I’m not as pissed about being put on babysitting duty. Now, I’m curious.
I spent long enough watching her mingle with the others before deciding to get out. My boots crunch against some broken glass while I move around to the front of the car, adjusting my leather jacket while I go.
Nobody pays much attention to me, thankfully.
They seem to see just another guy with an interest in engines and fast rides. It’s not entirely untrue, but I wouldn’t go as far as to label myself as the type to care much about the specifics.
A few people gravitate to where I am, asking a few questions about the car, but given how little I know about it, I pass off my visit as me being interested in the others. The rental isn’t all that exciting anyway, which influences them to give me a few nods of understanding before buggering off.
To keep up the front, I weave slowly through the clusters of people drinking beer, leaning against cars, and comparing rides. A few bikes move down the strips between the parked vehicles, showing off their engines and whatever modifications they’ve made. They gleam under the lights, but nothing seems to compare to the sleek bite of Katya’s Ducati.
Or maybe I’m already biased.
Still, I keep a close eye on her, marking her movements through the lot. Eventually, she returns to her ride and talks to some kid with dark stains on his hands. He gestures to his car, and she laughs at something he says.
As much as I want to assume she’s ticking all the boxes of someone involved in her father’s empire, she doesn’t look like a woman who grew up in a world where men disappear for crossing the wrong lines. Where loyalty and blood are currency.
Maybe that’s the point. Maybe she’s trying to look like she isn’t her father’s daughter.
It’s certainly an interesting point.
For months, Roman has been nailing it into my head that Yuri Balakin is just as dangerous as his father. That he’s clever, and we need to be cautious regardless of our superiority. Dangerous enough that we’ve been dancing around him after Igor’s death instead of finishing what we started.
We need to be sure, he’s been claiming. Apparently, we need to be careful in case we underestimate his influence.
But if Yuri is being just as careful, then why is his sister out here in the open, schmoozing with street rats?
While I return to the hood of the rental and glance over at her, the gears start turning in my head.
This isn’t just babysitting anymore…it’s an opportunity.
