“I don’t know what I want,” I admit. “I don’t know if he’ll ever get over our past. Or my job. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get over who he is. And shit, he threatened my parents, for fuck’s sake.”
Konstantin shrugs like it’s no big deal. “In our world, threats are leverage. A way to make people do what we want. And for my brother…that’s the only currency he thinks he has with you.”
That definitely doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel like a pawn. Like every moment we’ve shared is tangled in strings he pulls tight around my throat.
But I don’t say any of that. I just press my lips together and let the silence swallow it whole, wondering what it would even look like to be loved by a man like Aleksei Marinov, and whether love from someone like him could ever come without a price.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
FIONA
The car slowsas we pull onto a narrow side street, the low hum of traffic fading behind us. I glance out the window, expecting…I don’t know. Some dimly lit restaurant, or maybe a hotel where I’ll walk in and find Aleksei nursing a drink, probably with some other woman laughing at his side.
The thought makes my stomach turn, and I brace myself for whatever Konstantin dragged me here to see.
But when we stop and he steps out, I realize we’re in front of an old bar. The paint is chipped from the brick, and the windows are tinted so dark I can’t see anything inside. The sign above the door flickers red and white, casting ghostly light across the sidewalk. Not exactly Aleksei’s usual style.
I follow Konstantin to the entrance, my heels clicking against the concrete. A massive man in black stands outside, arms crossed, tattooed neck flexing as he turns to greet us.
“Boss.” He steps aside.
Konstantin doesn’t reply with words, just a sharp nod and a slight tilt of his head toward the door before guiding me inside. The bar is loud and warm, packed with people shoulder-to-shoulder, and the sharp scent of alcohol immediately burns my nostrils.
But we don’t stop there. He takes a sharp left and heads toward a heavy red curtain draped across the back wall. My heart starts to race.
“Where are we going?” I try to keep my voice even.
He laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I promise I am not trying to kill you.”
“If you say so.”
He pushes through the curtain and leads me down a narrow flight of metal stairs. Every step echoes. The deeper we go, the louder the noise gets. Shouting. Cheers. The clink of glasses. It doesn’t sound like any bar I’ve ever been to.
Another set of double doors waits at the bottom. A second bouncer opens them for us, and the moment we step through, I freeze.
The space opens wide in front of us. There are no windows, just concrete walls and low-hanging lights casting everything in a smoky, yellow glow. Music thumps from somewhere overhead, almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd. In the center of the room, surrounded by a cage and rope, two men are fighting. No gloves to be seen. Blood streaks one man’s chest, and the other’s knuckles are raw and red.
Waitresses in black minidresses weave between low tables scattered around the perimeter, trays of shots and beer balanced expertly in their hands. Rows of chairs form a half circle facing the pit in the center, like a makeshift arena. Some people stand along the back, shouting over each other, while others lean forward in their seats, eyes locked on the fight. There’s a man near the edge collecting cash—probably for bets, though I can’t be sure.
My entire body tenses. “Why are we here?”
Konstantin turns and looks directly at me. “Because it’s where he is. Come.”
Everything inside me screams to turn around, but I follow him past tables, through the haze of smoke and sweat, until we reach the front row. Then I see them.
Kirill lounges causally in his chair, his attention on the fight. But it’s Anton beside him who makes my pulse hitch. He’s dressed in all black, watching me approach with no warmth in his eyes. No expression at all. Just a quiet, terrifying stillness. When he lifts his chin in a silent greeting, it feels like a threat. And still, it takes everything in me to look away.
“Privet,?sistra,” Kirill says when he notices me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” His gaze slides to Konstantin. “Our brother won’t like this.”
“She needed to be here,” Konstantin replies calmly. “It’s good for him.”
Kirill shrugs like it’s no big deal. “If you say so.” Then he gestures to the empty seat beside him. “Come. Sit.”
I sink into the chair, scanning the ring, nerves coiling tight in my stomach.
Konstantin leans in. “I should get back to Emilia. Make sure she gets home.”
“We’ll take care of her,” Kirill says without looking.
