Kira would never forgive me for this violation. For crossing the line from partner to predator, from ally to adversary.
But I’d rather have her alive and hating me than dead and beyond forgiveness.
I open a new browser window and begin researching Pier 47—security cameras, patrol schedules, sight lines, escape routes. If she’s determined to walk into Durov’s trap, then I’ll be there to pull her out of it.
Even if it means becoming the very thing she’s trying to protect me from.
Even if it means losing her forever.
Because some things are worth crossing lines for.
And Kira Petrov is worth crossing every line I have.
CHAPTER 27
Kira
Pier 47 stretchesinto the Hudson River like a concrete finger pointing at nothing. The abandoned shipping terminal hasn’t seen legitimate traffic in over a decade, leaving behind a skeleton of rusted cranes and empty warehouses that provide perfect cover for the kind of meeting that ends in bloodshed.
I arrive thirty minutes early, using the time to position myself strategically and activate the recording equipment I’ve hidden throughout the location. If this goes wrong—when this goes wrong—I want evidence of what happens here.
My phone shows three missed calls from Rafa, all within the last hour. I delete them without listening to the voicemails. Whatever he wants to discuss can wait until after I’ve cleaned up my family’s mess. Despite him being a Rosso, he doesn’t deserve my family’s bullshit. If he were to die… No, I need to focus.
The tactical vest hidden beneath my coat feels heavier than it should, the ceramic plates a constant reminder that I’m walking into a situation where being shot is not just possible but probable. The Glock 19 holstered at my hip provides some comfort, though I harbor no illusions about my chances in a straight firefight against professionals.
This isn’t about winning through violence. This is about psychology, manipulation, and the careful application of leverage against a man whose obsessions make him predictable.
At 10:47 PM, headlights sweep across the pier as a black sedan approaches. It stops fifty yards away, far enough to make conversation possible but close enough for accurate shooting if negotiations break down.
Yegor Durov emerges alone, just as I expected. He’s changed in the five years since his exile—thinner, harder around the edges, wearing expensive clothes that can’t quite hide the predatory intensity that made him dangerous even when he worked for my father.
But his eyes... his eyes are exactly the same. Pale blue, almost colorless, studying me with focused attention makes my skin crawl.
“Kyrilla,” he says, my childhood name sounding obscene in his voice. “You’re even more beautiful than the surveillance photos suggested.”
“Yegor. Thank you for agreeing to meet.” I keep my tone neutral and professional.
“How could I refuse? After all these years of watching you from a distance, finally having the chance to speak face to face...” He spreads his hands in a gesture that might look welcoming if not for the calculating gleam in his eyes. “It’s like Christmas morning.”
He moves closer, and I force myself to remain still despite every instinct screaming at me to run. This close, I can see the surgical precision of his grooming, the way his clothes fit perfectly despite the lean frame beneath. He’s maintained himself like a weapon during exile—sharp, efficient, ready for use.
“You’ve been busy. The financial diversions were impressive. Almost undetectable.” I observe, matching his casual tone.
“Almost.” His smile reveals teeth that are too white, too perfect. “But not quite good enough to fool NyxBinary, were they?” Shit, he knows more than I anticipated if he knows I’m NyxBinary. How much has Alexei and my father told him?
“The signature patterns were distinctive once I knew what to look for.”
“Ah, but you didn’t know what to look for, did you? Not until your Italian boyfriend started poking around.” Yegor circles me slowly, like a predator assessing prey. “How is Rafa Rosso, by the way? Still playing the loyal underboss while planning his escape?”
The casual mention of Rafa’s plans sends ice through my veins. “This isn’t about him.”
“Everything is about him, moya printsessa. He’s the variable that changed the equation. The factor I didn’t account for when I began this process.” Yegor stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—expensive, European, with undertones of something clinical. “Tell me, do you love him?”
“That’s not relevant to our business.”
“It’s completely relevant because love makes people do stupid things. Like arrange secret meetings with dangerous men instead of trusting their partners.” His head tilts slightly, studying my reaction. “Did you tell him you were coming here tonight?”
I don’t answer, but my silence speaks volumes.
