1
DOMINIK
Present time
St. Petersburg
The alert hits at 9:30, and I know exactly what it is because I helped put the system in place when I was still working for Vadim Markov.
Back then, I wasn’t just breaking bones and collecting debts. I handled containment for the Markov Bratva, which meant I watched the money no one was supposed to touch. Some of our accounts weren’t real accounts. They were bait.
We set them up to look legitimate, clean paperwork, clean history, just enough balance to tempt someone stupid. The second anyone tried to access one, the system lit up. Names were flagged, cameras got pulled, and the location was locked. By the time they finished telling the teller it was a simple transfer, we already knew where they were.
I open the alert since ignoring it doesn’t stop what’s already moving.
The claimant is Ana Markova.
She wasn’t some quiet wife who stayed in the background. Vadim Markov sent her to meetings when he wanted signatures without noise. She’d sit across from men twice her size, pour the drinks herself, hold their eyes until they signed, and then walk out before anyone could mistake her for decoration. She wore power like it was part of the deal.
In that house, everything about her was arranged by someone else. First her father decided where she’d stand and whom she’d marry. Then Markov decided which table she’d sit at and which men she’d calm down. She learned fast. She adapted. She survived. But survival isn’t the same thing as choice.
After Markov died, after the funeral and the private condolences and the night that followed, it became clear she wasn’t safe staying where she was. Too many men were calculating what a widow was worth.
So I made her disappear because she was the only person in that house who ever spoke to me like I was human. And because, if I’m honest, she was the reason I stayed in the Markov household as long as I did. Not for the money or for Markov. For her.
I told myself it was protection. The truth is, keeping her in that house and trying to guard her from the inside would have chained me deeper to the council, deeper to work I was already trying to step away from.
Then one day, she vanished from my protection. Six years ago.
The feed updates.
She isn’t alone.
There’s a child in her arms.
That’s when the situation locks into place. Ana didn’t surface because she wanted to. She touched something tied to Markov’s name, and the system responded the way it was designed to. Once a recovery order goes out, it isn’t about money or inheritance. It’s about reclaiming assets and closing debts the council never forgave.
She’s in Sector B with a child. A dormant account has been touched. An alert went out. I can do the rest of the math.
I don’t hesitate. I grab my gun, my keys, my wallet, and the spare change I always keep in the same pocket, and I’m moving before the screen finishes loading because muscle memory exists for moments like this, when thinking slows you down and slowing down gets people killed.
I send Denis a quick text, telling him to bring the Lada around and park it near Sector B. He’s been with me for years now, long before Markov died and Ana was left a widow.
Ana survived Vadim Markov. She left a debt unsettled and vanished without a trace. That alone puts a target on her back. And when the Bratva decides to move, they don’t hesitate. If there’s a child involved, they move even faster.
A child tied to bloodlines that matter, hers and Markov’s. That’s enough to trigger interest.
A traitorous thought still creeps in.Is that my child?It couldn’t be that simple. Markov was rumored to have problems, the kind the inner circle kept quiet because power doesn’t survive laughter. But rumors aren’t proof, and timelines can be manipulated.
After his death, Ana was under my protection, and what happened between us was contained and never spoken of again. I thought I’d never see her after she ran.
“Apparently not,” I mutter to myself as I run a hand down my face.
I don’t lie to myself about the rest. I still want her. That mouth, wicked, sweet… I’ve imagined ruining it more times than I’ll ever admit. Even now, with the city burning under my wheels, the thought hits hot and hard. My cock twitches at the memory of her writhing under me, how she whispered my name through parted lips as I held her arms firmly in place over her head while I fucked her, long and slow.
I glance at the message again. From my apartment to Sector B during rush hour should take forty minutes, and I cut it in half because compliance was never part of my job.
My hands stay steady on the wheel. My mind runs the math, fast, ruthless. Ana didn’t step into the open by mistake. She wouldn’t put herself or that child in daylight unless something forced her hand. So, why here? Why now? Sector B’s not random. It’s central, exposed, and surveillance-rich, certainly, not her kind of place. Unless…
