Chapter 22: Sinful Union: Chapter 22

“Repeat that.”

I grip my phone tighter, irritation hot beneath my skin.

Ivan doesn’t hesitate. “Your wife had me pick up a strange woman off the street.”

I slowly exhale as I press my fingers to my temple, forcing myself to stay calm. What the fuck is she thinking?

“She asked you to stop the car?”

“Yes. They talked for a minute, then the woman got in.” Ivan speaks quietly, so that Katerina can’t overhear him.

My first instinct is to tell Ivan to turn the damn car around and tell the woman to get out. But I already know that would be useless. Kat doesn’t do caution. She follows her gut, consequences be damned. It’s one of the things I love about her. She’s stubborn, loyal, relentless. She does what she thinks is right, and no one—not me, not her brothers, not an entire fucking Bratva—can stop her.

But right now it’s a liability.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Yeah. The woman came from her brothers’ house.”

My grip tightens on the phone. That’s not a coincidence.

“She was inside?”

“Yeah. Left on foot shortly after Kat showed up.”

Before I can ask anything more, my phone buzzes with another call coming in. It’s Nikolai.

“Bring them both here,” I tell Ivan. “I’ve got to go. Nikolai’s on the other line.”

“Understood.”

I switch over to Nikolai. “Tell me you have something.” I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say.

“That woman your wife picked up is the same woman I spoke to earlier.”

Just as I’d suspected. “You said he never met her at his house, only at hotels.”

“That was the truth, until last night, that is.”

“You have this woman’s address?”

“Yep, just got it. Some shitty walk-up in Bushwick. I talked to her roommate.”

“Go on.”

“She didn’t seem too concerned.” He pauses. “But this time’s different, isn’t it?”

It’s too fucking convenient. Piotr’s lover, alone on the street, right after spending the night at his place for the first time. And Kat, of all people, just happens to be the one to pick her up? I don’t believe in coincidences. I clench my jaw, my instincts buzzing. “Get to the house—now.”

Nikolai doesn’t hesitate. “On my way.”

I pocket my phone, my mind already three steps ahead. Kat just walked into something, and I’m going to find out exactly what it is.

I settle into my chair, watching the live feed from the security cameras as the car pulls into the garage. Ivan gets out and moves to the back door, opening it for Kat. She moves quickly, exiting the vehicle and walking around to the other side. Kat opens the door for the young woman. She hesitates before stepping out.

I study her. She appears disheveled—messy hair, smudged makeup, like she’s been crying. Her clothes are wrinkled, her shoulders slightly hunched. She looks like she’s been through hell. I sigh, pushing to my feet. Time to figure out what the hell is going on.

By the time I get to the kitchen, Kat is already there and the woman is standing beside her. I don’t give her a chance to speak before closing the distance between us. I cup the back of her neck and press a kiss to her lips. It’s brief but firm, a silent claiming. She stiffens for half a second before melting into it.

Satisfied, I pull back, my gaze flicking to the woman, who won’t meet my eyes. That’s fine. I give her a once-over, wondering what she’s thinking. If this woman has dirt on Piotr, then Kat’s impulsive decision might have just given me leverage.

“This is Darya,” Kat says by way of an introduction.

Darya finally looks at me, her eyes red-rimmed and wary.

“Pavel Fetisov,” I say, extending a hand. She looks at it for a moment like it might be a trap, then cautiously takes it. Her touch is tenuous, like all life has gone out of her. I noticed she’d flinched at my name. Good. She knows exactly who I am. I don’t have time for games. I want answers, and I want them now. But, of course, Kat has other plans.

“She needs a minute,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “Let her clean up, change into something else.”

I exhale through my nose, my jaw clenching. We don’t have time for this.

Darya stands awkwardly near the kitchen island, hands gripping the strap of her purse like it’s a lifeline. She looks fragile, which is exactly how Kat sees her.

I nod.

Kat looks surprised, like she expected me to argue.

“There’s a guest bathroom upstairs,” I say. “Spare clothes are in the dresser, there should be some in there that will fit you. Take a shower or a bath, if you need to.”

Darya’s eyes flash with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected such kindness. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“But,” I say and raise my finger, “leave your phone here.”

Without a word, she reaches into her purse and takes out her phone, setting it on the counter.

“This way,” Kat says. “I’ll show you the room.” With that, they leave the kitchen.

As they disappear, I lean against the counter, rubbing a hand over my jaw. I replay everything I know about Piotr in my mind, everything I’ve suspected. My eyes flick toward the hallway where Darya disappeared. She’s curvy, like Kat, like Piotr’s mother. My stomach tightens slightly. Coincidence? Maybe, or maybe, it’s just one more thing to add to the growing list of what the fuck is wrong with him.

The second Kat steps back into the kitchen, I know this isn’t just about Darya. There’s tension in her shoulders and a shadow in her expression that wasn’t there before. It’s subtle, but I know her well enough to see it.

“You okay?”

She hesitates just enough to confirm my suspicion.

Then she says, “After you talk to Darya, we need to chat.”

Her words are too controlled, too definitive. I don’t like it. Not at all. My muscles tense. “Chat about what?” My tone is sharper than I intend, but I don’t like this kind of vague bullshit.

She exhales and crosses her arms as if protecting herself. “Handle her first.” She nods toward the hallway. “It’ll help with our discussion.”

I don’t fucking like that either. But before I can press again, Darya reappears. She steps tentatively into the kitchen, her posture stiff, her fingers gripping the hem of the oversized sweater she’s changed into. Her hair is damp, her face scrubbed clean. Without the smudged makeup and red-rimmed eyes, she looks younger, prettier but still fragile.

Kat straightens beside me. “I promised her protection.”

I glance at my wife before turning to Darya. “If what you know is as valuable as I’ve heard it is,” I begin, eyes locking onto hers, “I’ll protect you from the devil himself. Now, let’s begin.”