Secrets

KAIA

Several days had passed and I found myself in the kitchen, munching on an egg white omelet and scrolling through my phone. Feliks was busy blending fruits for a smoothie when Aleksandr sauntered in. He paid no mind to Feliks, announced his late return, pulled me into a fierce kiss that left my mind reeling, and then set me back in my chair.

Feliks handed Aleksandr a to-go cup filled with the freshly made smoothie. Aleksandr shot me a smoldering look before exiting the kitchen.

I exhaled deeply, fighting the urge to fan myself. Feliks did his best to pretend he hadn’t witnessed the heated exchange.

Ever since our intimate encounter in Aleksandr’s office, our relationship had shifted. I had stopped denying my feelings and Aleksandr seemed to enjoy my newfound enthusiasm. Needless to say, I wasn’t getting much sleep.

My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. An unknown number flashed on the screen. I’d spoken with Andrey a few times and he always called from a blocked number, so this didn’t surprise me. I hoped he had news about Irina.

“Hello?” I answered, anticipation coloring my voice.

There was a pause before a familiar voice responded.

“Hello, Kaia,” he said.

My gaze instinctively darted to Feliks, who was busy cleaning the counters, his back to me.

I slid off the stool, attempting to maintain my composure as I made my way upstairs to my room.

“Ilya? Is that you?” I whispered, closing the bedroom door behind me. “Where are you?”

His voice was gruff when he responded.

“Where are you?” he demanded. “Are you with ~him~?”

His bitter tone made me stiffen.

“With whom?” I asked cautiously, gripping the phone tighter.

A derisive snort followed.

“With the pakhan,” he said.

I inhaled sharply, but he must have heard it because his tone shifted to a deceptive calm.

“You’ve been living comfortably while Irina suffered at the hands of Cristo’s men,” he spat. His words sent a chill down my spine, and guilt washed over me.

“What do you know about Irina?” I blurted out. “Is she alive? Is she okay? Where is she?”

Ilya laughed, and for the first time, I heard a different side of him. This wasn’t the Ilya I remembered from Lipeshin.

“Meet me at this address.” A location popped up in an empty chat on my phone. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

I clicked on the location. It was a coffee shop in the city, about an hour away.

“Aleksandr won’t let me leave.”

Another scoff.

“If you want to know what happened to Irina, Kaia, you’ll find a way. Noon tomorrow.” The line went dead.

I stared at the blank screen, my heart pounding in my chest.

I had a gut feeling that Irina was alive. That she was with Ilya. But I wouldn’t know for sure until I met with him.

I sat on my bed, plotting.

***

The next day, I found myself in the back of the Range with Stasya while Kir drove us into the city. Another SUV followed closely behind us, carrying Savva and two other men. Apparently, Savva was my new bodyguard, tasked with shadowing me everywhere I went. He was a blonde, tattooed version of the Rock with a permanent scowl. The man didn’t seem to know how to smile. I had no idea how I was going to shake him off to meet Ilya.

I had waited up for Aleksandr the previous night, complaining about cabin fever and the need for some space. I promised him that Stasya would accompany me and that he could send as many bodyguards as he wanted to ensure our safety. He was hesitant at first, but I managed to convince him.

“Where are we going exactly?” Stasya asked, glancing at me and making me blush at the memory of how I’d convinced Aleksandr. “You were pretty vague on the phone.”

“Just a coffee place I used to go to,” I lied, looking out the window at the passing cars. “I just needed a little normalcy. Being cooped up in the house was starting to get to me.”

Stasya gave a nod, as if she completely got what I was saying. Maybe she did.

Being the pakhan’s sister, she was likely accustomed to living in a golden prison.

“We’ve arrived,” Kir declared a few moments later, pulling up to a charming cafe that looked like a European coffeehouse, complete with floral arches and intricately carved wooden signs.

A quick look at my wristwatch told me it was just about noon.

Savva managed to intimidate a couple into giving up their table at the back, while Stasya and I apologized profusely and offered to cover their drinks.

“I’m really sorry,” I said to Stasya, feeling a wave of embarrassment. “If I had known it would be like this, I wouldn’t have invited you.”

Stasya brushed her hair back over her shoulder and gave my hand a comforting pat.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it,” she said, flipping open the menu. “So, what’s good here?”

***

Ten minutes later, we were sitting with two pain au chocolat and a pair of macchiatos, while Stasya filled me in on her wedding plans.

I was only half-listening, my attention divided between my phone and scanning the room over Stasya’s shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ilya.

When my phone finally buzzed, I had to fight the urge to grab it off the table.

Stasya noticed, of course.

“Oh, I’m waiting for a call from Andrey. He’s supposed to update me on my sister,” I blurted out, and Stasya’s face relaxed.

“Of course. Go ahead and take it,” she said, making a shooing gesture as I stood up and headed for the corridor leading to the restrooms.

Savva started to rise from his seat, but I waved him back down and mouthed, “restroom.” He sat back down slowly, but his gaze was locked on me.

I swiped to answer the call from the unknown number, turning my back to Savva.

“Ilya?”

“Walk past the bathroom and take the second door on your right,” came the clear instruction.

I did as he said, pretending to open the bathroom door to block Savva’s view. Then I slipped past it and further down the corridor, out of sight.

I turned the knob and stepped out the door, finding myself in a small garage where another SUV was idling.

The door opened and Ilya got out of the driver’s seat and walked toward me. I noticed another burly man get out of the passenger side and stand by the back door, watching us.

“Good job,” Ilya said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He stopped a few feet away, taking in my skinny jeans and silk blouse. “So, you’re the pakhan’s new favorite.”

I scowled, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

“He took me from Don Cristo’s house and made me his prisoner—”

Ilya let out a bitter laugh.

“Right, because the pakhan dresses his prisoners in designer clothes and takes them out clubbing.”

I was taken aback, staring at him in disbelief before a wave of anger washed over me.

“You don’t know anything, Ilya!” I spat. “It’s not like that!”

He took a step closer, and I instinctively stepped back, still glaring at him.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re coming with me,” he said, reaching for my arm.

I jerked it away from his grasp.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

His expression darkened.

“Aleksandr Kozlov isn’t who you think he is, Kaia,” he said through gritted teeth. “And you can give us everything we need to prove it to you.”

I had seen Aleksandr’s files. I had seen everything there was to see. Ilya was wrong. Wasn’t he?

“I know exactly what kind of man he is,” I retorted stubbornly.

Ilya held my gaze for a moment longer before nodding at the man behind him.

The man pulled open the back door, and a slim figure came tumbling out.

“~Kaia!~”