Page 51 of Dark Promise

Trusting her family doesn’t silence the fear that gnaws at me. Fear that I’ve made a mistake. That the next time I see her, it will be too late. That I’ll lose her the way I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever dared to care about.

She’s safer with them. I have to believe that. Because if I don’t, I’ll lose what little control I have left, and I can’t afford that. Not now. Not when Mikhail is circling, not when everything is at stake.

A log pops in the wood stove, the firelight flickering against the walls. I tell myself this is temporary. That I’ll see her again when this is over, when Mikhail is dead, and the world is safer for her. For us.

But deep down, I know the truth. The world is never safe. Not for people like me. And certainly not for people like her.

And as I sink into the chair by the fire, staring at the flames, I feel it—the hollow ache of her absence, the unbearable weight of what I’ve just done.

I should feel some kind of relief, knowing she’s protected, that she’s going to be beyond my father’s reach. Instead, I feel a gnawing ache, like I’ve failed her. Failed myself.

And I don’t fucking fail.

17

Nikolai

My father’soffice looms like a mausoleum, cold and unyielding, as I step inside. The sharp scent of cigar smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of fear that seems embedded in the walls. His desk is a fortress of polished obsidian, dominating the space like a throne of power. Behind him, the vast windows offer a panoramic view of the Vegas Strip, a glittering spectacle of life and chaos that only sharpens the lifelessness of this place.

Mikhail is seated at his desk, his gray eyes scanning a document with sharp focus. He doesn’t look up when I enter, but I feel the weight of his awareness, as palpable as a blade at my back.

I step forward, every movement measured. He watches me now, his cold gaze dissecting, searching for weakness.

“You took your time,” he says, his voice calm and precise, each word laced with a quiet threat.

“I came when you called,Otets,” I reply, stepping deeper into the room, keeping the venom from my tone.

His lips twitch in what might be amusement, but it’s as sharp as the edge of a dagger. “The men Maxim hired to bring methe Russo girl have disappeared. No bodies, no reports, nothing. They’ve vanished as if the earth swallowed them whole.”

I keep my expression neutral. “Perhaps they realized the consequences of failure and chose to disappear.”

“Or perhaps,” Mikhail says, his voice edged with bite, “someone intervened.” He pauses. “Do you have any insights to offer?”

“None,” I reply, meeting his gaze without flinching.

His silence stretches, the air crackling with unspoken suspicion. His gray eyes drill into mine, searching for any flicker of deceit. I give him nothing, just a blank slate of calm detachment. Let him wonder. Let him fester. He knows I’m capable of intervention, but suspicion isn’t proof, and I’ll be damned if I give him an inch.

The door opens, cutting through the tension like a blade. Maxim strides in, his movements hurried, but there’s a stiffness to his steps. He’s nervous.

“Mikhail,” Maxim begins, his tone deferential but strained. “We have a problem.”

Mikhail’s attention shifts, and I see the subtle tightening of his jaw.

“What is it?” my father asks, his voice cold enough to freeze the air.

Maxim swipes at the tablet he carries, pulling up a series of files. “It’s about the Orekhov shipment. Customs flagged it, but that’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?” Mikhail’s irritation crackles like static, his voice low and dangerous.

Maxim hesitates, glancing at me before focusing back on Mikhail. “The tip-off wasn’t random. Someone leaked the route. The details.”

Mikhail’s posture stiffens, his icy gaze narrowing. “Who?”

Maxim swallows hard, licking his lips nervously. “Kirill Novikov.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Even I feel its weight, though I’ve anticipated this moment for weeks.

Novikov. He had been my uncle Vlasta’s most trusted lieutenant, a man who held sway over strategy and alliances, a figure of respect within the Ivanov syndicate. But when Mikhail took over, he demoted Novikov to logistics overseer, a role that seemed essential on paper but was a clear insult. Stripped of influence and prestige, Novikov was reduced to managing shipments and supply chains, far removed from the high-level decision-making he had once commanded.

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