Page 15 of Beautiful Agony

It's almostfour o'clock when Demyon walks into my office with bags under his eyes.

"Good news?"

"The best." His voice carries a rare note of satisfaction. "The docks were still active when we hit them. Found shipping containers full of women being processed for 'distribution.' Over a hundred of them."

I look up from my papers. "How many of Kirsan's men?"

"Twenty-three. All eliminated." Demyon's face hardens. "Bastards had no idea we came down on them until it was too late."

My fingers trace the bandage on my hand. "And the women?"

"Mostly Tuvans, some Kazakhs." Demyon's jaw clenches. "And more Kirghiz than we usually find."

I lean back in my chair, studying the ceiling. Over a hundred women saved. It should feel like a victory. But it doesn't, and I know why.

I can't help think about the women used as human shields by Sayanaa's men. The ones that were executed before I had a chance to rescue them.

"What about you?"

"Nothing but bad news." I trace the rim of my empty glass. "Starting with the fact that Olga has thrown in with Kirsan."

"Chto?" Demyon straightens. "How can you be sure?"

"Because she helped Lacey escape Pankration the same way she helped my mother escape thirty-six years ago." The words taste bitter. "Through the conservatory's back door. The one blind spot in all our security cameras."

"And delivered her straight to Kirsan and his psychotic daughter." Demyon's face darkens with understanding. "Suka."

"That's not even the worst part." I lean forward, hands clasped. "Sayanaa knew exactly how to get under my skin. She knew I'd trace her call, knew I'd come charging in like a fucking idiot the moment she threatened Lacey."

"She laid a trap for you."

"And I almost walked right into it."

Demyon sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Sayanaa's craftier than her father. Maybe we've been underestimating her this whole time."

I don't respond. My mind keeps drifting to the marks on Lacey's neck—marksIput there. The image haunts me: purple bruises blooming across her delicate skin.

My stomach churns at the memory.

I think of her hand sliding into mine as Serena left. That simple gesture felt different. It felt almost mechanical. Just her fingers intertwined with mine, but without any of the emotional comfort either of us have come to expect.

"The reports can wait until tomorrow," I tell Demyon, my voice rougher than intended. "I need..."

I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Need what? Forgiveness? Absolution? Sympathy that I don't deserve?

Demyon nods, and his eyes soften.

"I found something else, by the way." He rises from his seat. "Thought you might want to have it."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that catches the light. It takes me a second to recognize it, but my heart plummets the moment that I do.

The necklace.

The one that belonged to Lacey's mom.

The delicate chain is broken, the metal twisted where it was clearly ripped away with force. One of the diamonds is cracked, and another one is missing.

My fingers close around the broken pieces, and I feel rage building in my chest. The sharp edges of the broken chain dig into my palm through the bandage where Lacey bit me.

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