Page 55 of Rafi

“Vasili Teskin. It’s a name I never thought I’d hear again,” she confides.

“What does he mean to you?”

“Nothing. He means absolutely nothing. Except maybe the cost of a bullet.”

Vasili Teskin. The name is a grenade. It lands in the middle of my thoughts and explodes, scattering every ounce of focus I’ve managed to hold onto.

I glance at her, trying to read her face. Her gray eyes flash with a mixture of fury and uncertainty, but there’s no mistaking the weight of her pain.

Her expression doesn’t shift, but the way she clenches her fists tells me she’s holding something back. Maybe a scream. Maybe tears. Maybe both. I’ve seen Tayana at her worst—raw, broken, vicious—but this moment feels different. The silence stretches between us, taut as a bowstring.

I can’t claim to understand her justifications for hating her uncle. Maybe she blames him for everything—her mother’s death, the attack on her, the years of living in fear. She was fourteen. A trauma like that twists your mind in ways you can’tuntangle. But it’s not her grudge against her uncle that gnaws at me now. No, that honor goes to her other nightmare.

Vasili Teskin.

The man who killed her mother.

The man who vanished into the night, leaving a trail of blood and ruin. Some say the Aslanovs found him, buried him under a Siberian winter, and wiped their hands clean. But now we know better. If he’s out there buying weapons, dealing in flesh, and organizing hits, then he’s alive. Thriving, even. The realization sits like a lead weight in my chest.

Seattle’s underworld hums with his name. Leo’s people are digging, Lucky’s man Ryder is connecting the dots, and Brando’s wedding day massacre points to one man and one man only—Teskin. A retaliation for the lost cargo. The timeline fits too well to ignore. But knowing he’s out there and actually finding him are two different beasts. His web of influence spans continents and cutting through it feels like trying to dismantle a bomb blindfolded. Every thread traces back to someone or something else, and always to FrankfuckingFalcone. If Frank were still alive, I’d kill him again just for good measure.

But there’s more. There’s always more.

“On account of what he did to your mother, Igor Aslanov wouldn’t be associated with him,” I mutter, mostly to myself. Tayana hears me anyway. “The attack on your shelter? That wasn’t your uncle. It was Teskin.”

She nods slowly, the pieces clicking together in her mind. “The uniforms match.”

It’s the logical conclusion. Teskin’s soldiers made a statement with their precision, their ruthlessness. But why? Why go after Tayana after all these years? What does he want from her? The questions twist in my gut, unrelenting.

“What led him to you?” I ask, my voice low.

Tayana’s brows knit together, confusion clouding her expression. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “I haven’t seen him since that night. There’s been nothing… unusual. Except for you.”

I try to ignore the way her words sting, like a blade nicking skin. Instead, I watch as she sits back, her gaze going distant, like she’s searching through the recesses of her mind for something she might have missed.

Then, suddenly, her posture stiffens. Her eyes sharpen. “Wait,” she says. “Therewassomething.”

I lean forward. “What?”

“The week before I met you,” she begins, her voice unsteady, like she’s piecing together a half-forgotten memory. “I went to the docks for a pickup. Late at night.”

“On your own?” My words come out clipped.and she shoots me an irritated look. My jaw tightens as the image forms in my head—Tayana, alone on the docks in the dead of night. Reckless. Dangerous.

She nods, regardless of my frustration. “The man I was meeting… he was shot that night.”

I sit back, the weight of her words settling in. “Okay. Relevance?”

“He was shot in front of me,” she says, her tone edged with something I can’t quite place. Regret? Fear? Both? “And… I think it was meant for me.”

The air shifts, crackling with tension. I narrow my eyes. “What makes you think that?”

She hesitates, as if saying it aloud will make it real. “Because if he hadn’t leaned in to kiss me, that bullet would have missed him and hit me.”

Tayana’s wordshit me like a hammer to the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. My fists clench at my sides as a bitter taste crawls up the back of my throat.

“You’re sure?” I demand, the edge in my voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

She nods, her fingers trembling as she folds her hands in her lap. “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she says, her voice small but certain.

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