Page 66 of Vengeful Embers

I nod once, cool and controlled. “Thanks.”

“If you change your mind…” Her voice trails like a tease, but I’m already turning, mind racing.

As I head back to the elevator, my gut twists. The timing. The silence. The vanishing act. All of it tastes off. For a flickering moment, I wonder if Konstantin’s pulling strings behind my back. But that doesn’t make sense—he’s being watched too closely. I had eyes on him since I left L.A.

The elevator dings. I step in, press the button for the lobby, and exhale slowly.

No, this is something else.

Back at the Diamond Hotel, I swipe the key to my suite and step inside. The moment the door clicks shut behind me, my phone buzzes. Pavel’s name flashes across the screen.

“Da.”

“She’s here,” Pavel says.

“Bring her up.”

I end the call, toss my jacket onto the armchair, and head for the bar. My fingers wrap around the neck of the vodka bottle. I pour two fingers, swallow it in one long drag, and then grip the edge of the marble counter, breathing through the throb building behind my eyes.

What the fuck am I doing?

Ever since the night I spent with Tara Craft, my life’s been peeling apart like the skin from a wound. One night. One fucking night, and she embedded herself under my skin like a splinter I can’t rip out. I’d touched her once and couldn’t stop wanting more. She left before sunrise, and it took everything in me not to stop her. Not to chase her.

Since then, everything I was supposed to focus on—rebuilding the Dragunov name, reclaiming what’s ours—got drowned under her. She wasn’t just a siren in silk sheets. She was part of the fucking puzzle. She went from a seduction, to a liability, to the burning obsession that won’t leave me the fuck alone.

A knock. I drain the second glass and call out, “Enter.”

Pavel steps in, one hand guiding my sister into the room. Irina walks with her chin up, eyes sharp.

“Where’s your usual henchman?” she snaps.

Pavel looks at me for instructions. I nod.

“That’s all, Pavel. Close the door behind you.”

Irina stands like a statue near the edge of the rug. She won’t sit. Not yet.

My phone rings again. Konstantin.

I consider ignoring it, but Pavel opens the door again, just his head poking through. “Ruslan, take the call. Trust me, you're going to want to hear what he has to say.”

“I have to take this,” I tell Irina. “Sit.”

I step into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, hitting the answer button.

“You better not fucking tell me you’re in Vegas,” I growl.

“I’m in lockdown in my penthouse at my hotel in Los Angeles. How the fuck would I get to Vegas?” Konstantin’s voice comes through the receiver, cool and calm. “I asked my contact at Doctor Pollock's office to let me know if there were any updates to Irina’s medical records.”

“Doctor Pollock?” I frown. “Which one was he?”

“Fertility specialist,” Konstantin reminds me. “You might want to visit Doctor Pollock while you’re there and have a word with him.”

“Why?”

“There were records missing the first time I checked. They just surfaced. And you’re going to want to see them.”

“Send them to me.”

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