Page 23 of The Enforcer's Vow
The line goes quiet for a long moment. "When did you get so smart about this?"
"When I realized my brother was using me as a pawn in a game I didn't even know we were playing."
"I never wanted you involved in this," he admits with sadness in his tone.
"But you involved me anyway. You made me part of it the moment you decided my connections and skills were valuable."
"I was trying to protect you."
"You were trying to protect your investment in me. There's a difference."
"What do you want me to say, Zoya?"
"I want you to tell me the truth. All of it. Let me decide what I can handle."
"I have to go. I have a text to send," he says, and I know this is where the conversation ends. He's never going to tell me what's going on, and now that I'm in this far, I won't walk away. Maksim is hunting him because of that man who died, and somehow, Damir is to blame. I need to know if he is really the person who did that or if, like he told me to start with, he's completely innocent of it.
I hang up before he can lecture me again, then switch to my other phone and type out a message.
Zoya: 6:15 PM: Would you like to have dinner again tomorrow? I've been thinking about what you said.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. The response comes back within minutes.
Maksim: 6:18 PM: Yes. I'll pick you up at seven.
I put the phone away and rub my forehead. Damir is right about one thing. I am crossing a line. But maybe that's what it takes to survive in this world. Maybe the only way to protect what's left of my family is to become someone else entirely.
I lean back on the wall next to my door and sigh. Tomorrow, I'll sit across from Maksim Vetrov again, and I'll let him pull me deeper into his web. Because despite everything Damir said, despite all the warnings and all the fear, I want to see where this leads.
Even if it means I can't find my way back.
Even if it means I don't want to.
10
MAKSIM
The Metropol's dining room glitters under crystal chandeliers. I chose this place deliberately—not for the food, though it's excellent, but for the atmosphere. The sort of people who come here are another class of their own. I'm hoping it will send a message to Zoya that this is the sort of world she could belong in.
Zoya sits across from me in a black dress I had delivered to her apartment this afternoon, along with matching shoes and a pearl necklace that cost more than she makes in six months. She's beautiful in it, but there's tension in her shoulders, in the way she holds her wine glass. She's performing again, playing the role of a woman swept off her feet by luxury and attention.
"You look stunning," I tell her, and I mean it. The dress fits her perfectly, hugging her slim frame in all the right places. The pearls catch the light when she moves, drawing attention to her collarbones, her neck. She's trying to look overwhelmed and flattered, but there's intelligence in her eyes that she can't quite hide.
"Thank you. This is... it's too much, though. The dress, the jewelry, all of this." She gestures around the dining room with itspainted ceiling and gold fixtures. "I don't know what to do with generosity on this scale."
"You don't need to do anything. Just enjoy it."
She takes a sip of wine, and I watch her throat move as she swallows. "It's hard to relax when everything feels so... grand. I'm not used to places that require reservations months in advance." She catches my words and her eyes sharpen slightly before she looks down at her plate. "Will I?"
The waiter appears with our main course—duck for her, lamb for me—and I leave her question unanswered. We eat in comfortable conversation, discussing books, music, travel. Safe topics that let me gauge her responses, her interests, her reactions. She's well-read despite her limited formal education, curious about the world beyond Moscow despite having never left the city. There's depth to her that goes beyond the quiet money counter she pretends to be at the track.
"Have you traveled much?" she asks, cutting into her duck carefully.
"Some. Business takes me to various places. St. Petersburg, Kiev, sometimes farther west."
"What's it like? Being able to just... go wherever you want?"
"Liberating. But also lonely. Travel is better when you have someone to share it with."
