Page 4 of Hostage of the Russian
“Psychological torture,” Fedya observed. “Effective.”
“Exactly.” Kostya stood and moved to the window overlooking the city. “Hartford offered her as payment. So I’ll take her as payment. When he’s suffered enough, when he truly understands the consequences of crossing the Nikolai family, then I’ll end him.”
“And the girl?” Fedya asked. “After?”
Kostya hadn’t thought that far ahead. He turned from the window, his expression unreadable. “I’ll figure that out when the time comes. Maybe I’ll let her go. Maybe I’ll find a use for her.”
“When?” Fedya inquired, always practical.
Kostya checked his watch, a Patek Philippe worth more than most people earned in a year. “Tomorrow night. She’ll be alone in her apartment. Her roommates both work the overnight shift at Northwestern Memorial.” He picked up a photo of Azriel and studied it once more. “Prepare the guest suite at my residence. Not a cell. Something comfortable.”
If Fedya found this instruction unusual, he didn’t show it. He simply nodded. “Anything else?”
Kostya set the photo down and reached for his phone. “Tell Viktor to increase the guards on Hartford. No mistakes. I want him alive to receive the news when we take his daughter.”
As Fedya departed to carry out his instructions, Kostya returned to the window, watching the city lights flicker beneath a gathering storm. Tomorrow, he would claim his payment. Tomorrow, Danny Hartford would learn what it truly meant to cross a Nikolai.
He thought of the girl, Azriel, with her fierce eyes and clear determination. Taking her had been conceived as an act of revenge, a way to punish her father. But as Kostya studied her file and photos, he found himself unexpectedly intrigued by her. There was something compelling about her resilience and her stubborn independence despite the hardships she had faced.
For the first time in years, Kostya felt a spark of genuine curiosity about a woman beyond the superficial attraction he typically experienced. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that made him both uneasy and eager for their inevitable meeting.
This payment, he realized, might prove far more interesting than he had initially anticipated.
Chapter 2 - Azriel
Freedom tasted like coffee grounds and the pages of textbooks. Azriel Hartford breathed in the familiar scents of the campus library, savoring the quiet hum of academic pursuit around her. Five months in Chicago, and the novelty hadn’t worn off—the anonymity of being just another face in the crowd, the structured rhythm of university life, the absence of fear that had defined her childhood.
She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and returned her attention to her Constitutional Law textbook. Final year. Just one more semester after this one, and she would have her degree. Five years of relentless work, first online classes while waitressing double shifts in three different states, then finally here, physically present for her final year at Northwestern because she’d wanted, just once, to experience what normal students did.
The library began to empty as evening settled in. Azriel checked her watch; it was nearly eight. Time to head back to her apartment. Her roommates, both nursing students, would soon be starting their overnight shifts at Northwestern Memorial, leaving her with blessed quiet for her studies.
Outside, the April evening carried the promise of approaching spring, though Chicago’s temperamental weather still clung to winter’s chill. Azriel pulled her jacket tighter around her slender frame as she walked the fifteen minutes to her off-campus apartment, mentally organizing the work ahead: a constitutional law paper due on Friday, a criminal procedure exam on Monday, and a shift at the coffee shop tomorrow afternoon.
Her apartment building was nothing impressive; a three-story walk-up in a neighborhood populated mostly by students and young professionals starting their careers. The rent was affordable with her scholarship stipend and coffee shop wages, especially split three ways. More importantly, the landlord hadn’t asked too many questions when she’d applied with a limited credit history and no cosigner.
Azriel unlocked the door to Unit 1C, immediately greeted by the sound of her roommates preparing for their shifts.
“Hey, Az,” called Mina from the bathroom, where she was pinning her dark hair into a neat bun. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge if you want it.”
“Thanks,” Azriel responded, dropping her heavy backpack by the small kitchen table. “Big night ahead?”
“Trauma rotation,” Mina grimaced. “Pray for me.”
Jen emerged from her bedroom in scrubs, looking equally apprehensive. “We won’t be back till eight tomorrow morning. Try not to have too much fun without us.”
Azriel snorted. “Yes, because my wild parties are legendary.” She gestured to her backpack. “Just me and Justice Scalia’s dissenting opinions tonight.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Jen laughed. “There’s also wine in the fridge if Scalia gets to be too much.”
After quick goodbyes, her roommates departed, and blessed silence descended on the apartment. Azriel reheated the pasta, poured herself a glass of water, and settled at the kitchen table with her textbooks spread around her.
Two hours later, eyes burning from reading case studies, she decided to take a break. Stretching her arms overhead, Azriel padded to her small bedroom, changing into comfortable sweatsand an oversized Northwestern hoodie. She lay back on her bed, just for a moment, staring at the ceiling and allowing herself a rare moment of pride.
She had done this. Despite everything—despite her father’s best efforts to crush her spirit, despite the system that had failed her repeatedly until she took matters into her own hands at sixteen—she was here. Months away from earning a law degree. On her own terms.
Her father. Danny Hartford. The name still conjured a complex mixture of emotions: fear, anger, grief for what should have been. Five years since she’d last seen him, since she’d escaped that house in the middle of the night with nothing but a backpack and the bruises he’d left as a parting gift. She’d changed her phone number, moved across three states, and used every legal avenue available to ensure he couldn’t find her. As far as she knew, he remained blissfully unaware of her whereabouts, still in Boston, still gambling away whatever money he managed to acquire, still working for whoever would hire a man with his volatile temper and questionable ethics.
Azriel shook her head, dispelling thoughts of the past. That wasn’t her life anymore. She had created something new. Something that belonged entirely to her.
