Page 67 of Hostage of the Russian
“I had contacts watching him, following his movements, waiting for the right opportunity. When they reported his location yesterday, I should have called Viktor and Fedya. Should have planned a coordinated strike.” He paused, the memory of walking into that warehouse still fresh despite the medication clouding his thoughts. “Instead, I went alone.”
“Why?”
The question was simple, but the answer was complicated. How could he explain the rage that had consumed him? The way thoughts of her father had poisoned every quiet moment, turning his love for her into something dark and violent?
“Because it was personal,” he said finally. “What he did to you, the way he talked about you when he offered you as payment. It wasn’t just business anymore. It was about making him pay for every tear you’d shed, every night you’d gone to bed hungry because he was too drunk or high to care.”
Azriel was quiet for a long moment, processing his words. When she spoke, her voice was carefully controlled.
“What happened when you found him?”
“He was meeting with Kozlov representatives, selling information about our operations.” Kostya shifted carefully, trying to ease the pressure on his shoulder. “When he saw me,he panicked. Started babbling about how he’d done everything they’d asked, how he deserved protection.”
The memory was crystal clear despite everything else being hazy. Danny Hartford, cowering behind an overturned table, his face pale with terror and desperation. The man who’d terrorized Azriel’s childhood was reduced to a sniveling coward begging for his life.
“He tried to shoot me when I got close,” Kostya continued. “Got lucky with his first shot, caught me in the shoulder. But his hands were shaking too badly to aim properly.”
“So you shot back.”
“Yes.” He watched her face carefully, looking for any sign of judgment or disgust. “Center mass, the way I was trained. But the Kozlov men opened fire before I could confirm the kill. I had to retreat.”
“He might still be alive?”
“Wounded, like me. Maybe worse.” Kostya’s jaw tightened at the thought. “The bastard might actually survive this.”
Azriel absorbed this information with the same calm composure she’d shown throughout the conversation. But he could see the wheels turning behind her gray eyes, could practically hear her processing the implications.
“This wasn’t the first time you saw him, was it?” she asked quietly.
The question hit him like ice water, washing away the last of his medication-induced haze. She knew. Somehow, she’d figured out that his obsession with Danny had started before their recent confrontation.
“No,” he admitted, the word feeling like broken glass in his throat.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago. At the alliance meeting.” He met her gaze steadily, knowing that lying now would only make things worse. “He was there with some of the sub-bosses, acting like he hadn’t sold his own daughter to pay his debts.”
The hurt that flashed across her features was worse than any physical pain he’d endured. She’d trusted him, had believed his promises about honesty and partnership, and he’d been lying to her face for weeks.
“You saw him and didn’t tell me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t want to upset you. You’d been doing so well, settling into work, finding your place here. I thought I could handle it myself, keep you from having to deal with him.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make.”
The quiet devastation in her voice cut deeper than any accusation could have. She was right, and they both knew it. He’d made the same mistake that had defined their entire relationship from the beginning, treating her like someone who needed protection instead of someone who deserved the truth.
“I know.” The admission felt hollow, inadequate. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel stood slowly, her movements careful and deliberate. She looked tired, older somehow, like the last few days had aged her in ways that had nothing to do with lost sleep.
“I need some space,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Time to think about all of this.”
Panic clawed at his chest, worse than any bullet wound. “Azriel, please. Let me explain.”
“You just did.” She moved toward the door, each step measured and final. “That’s the problem.”
She paused with her hand on the doorknob, her back still turned to him. For a moment, he thought she might change her mind, might come back and let him try to fix this.
