I make it three steps inside before Monya notices me.
His gaze flicks up, and for a second, the room stills. Then—
‘‘Ty dolzhna byt ta devushka.’’You must be the girl.
His lips curl into a lazy, knowing smirk, and he leans back in his chair, appraising me like I’m something he might break just to see how I shatter.
I let the door click shut behind me.
Showtime.
I hold his gaze, my expression unreadable. My pulse is steady, my stance relaxed, but I make sure he sees the sharpness beneath it, the edge that says I’m not here to play games.
“English, please, Mr. Kuznetsov,” I say steady, stepping further into the room. My voice is even, controlled, but I don’t miss the way the tension in the air shifts.
One of the men near the wall lets out a low chuckle, but Monya doesn’t take his eyes off me. He exhales slowly, setting his glass down on the armrest, the ice clinking against the sides.
“You come into my house,” he says, his Russian accent thick but his words precise, “and you make demands?”
I tilt my head slightly, offering the smallest of smiles. “I like to keep things clear. No misunderstandings.”
His smirk widens, but there’s nothing friendly about it. “Misunderstandings,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word on his tongue. He gestures lazily to the empty chair across from him. “Then by all means, sit. Let’s be… clear.”
I don’t move right away. Instead, I let my eyes sweep the room again, mapping every exit, every weapon, every shift in body language. I can feel the weight of the tiny earpiece tucked beneath my hair, the silent presence of Sawyer and Ada on the other end.
I walk forward, slow and deliberate, lowering myself into the chair across from Monya. I’m in a den of vipers.
He studies me for another long second before he lifts a hand. The men exchange glances but obey, stepping out into the hall. The heavy door clicks shut behind them, leaving just the two of us. The air changes, quieter, but heavier.
‘‘I hear you’re on a mission.’’ Monya folds his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. ‘‘Tell me, Isabella, what exactly is it you think you’re doing here?’’
I move forward slowly, folding my hands together, mirroring his composure. ‘‘I think you already know.’’
Monya exhales, shaking his head slightly. ‘‘You think you’re playing a game of chess, but you don’t even know who’s watching the board.’’
His words strike something deep, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I shift slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. ‘‘That’s funny,’’ I say coolly. ‘‘Tsepov said the same thing.’’
Monya’s smirk flickers. Just slightly. It’s almost imperceptible, but I don’t miss it.
“Ah, Tsepov.” He leans back, lacing his fingers together. “So, you’ve been speaking with my old friend.”
“I have,” I confirm. “He said you’d be expecting me.”
Monya watches me for a moment, then nods. “Yes. He did inform me. But he left out one detail.” His voice drops slightly,gaze sharp. “What did you offer him?”
I keep my expression neutral. ‘‘He offered me something.’’
Monya lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if I’ve just said something amusing. “Is that what he told you? That he was helping you out of kindness?”
I don’t answer, technically he didn’t no.
His eyes glint in the dim light, reading me like an open book. “Tsepov doesn’t do favors,devushka. If he helped you, it’s because he saw an opportunity for himself.”
I don’t deny it. ‘‘He wants a voice in the Vor v Zakone.’’
Monya nods approvingly. ‘‘At least he was honest aboutthat.But tell me, what did he really say to you?’’
I lean back slightly, measuring my words. ‘‘He said something is shifting. The lower ranks are disappearing. Shipments are going wrong. The Odessa group was targeted. He thinks someone is trying to unravel everything from the bottom up.’’
