52. Kat

Chapter 52

Kat

So much for home, sweet home.

After being gone for what feels like forever, stepping back into my apartment is… weird. Surreal, even. The walls are the same, the couch hasn’t moved, and my favorite blanket is still draped over the armrest exactly where I left it. But I’m not the same.

Objectively, not much time has passed since I was last here. But with everything that’s happened, it feels like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes since I plopped down on this cream-colored couch. Sitting here in the middle of the day, in my comfiest sweats, a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one hand and a wine glass in the other, I try to convince myself everything is fine. Normal, even.

Spoiler: it’s not.

Nik and I are done. Finished. Game over. C’est fini . And now I’m supposed to forget him, which, shockingly, is not as easy as I’d hoped.

But it’s fine. Totally fine. Everything is exactly as it should be.

So what if the idea of moving on makes me want to gag? I’ll get over it. I’ll find my happy ending—by myself or, I don’t know, with someone else. It doesn’t even matter that the mere idea makes me want to die.

Honestly, I thought storming out of the penthouse would feel better than this. Instead, days later, I feel like a deflated balloon, sitting here trying to convince myself I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.

It’s normal to grieve. I mean, I didn’t just lose a man—I lost a dream. A vision of our future together, of my life with him. The what could have been . And sure, maybe I also lost the best sex of my life. But it doesn’t matter. I chose this. I needed this.

Still, the memories don’t exactly play fair. Like the night we met at the gala. Him in his all-black everything, looking like sin incarnate, while I stood there trying to act like I wasn’t two seconds away from melting into a puddle. Or that night he held me through my nightmare, whispering soft words in Russian like I was the most fragile thing he’d ever touched.

And don’t even get me started on the aerobatic flight. Little did I know I was falling from cloud nine, literally and metaphorically, even as I held his hands like he was the only thing tethering me to the earth.

Oh, and God forbid I forget when he broke Vladmir’s hand for me. Because nothing says 'I'm crazy about you' like assault and battery.

It’s almost laughable, trying to square that Nik with the one who locked me in his freaking tower like I was some bratva version of Rapunzel. But here’s the kicker: they’re the same man. In the end, you always have to take the good with the bad—except sometimes the bad is shockingly bad. That’s why I had to leave.

I mean, sure, the thought of never running my fingers through his ridiculously soft hair again makes me want to scream into the void. Never hearing his gravelly voice whisper something wildly inappropriate in my ear? Actual torture. But I walked away for a reason.

I didn’t get myself into this mess by choice, but I sure as hell got myself out of it. I chose me—my sanity, safety, and peace. And that’s what matters.

So yeah, maybe I’m miserable now, but it’s better than spending the rest of my life with him. Probably. Hopefully. No, definitely.

Nik might have been my weakness, but I can be my own strength. That’s why I have to let him go. He’s bad for my health.

And bad for my wine supply.

A soft, hesitant knock at my front door cuts through my pity party. Just in time, too—another minute, and I might’ve actually started believing my own lies. And where would that leave me?

For a second, I think about ignoring whoever it is. Pretend I’m not home. But that thought doesn’t last long. It’s probably A.J., checking in on me—or, more likely, showing up to celebrate cracking the other prize I snagged from the stronzo’s safe. A flash drive. Not exactly the legendary Holy Grail or the glittering treasure you’d expect, given the trouble I went through to get it, but hey, if it solves our stronzo problem, I’ll take it.

Before I made my grand entrance at Nik’s office to hurl the Flame of Mir in his face—literally and figuratively—I handed the drive off to A.J. She’s been busy cracking its password protection or firewall or whatever it is she does when she's saving the day.

She deserves better than me playing possum behind a locked door. Especially after everything she’s done for me lately. And honestly? I wouldn’t mind the distraction. A.J. has this way of making me laugh when I’m too far in my own head, and I could use a little of that right now.

I set my pint of mint chocolate chip and wine glass on the cluttered coffee table and shuffle to the door. I paste on my best fake smile, unlock the door, and swing it open, ready to greet my best friend.

Except it’s not A.J.

The smile drops off my face the second I see him.

Dmitri.

He’s leaning casually against the wall beside my door, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Calm, cool, and as infuriatingly collected as ever. His pale blue eyes meet mine, sharp and unreadable, taking me in like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved.

The smile on his lips doesn’t even pretend to reach his eyes.

“Hiya, Kat,” Dmitri says, breaking the stunned silence. His voice is casual, smooth—like he’s run into me at the grocery store, not shown up unannounced at my apartment.

Perfect. Just what I needed.

“Dmitri,” I gasp, my arms crossing instinctively. “What are you doing here? And how do you even know where I live?”

He raises an eyebrow, giving me a mock-incredulous look. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m here to visit a friend. People still do that, right?” He pauses, smirking. “As if I didn’t already know your address. Who do you think did all the digging when Nik wanted intel on the woman who stole his diamond? And, dare I say, his heart? Yours truly, of course.” He grins, obnoxiously proud of himself. “Now, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

I tighten my arms across my chest. “Didn’t you hear? The Flame of Mir is back with its rightful owner. My debt to your boss is paid. We’re done, Dmitri. We have no business with each other. So, get lost.”

“Right,” he drawls, unfazed. “We’ll pretend that’s true for now. Anyway, can I come in?”

“Why?” I snap. “Did Nik send you? You’re not here to kidnap me, are you? Because I swear, I’m not going down without a fight this time.”

His eyes crinkle with genuine amusement as he laughs. “Thanks for the warning—I’ll keep that in mind. But no, I’m not here to kidnap you. Honestly, Kat, I’m offended you’d even think that. I thought we were friends. Don’t you trust me by now?” He leans in conspiratorially. “For your information, Nik has no idea I’m here. If he even suspected, he’d probably have my head.”

“Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. “Nik would you get away with anything—even murder, I’d bet. Knowing you two, he probably already has.”

Dmitri grins. “I can neither confirm nor deny your accusations.”

I glare at him, but finally step aside with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Come in. But if you try anything funny, I won’t go easy on you. Consider this your final warning.”

He strolls past me, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’ll be on my best behavior. As always.”

Dmitri pauses in the middle of my living room, taking in the space with an unreadable expression. “So this is where the infamous Katherine Devereaux lives.”

I flop back onto the couch, waving lazily at the furniture. “Take a seat, or don’t. I don’t care.”

He smirks, settling on the opposite end of the couch. “I like your place. It’s cozy. Can’t wait to tell Nik I’ve been inside it before him.”

“Yeah, well, it’s no luxuriously designed penthouse, but it’s mine,” I say, shrugging. “Paid for with the fruits of my own dishonest labor.”

Dmitri chuckles, leaning back like he owns the place. “Won’t you offer me something to drink, Kat? Not exactly rolling out the red carpet, are you?”

With a shrug, I gesture toward the fridge, visible from where we’re sitting.

“Knock yourself out. Make yourself at home.”

“Famous last words,” Dmitri mutters under his breath, pushing off the couch to grab a drink.

A moment later, he’s back, a beer in hand. He plops down like he’s settling in for a long chat, his expression shifting to something unnervingly serious.

“Kat,” he begins with a sigh. “We need to talk.”

“No, Dmitri. We really don’t.”

“I’m afraid we do.”

“Dmitri—” I start, my voice heavy with warning, but he cuts me off with an easy laugh.

“Save it, Kat. That tone doesn’t work on me. Hell, it barely works when Nik uses it, and trust me, he’s way scarier than you. Especially these days. And yet, here I am. So, save your energy. We need to talk, and there’s no avoiding it.”

My stomach twists. “What do you mean by ‘especially these days’? What are you talking about?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t know. Nik’s been… let’s call it difficult since you left. Which is why I’m here.” He leans forward, his tone softening like he’s about to share some deep truth. “It’s time to come home, Kat. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist. I just... can't take this anymore.”

I grab a pillow and throw it at him. “I am home, dumbass. And let me remind you—no kidnapping. Ever again. Got it?”

Dmitri catches the pillow mid-air with infuriating ease, sighing like I’m the unreasonable one. “Relax, Kat. Nobody’s kidnapping anybody. I’m just here to persuade you to reconsider this whole ‘breaking up’ nonsense.” He even has the audacity to emphasize ‘breaking up’ with air quotes, like it’s some ridiculous joke.

“Well, that’s never going to happen. And for the record, this is none of your business.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this. It’s absolutely my business. But fine, agree to disagree. I’m not leaving until you promise to stop being an idiot and give Nik another chance.”

“A chance to do what? Lock me up again? Maybe throw away the key this time?”

“That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”

“No, Dmitri, it’s not. Maybe you should experience losing your freedom against your will before you decide what’s too dramatic.”

He holds up a hand. “Look, I’m not saying you should pretend nothing happened. Nik messed up. Big time. Even he’d admit it. Trust me, he’s painfully aware of how badly he screwed up. If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”

I scoff. “Nice try, but I’ll pass.”

“My point,” Dmitri continues, undeterred, “is that no one expects you to forget what happened. Not him, not me. But you can’t just write someone off because they made a mistake. Not when there’s something real there. Something rare.”

My throat tightens. “It’s not that simple, Dmitri.”

“It is,” he insists, his tone steady. “You love him, and he loves you. That’s all that matters. The rest is just details. Put him through hell. Make him beg. But don’t throw this away.”

“Did he say that?” I ask quietly, barely able to get the words out.

“Say what?”

“That he loves me. Did Nik actually say that to you?”

Dmitri’s expression softens. “He didn’t have to. I know him. And I know his heart. And deep down, so do you.”

So he didn’t say it.

“Well, I thought I did. I really did. But I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t,” Dmitri says, his voice gentler now. “You’re just scared. And I get it. But you’re not the kind of person who runs from what scares you. Not when it’s something you truly want.”

I shrug, avoiding his too-knowing gaze. “Maybe I don’t want it.”

“Bullshit,” Dmitri says simply. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. So you guys have problems—big deal. Who doesn’t? The way I see it, the only difference between successful relationships and failed ones is whether people give up. And I don’t think you’re the giving-up type.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And probably the most na?ve.”

“Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But it’s also true. And who knows? Maybe I’m speaking from personal experience.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

“Listen, Nik made a mistake. But you’re not perfect either. No offense. What you two have is special. And honestly? Considering who he is, it could’ve been way worse. He’s the boss of the bratva , Kat. You think about it long enough, and you’ll realize he was actually being kind of sweet.”

I glare at him, incredulous. “Did you really just say that? Do you seriously think this crap is going to change my mind?”

He leans back, an infuriating grin spreading across his face. “Come on. Deep down, you know I’m right.”

God must be real, because, mercifully, my phone rings, rattling on the coffee table. A welcome interruption to whatever nonsense Dmitri was about to spew next.

“Hang on,” I say, grabbing the phone. “It’s my friend. I have to get this.”

He nods, dragging a hand through his dark blond hair. I seize the opportunity to escape, retreating to the kitchen with the now-melted ice cream in tow. As I answer the call, I shove the container into the freezer and lean against the counter for support.

“Hey, A.J.,” I greet her. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she practically screeches, her excitement crackling through the line. “I’ll tell you what’s up. I fucking did it, Kat.”

I almost drop my wine glass but catch myself, setting it down on the counter with shaking hands.

The flash drive. She cracked it. It’s over. Finally.

“No way,” I gasp.

“Way,” A.J. declares triumphantly. “Honey, please. It was only a matter of time. You know I’m that bitch. Sure, sometimes I’m the bitch that drags us into mob-related disasters, but today? Today, I’m the bitch who cleans up her messes.”

“A.J.—” I interrupt, grinning despite myself. “I already know you’re a badass. Trust me. But what do you need me to do?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” she says, her words tumbling out in excitement. “Here’s what you need to know: I finally have the paperwork Camilla mentioned. And guess what it leads to? A freaking birth certificate , Kat. With Giuseppe Salvatore’s name listed as the father. Can you believe it? Men never learn. You’d think a guy who crawled his way to the top would know better than to cheat on the woman who made him boss. But nope. He fucked around, and now he’s about to find out. I love this for us.”

My heart races. “Holy shit. This is really happening.” I clutch the counter tighter. “A.J., you’re amazing. Where are you? You need to come over. Should we even be talking about this on the phone?”

“I’m fine,” she says, practically shouting over the line in her excitement. “You’ll see me soon enough. I’m on my way to meet Gianna and Lorenzo Salvatore. Can’t wait to bury that bastard. Oh! And here’s a fun twist—you’ll love this. The stronzo’s secret kid? Turns out he’s half-Russian! His name is Dmitri Ivashkov. Can you believe that? He didn’t even give the poor kid his last name. What a dick.”

The phone almost slips from my hand.

Dmitri.

Dmitri .

My spine stiffens, heat creeping up the back of my neck as her words sink in. I can’t help it—I turn, needing to confirm the impossible.

And there he is.

He’s so tall that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and when I do, my breath catches. His pale blue eyes—the same shade as the stronzo’s , I realize with a jolt—are locked on mine.

I don’t need to ask. His face, carved from stone, tells me everything I need to know.

He heard.

Every. Single. Word.

“Dmitri…” A.J.’s voice echoes through the phone, cheerfully repeating his name as she babbles on, oblivious to the storm brewing in front of me.

Every hair on my skin stands up, my body tensing as it instinctively senses the danger. The air between us crackles, charged and ready to snap, as he steps closer, an unfamiliar, cold expression darkening his finely sculpted face. Then, without warning, he grabs me.