Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

"In order to know your enemy, you must become your enemy."

― Chris Bradford

Volk

After my babysitting stint, all I wanted was a fucking drink. Or ten. Maybe even a good lay to shake off this unbearable tension.

I still couldn't wrap my head around how Igor had tricked me into becoming the nanny for his damn adult daughter. I needed an escape from this situation and from the venom this girl seemed to inject into my veins.

Fuck, I'd never hated anyone as much as I hated her.

I should have kept her tied up, just to give her a taste of what defiance brings. But no, I had to keep her safe, especially with Vlad's threats hanging over us, threatening to dismantle everything we'd built. Power doesn't come easy, and threats must be dealt with swiftly.

That's why Vlad had to go, sooner rather than later.

A grin crept onto my face.

I couldn't wait to get my hands on him. It had been too long since I felt excited about taking someone out. He was probably hiding in one of his mistresses' houses—maybe in the countryside or even Belarus, where his brother used to live.

I was the fucking king of this game.

Born a hunter, I could find anyone, anywhere. I just loved to toy with them a little before making the final move. Seeing the fear in their eyes, the sweat dripping, teeth chattering, bones breaking, and mouths screaming—that was music to my ears.

But first, I needed to go to the city and pay a visit to Marina. Her loose lips would spill all I needed to know—with a bit of persuasion, of course. I hadn't seen her since last July, after the incident with Lvoy.

It was his first day and his hazing. Sleeping with an experienced whore like Marina would be a dream for some, but it left the boy with a bruised ego and deep shame after he lasted only two seconds; hence his nickname, Dve. Two.

That's what you get when you fuck a merciless bitch with the biggest cherries I've ever seen.

Marina was the queen of gossip. If you needed dirt on anyone, her house was the place to go. I used to mess around with her, not necessarily because of her skills or assets but out of boredom. She knew what I liked and how I liked it—a real convenience. But then she got too clingy and even asked Igor to work in the house as a cleaning lady to be closer to me.

I've never been the type to burn bridges, but Marina was like a siren, drawing men to her only to leave them in madness once her attention shifted to her next target. Once I made it clear that I hated clingy women, she finally backed off. She could be annoying, but I had plenty of ways to keep her quiet when needed.

I wiped the grin off my face, realizing I couldn't leave the other girl here if I had to go to Moscow. If Igor found out I left his precious gem behind, he'd cut my tongue.

I sighed again.

Fuckin' hell.

After leaving our little sheep upstairs, I headed to the kitchen to find Dasha.

When I intercepted Dasha at the gas station while Helena and Sofiya were preoccupied with food, it was clear she was prepared. Her bags were packed, and she maintained a facade of normalcy as she followed Dimitri to the parking lot while I was busy drugging Sofiya in the public restroom. Dimitri then took Dasha with him, leaving Helena behind in her car—drugged and alone, just as Igor had instructed.

Dasha always seemed to be one step ahead.

Unlike Helena, she understood that karma was real, and that the Silas would serve it ice-cold.

The smell of beef stroganoff greeted me as I entered the kitchen. Dasha's guilt often drove her to express her remorse through cooking or baking, or so Igor claimed.

"Go to her room again and I'll have you fed to the dogs."

The clinking of utensils stopped. I didn't have the time or energy to deal with her, and I could already feel a headache brewing .

However, Dasha was an important pawn in the game Igor had started.

She didn't know it, but she was the one who led us to San Francisco.

Helena had always been elusive, frequently changing locations and making her hard to pin down. Dasha, however, wasn't as meticulous.

For the past two years, she had been sending money to a cousin of hers, which made tracking her much easier for me.

I was surprised that Dasha was still in touch with a family member after everything she'd been through.

Her past was a dark one: her father had brutally murdered her mother and five-year-old sister with an ax during a drunken rage, simply because his wife had dared to put too many onions in her pelmeni. Little eight-year-old Dasha was found hiding under her father's car hours later. Viktor Rostava, a former soldier of the Russian military, managed to convince the authorities to rule it as self-defense.

She then spent the next few years with her father before starting work for Igor when she turned eighteen.

But then, she ended up betraying Igor and fleeing the country with Helena.

Opening the fridge, I reached for a beer and turned to look at her.

Dasha was an inconvenience, and her love for Helena's family had dragged her into this mess. Everything comes full circle, I guess.

She had nearly raised Sofiya, cherishing her as if she were her own, which was a jackpot for me.

The greatest fear people have is losing someone they love, and I could use that to my advantage. My eyes followed her as I drank, the cold liquid awakening my senses. With her pale skin and dark silky hair, she looked straight out of a Tim Burton movie. In her black, emo-looking uniform, she could be the next Hela in Thor.

As she stirred the pot, her eyes met mine.

"I found Dimitri with her," she said, adding a cup of heavy cream.

Rage surged through me. I set my drink down on the kitchen table.

I hated when someone dared to touch or breathe near something that was mine.

Or at least a duty of mine. Dimitri had been pushing all my buttons since day one. If it weren't for Igor's protection, pieces of his corpse would already be in Lake Ladoga.

Revenge is indeed best served cold.

I inhaled deeply. "The only job you have is to bring her food. Don't let me catch you again."