Chapter 4 — The Trap

Viktor

The phone buzzed in the dark, insistent, dragging me out of sleep by force. I cursed under my breath, fumbling around until I found the lit screen with Maxim's name flashing.

"Fuck, Maxim... if you're not getting laid, don't interrupt mine..." I grumbled, my voice hoarse, still half-lost between sleep and reality.

But he didn't play along.

His voice came through tense. Wrong.

"The woman from the bar—is she with you?"

That woke me up instantly.

I turned my head slowly, looking to the side.

The blonde was still there, sprawled on the bed, completely out cold, her hair spread across the pillow, her body covered only by the sheet.

Too quiet.

"She is," I answered, more alert now.

"Don't let her leave. It's a setup, Viktor."

His tone left no room for doubt.

Something climbed up my spine.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"Got it. I'll handle it."

I hung up without saying anything else.

The room felt different now.

Heavy.

Wrong.

I got out of bed, turned on the light without caring about anything. The brightness flooded the space harshly, revealing every detail... including her.

The woman stirred slightly, bothered, but didn't wake.

I walked over to the bag tossed on the floor.

Opened it.

Rummaged through without care.

Wallet.

ID.

I pulled it out.

Ekaterina Popova.

The name checked out.

But that didn't mean anything.

Not here.

Not now.

My jaw locked.

I grabbed my gun from the nightstand.

And went back to the bed.

"Wake the fuck up."

My voice came out hard, with zero patience.

I grabbed her arm and pulled without gentleness.

She woke up startled, sitting up fast, her face contorted, eyes wide, trying to understand what was happening.

The sheet rose automatically, protecting her body.

But I wasn't interested in that.

"Who sent you?"

Direct.

No beating around the bush.

She froze.

Blinked.

Breathed fast.

"I... I needed the money..." her voice came out shaky, breaking. "I didn't have a choice..."

Tears started forming.

But I wasn't buying it.

Not tonight.

Not after that call.

I moved a little closer.

"Who. Sent. You."

Each word came out lower.

Heavier.

More dangerous.

Her lips trembled.

Her gaze faltered.

And then she broke.

"Ivan Orlov."

The name dropped into the room like a sentence.

And in that moment—

everything made sense.

I pulled away from her and sat in the armchair, running my hand over my face, trying to sort through my head while everything started clicking together in a way I didn't like one bit.

"Let's go... spit it out."

My voice came out cold, no patience, no room for a half-assed story.

She pulled the sheet tighter against her body, as if it could protect her from something. Her eyes were red, watery, her face marked by fear.

And then she started.

"I work... at Ivan's father's law office..." her voice faltered, but she kept going, as if she knew that stopping now would be worse. "He offered me money to go to the bar... to leave with you..."

I stayed silent.

Just listening.

Just watching.

Every detail.

Every wrong breath.

Every tremor.

She choked back the tears but couldn't hold them.

"I needed... I needed the money..." the tears streamed down without control. "It's for my sister's surgery... I didn't have a choice..."

I let out a short laugh, no humor in it.

I don't buy easy.

Never have.

"Stop crying," I cut in, dry, already irritated. "You're getting on my nerves."

She tried to control herself, wiped her face with her hand, but her body still shook.

I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees, staring at her more carefully now.

Because this wasn't just about her.

It never was.

It was about the plan.

About who was pulling the strings.

And I already knew the name.

Ivan Orlov.

My jaw locked again.

I picked up my phone without looking away from her.

Dialed my father's number.

He answered fast, as always.

"Talk."

"We have a problem," I said, direct. "And it has a name."

I looked at the woman in front of me, still trembling, trying to pull herself together.

"Ivan Orlov. He set something up for Maxim. Go to Olga's house. The woman he used at the bar—she's with me."

The silence on the other end lasted one second.

But that was enough.

Because I knew—

this just got much bigger.

"I'll wait for instructions."

I hung up.

Looked back at the woman, still crying more quietly now.

I walked out to the balcony without saying another word, the night air hitting my face while I tried to cool my head. A cigarette lit between my fingers and I pulled the smoke deep, letting it burn in my chest.

Inside, the room still carried the weight of what had just happened.

I exhaled the smoke slowly, watching the city without really seeing anything. My mind was somewhere else. On the details. On what almost went wrong... or maybe already had.

The minutes dragged until the phone buzzed again in my hand.

Nikolai.

I answered immediately.

"You can let the woman go, Viktor." His voice came firm, no detours.

"Ivan was caught. He's injured, but alive."

I stayed silent, absorbing.

"He broke into Maxim's house with armed men. Olga got hurt... but she's fine."

The air caught in my chest for a second.

Olga.

Hurt.

I closed my eyes for a moment, running my hand over my face.

"Understood."