The Hacker (Chicago Bratva 5)

“What have you found out about Alex Volkov?”

“Nothing I haven’t already told you.”

“What about his taste in women? Has he dated much? What kind of women does he like?”

“He had a couple of girlfriends in college. Look like nice, normal girls. One played soccer, one became a teacher. Why?”

“Do you think he has real feelings for Natasha? What has she told you about him?”

Well, fuck. I haven’t exactly gotten her to open up about their past dates since I was busy stomping my feet like a toddler at the fact that they even happened.

“Why?”

“He just showed up at the Kremlin—alone. Maykl stopped him from getting past the foyer, of course, but he was throwing a fit about needing to see Natasha. Said he’d come back with a warrant to search her place if we didn’t let him up there to see her.” Ravil pauses, and his voice softens. “Lucy went down and handed him his balls on a platter.”

I relax a little. “Good.”

“She told him we have footage of what he did, and she’d be happy to send it to every news station in the city, along with every supervisor at the FBI, and then she told him to lawyer up because we’d be filing a civil court case against him.”

“Did he leave?”

“He left. But you need to have Natasha call him. Maxim and I suspect he’s the hero-type, and he fears for her safety. I want her to call him off before he gets that warrant.”

Of all the fucking orders from my pakhan.

Dammit.

“I’ll have her do it now,” I promise, even though speaking the words feels like choking glass.

“Text me when it’s done.”

“Da, pakhan.”

I stalk out of the office in search of her. I suppress the urge to bellow her name in rage and make her come running. This isn’t her fault.

Actually, yes it is.

I find her in the great room, standing at the giant window like she’s watching the raindrops trickle down the glass.

“Natasha.” Damn. I need to dial it back. It already sounds like I’ve come for her head.

She whirls, her beautiful eyes wide.

I hold her phone out. “You have to call Alex.”

She makes a pfft sound. “I’m not calling Alex.”

“No. You are. Ravil’s orders. He showed up at the Kremlin to see you and threatened to get a search warrant for your place.”

She doesn’t reach for the phone, just eyes it suspiciously. “So what am I supposed to say?”

“Just let him hear your voice and know you’re alive.”

“Fine.” She snatches the phone from my palm and opens her contacts. When she enters Alex, it doesn’t come up.

“Oh yeah. I changed his name to douchebag in your contacts.”

She gives me a withering look.

I shrug. “You can change it back to loverboy when you regain your phone privileges.”

She glares at me. “My phone privileges? Seriously? When are you going to get over it?”

“When my brother no longer has an IV in his arm and can get out of bed,” I shoot back, which is a low blow because one thing I am certain of is her despair over what happened to Nikolai.

She gives me her back, which does nothing to hide her face since I can see her reflection in the windows.

“Alex?” She sounds a little breathless when he answers, and my molars grind.

“Natasha! Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I heard you came to my building.”

“Yeah, I did. Are you hurt? Do the bratva have you? What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” she asks coldly, and I’m suddenly able to breathe a little better.

“Can we get together in person? No funny business, I just want to explain everything to you. You definitely deserve the truth. Could we get coffee this afternoon?”

“This afternoon doesn’t work.” Natasha spins, her gaze seeking mine.

I frown and shake my head.

A crease appears between her brows.

I draw a line across my throat for her to cut the call.

“Listen, I really don’t want to get together with you, Alex. You shot a friend of mine. You used me for your investigation. I’m not okay with any of that, and I really don’t care to hear your side of the story. Have a nice life.”

She hits end. “Happy?” She’s mad at me, and I can’t really blame her. I’m acting like a jealous twat when I have zero claim on this woman. And yet I still feel like throwing a teenager-sized tantrum.

I take the phone back. “Am I happy that douchebag is obviously still trying to use you?”

She winces at the words use you, and I remember the wound inflicted by her childhood friend. Dammit. I hate Alex all the more for pushing her soft spot.

“Nyet. No. Not at all. I’m not happy he’s still breathing, frankly, and if he weren’t a Fed, he wouldn’t be.”

Natasha blinks, color draining from her face. She takes a step back, her chest rising and falling quickly.