Kostya makes a sharp, derisive sound in the back of his throat. “I’m sure he helped. Probably bribed a few people for the interviews or used his 'rich connections' to set the whole thing up.”
I lock eyes with him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying. It’s a lot easier to get a scoop when your husband has that kind of money and influence.”
Yegor kicks him hard under the table. “Dude. Shut up.”
I ignore Kostya, turning back to the project maps. “Anyway. I know exactly which areas we should focus on. The SouthDistrict, near the textile factories - that’s where the most overcrowded student housing is.”
“How do we get there?” Yulia asks.
“I’ve arranged transportation, and I have spare cameras if any of you need them.”
“I’ve got mine,” Yegor says.
“Me too,” Larisa adds.
Kostya stays silent, looking bitter and out of place, staring at my designer lounge clothes as if they were a personal insult to his existence.
“We should move out by one,” I say firmly. “That gives us the afternoon for photos and interviews. We’ll be back before dark.”
Everyone nods in agreement - except for Kostya, who just continues to sulk.
We’re about to head out when Alexei walks into the room.
He’s clearly heading out too - dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tattoos dark and sharp against his forearms. The conversation at the table dies instantly as my classmates freeze and stare.
“Vedma,” he says. “I hear you’re going out. Where?”
“Just out. We’re working on our project.”
“Where exactly?”
“The South District.”
His expression shifts instantly, a hard edge settling over his features. “Everyone out. I need to talk to my wife. Privately.”
Larisa and the others don't need to be told twice; they scramble to their feet and vanish from the room before he can even finish the sentence. I cross my arms, feeling a stubborn heat rise in my chest.
“Alexei, don't start with the overprotective stuff. I’ll be fine. I’ve been to much worse places than the South District.”
“That was before you were announced as my wife,” he counters, stepping toward me. “Those streets are dangerous now.”
“I used to go into dangerous places all the time when I was freelancing…”
“And I used to keep people around you for protection,” he interrupts, his voice sharp. “You think I just watched you for five years and never intervened? Do you have any idea how many times I had people shadowing you? Even when you were kidnapped, I made sure not a single hair on your head was touched.”
I freeze, staring at him. “What?”
“You think you were ever actually alone? I was always there, Zoya. In the background, making sure you were safe.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely agitated. “But I can’t do that right now. Not with the tension between the Georgians and me. That’s Georgian territory - Dato’s territory. I will not have you caught in that.”
“I can’t live like this,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m trying to have a normal college life. I can’t back out of every project because of mafia business I never signed up for.”
He steps closer, cupping my face in his hands. “Vedma, please.”
I pull his hands away, trying to remain firm. “Look. Just send extra security with us, okay? We aren't going there to announce who I am. We’re just going to ask a few questions, take some pictures, and leave in an hour. That’s it.”
“Are you sure you’re only gone for an hour?” he asks, searching my eyes. “Because I expect you back in exactly sixty minutes. I don’t want to have a heart attack, Zoya. My heart can’t take it, and you know how I feel about you getting hurt. I don't want to see a single hair out of place.”