Chapter 3 Names That Burn

• The night air wrapped around Brandy like velvet dipped in ice.
• Midnight had long passed, but the city never slept, and neither did her thoughts. She slipped out the back exit of Midnight Maidens after her final set, the worn brick alleyway damp beneath her heels. Her breath misted before her, curls damp with sweat and humidity. The ache in her muscles reminded her of every spin, every stretch, every beat she'd danced to as though her life depended on it.
• It kind of did.
• The alley behind the club was narrow and long, a corridor of shadows lined by dumpsters, flickering bulbs, and graffiti painted in layers of history. Rain had come and gone, leaving puddles that reflected the city lights in fractured pieces. The scent of smoke and wet pavement clung to the air like a second skin. It was the kind of night that felt like a secret.
• She leaned against the wall, trying to steady her pulse. Not from exhaustion, but from that stare. His stare.
• The man in the tailored suit and icy eyes.
• Brandy pulled a cigarette from the inside pocket of her coat and struck her lighter.
• Once.
• Twice.
• Nothing.
• The flame sputtered and died.
• She frowned and tried again, shielding it with her hand against the breeze. The lighter clicked uselessly.
• "Here," came a voice before she could swear.
• She turned sharply.
• He was there—just outside the arc of the weak alley light. Konstantine. Still in his suit, though he’d shed the coat and rolled up his sleeves. His presence carried weight, the kind that shifted the atmosphere with silent gravity. The kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise.
• A silver lighter flared in his hand, the flame steady and golden.
• He held it out without a word.
• Brandy raised her brows slightly but stepped in, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she leaned forward. The cigarette caught flame. Their eyes locked in the glow.
• His irises were impossibly blue. Like ocean depths she knew better than to swim in. Cold, but not empty. Beneath the surface was a tension that buzzed—wound tight like a violin string waiting to snap.
• Her lips parted just enough to drag smoke past the filter.
• She leaned back slowly, exhaling the first breath between them.
• "You're just everywhere, aren't you?" she said, voice a shade amused.
• "It’s a good alley."
• "You know most people just leave after the show. Not lurk like… whatever this is."
• "Would you prefer I waited inside?"
• She cocked her head. "I think I'd prefer if you stopped staring like you’ve never seen a woman dance before."
• "Not like that," he said simply.
• There was something in the way he said it that made her breath catch in her throat. As if he meant it. As if she'd carved herself into his memory without even trying. She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away.
• "Do all men in designer suits prowl strip club alleys for conversation? Or am I just lucky tonight?"
• "Maybe I'm the lucky one."
• She smirked. "Careful. That almost sounded charming."
• "Almost?"
• "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."
• A beat of silence passed, thick with something unsaid.
• She noticed more about him now in the stillness. The jagged scar along his jaw, nearly invisible unless the light hit it just right. The callouses on his fingers, subtle, but there—this man was no stranger to violence, no matter how fine the tailoring. His shirt clung to his chest, rain-damp and taut over hard lines. He looked like the kind of man who’d been forged, not born.
• And he was looking at her like he saw through every layer she’d built.
• "You always this quiet?" she asked.
• "No. But I don’t waste words."
• "Oh, you’re one of those."
• "Those?"
• "Broody, unreadable, and very aware of it."
• That pulled a ghost of a smile from him.
• "You’re observant."
• "I’m a dancer. I make a living reading people."
• She took another drag, eyes narrowing. "So what are you doing here, really? You don’t seem like the type who needs to pay for attention."
• He stepped closer. "What if I said I wasn’t here for attention?"
• Their breath mingled in the space between them.
• "What’s your name?" she asked, more breath than voice.
• He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her face. The curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow, the slight tremor in her fingers.
• Then finally—
• "Konstantine."
• The cigarette nearly fell from her fingers.
• She blinked.
• "Konstantine... Volkova?"
• He didn’t smile. Just nodded once.
• Her pulse stuttered.
• Now the name had weight. Recognition bloomed with the force of a slap.
• CEO of Volkova Holdings.
• She’d seen him once in a news clip, standing next to a senator. She hadn’t put the face to the name—he’d been in profile, shadowed, untouchable.
• But now, up close, it was undeniable.
• He wasn’t just some stranger in a suit. He was one of the most powerful and feared men in New York. A man who had sat beside politicians and criminals alike. A name whispered in boardrooms and alleyways with equal parts awe and caution.
• "You're him," she said, almost to herself.
• "I was expecting something more original," he replied dryly.
• "I was expecting someone older. Less… broody."
• He chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. "Disappointed?"
• She took a slow drag. "Terrified."
• He stepped closer, his voice like smoke. "Don’t be."
• She met his eyes, heartbeat thundering. "You shouldn't be here."
• "And yet here I am."
• Brandy dropped the cigarette to the wet concrete and crushed it beneath her heel.
• "Goodnight, Konstantine."
• She didn’t wait for a reply. Her heels echoed down the alley, leaving him in the flickering light, watching her go.
• He didn’t move.
• Grigori appeared a minute later, falling into step beside him, tucking his phone into his jacket.
• "She recognized you."
• "Eventually," Konstantine said quietly.
• "And?"
• Konstantine’s gaze lingered on the corner where she disappeared.
• The space she left behind felt too still.
• "And now I want to know everything about her."
• Grigori raised a brow. "Since when do you care who they are?"
• "Since she danced like she was bleeding. Since she looked at me like she wanted to hate me but didn’t."
• Grigori gave a long exhale. "You’re slipping."
• "Maybe," Konstantine muttered. "Or maybe I’m just finally awake."
• Rain began to fall again, soft as secrets. But Konstantine stayed there, eyes on the alley’s mouth like it might give her back.
• Whatever this was—it wasn’t over.
• It was just beginning.