Page 11

11

Alina

It’s been a week since Viktor’s wedding, and the house has never felt this quiet.

Viktor and Scarlett are still on their honeymoon, and Yelena left early this morning with Anton to visit the hotel construction site. The contractors had sent in a bloated spending report again, and she didn’t trust them not to pull another fast one. Normally, Viktor or I would be involved, but I can’t stand dealing with the builders. They throw around numbers like confetti, hoping to bury their theft in the paperwork.

Yelena volunteered to go. She’s better at making them squirm.

My office in the east wing is quiet except for the steady tapping of keys beneath my fingers. A half-eaten croissant sits beside my coffee, long gone cold. The numbers on the screen blur together, rows of transactions and wire approvals forming one long spreadsheet of monotony.

It should be enough to distract me. It normally is, but since my conversation with Lev last week, I have found my thoughts drifting towards him more than usual.

And all I can think about is that night. The way Lev looked at me on Viktor’s balcony. The sound of his voice when he said, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Yes, I do. I know exactly what I want. And that’s the problem.

The memory of his mouth on mine has been stitched into my thoughts like thread through silk. It’s not going anywhere, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise.

I push away from the desk with a frustrated breath, dragging my hands through my hair. The cool air outside the tall windows doesn’t help. Neither does the silence.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing like that—just breathing, staring, thinking—when I hear the sound of my door opening and closing.

I already know who it is even before I turn, because his scent that is uniquely him has already drifted into my nostrils.

He looks larger than life, holding a thin folder in his hand. He’s wearing black again—slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the veins and tattoos along his forearms and the faint marks of old scars near his wrist.

His eyes land on me.

“Viktor asked me to drop this off,” he says, voice low.

“You could’ve emailed it.”

He places the folder on the edge of my desk. “Hard copies.”

I nod but say nothing. My fingers hover near the laptop touchpad, unmoving.

He doesn’t turn to leave. Not right away. Lev glances around the room, eyes trailing over the bookshelves, the neat stack of reports beside my desk, the untouched breakfast.

“You always work through meals?” he asks.

“Only when I’m avoiding looking at invoices that make me want to stab someone.”

A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. It’s brief, but it’s there.I look up at him, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. The air shifts. I can feel it like the weight of a storm rolling in.

He should leave. He came for business. He should’ve dropped the folder and left. But he doesn’t move. And neither do I.

My breath stutters when he steps closer. Just enough to make the space feel smaller.

“Alina,” he says quietly.

That’s all it takes. My name in that voice—deep, gruff, low like smoke. I walk towards him, nearly knocking the chair behind me. Lev doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay locked on mine, unreadable.

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

His hand reaches up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is feather-light, almost reverent.

And then he kisses me.

There is no hesitation. No warning. His mouth crashes against mine, and I’m pulled straight into the eye of the storm. I gasp into him, clutching at his shirt, fingers fisting into the fabric as he presses me back against the desk.

He lifts me onto it like I weigh nothing, stepping between my legs without breaking the kiss. His hands are on my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him like he needs this just as badly as I do.

When he pulls back, I feel breathless. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. His eyes say everything. That he’s been fighting this, and he’s done fighting.

Lev’s hand slides up my thigh, under the hem of my dress. My ears buzzes with crashing sounds only I can hear, but I don't stop him. His fingers trail higher, brushing over silk and lace, slipping beneath it with devastating ease.

I arch into him without thinking, without shame.

He finds me already wet, and his growl vibrates through his chest.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he mutters, kissing down my throat.

I nod, trembling. “Yes.”

His mouth brushes my jaw. “Say it.”

I swallow hard. “I think about you every night.”

He groans against my skin and then his finger slips inside me, slow at first. Gentle. Testing. Then deeper.

I gasp, my head falling back as pleasure spikes through me. Lev watches me like he’s memorizing every reaction—every breath, every tremble. His thumb finds the sensitive spot at the apex of my thighs and circles slowly, in rhythm with his fingers.

My legs tighten around his waist.

“Lev,” I whisper, lost in the heat.

He kisses me again—rough and possessive—as his fingers work me toward the edge. And when I shatter, he holds me together. My moan is muffled against his chest, my body curling into him as waves of pleasure ripple through me. He pulls his hand away only when my body stops shaking.

Neither of us speaks.

There’s only the sound of our breathing. The rush of blood in my ears. The fading echo of what had just happened. Then he steps back. His expression unreadable.

His hand lifts to his nose, and he inhales deeply, as if committing my scent to his memory, his eyes still locked on mine. And then, just like that, he turns and walks out of the room. No words. No promises.

Just the ghost of his touch left behind.

Lev

Viktor is finally back from his honeymoon, and I have to say I have never seen anyone glow so much because of a woman. He, Zasha and I are out having a drink. The private lounge at the club is bathed in shadows, illuminated only by a muted amber glow from the bar behind us. Viktor leans forward, elbows resting casually on the polished wooden table. His expression is deceptively calm, but his eyes flash with controlled fury, hinting at the simmering storm beneath.

“Roman's become a problem,” Viktor says, voice low and edged with steel. He glances at Zasha, then locks eyes with me. "He's using his customs connections to skim from our shipments—guns, cash, product. It has to stop now."

I stretch my legs, leaning back into the plush leather sofa, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "How loud do you want this message to be?"

Viktor's mouth curves slightly, a dangerous smile that never touches his eyes. "Make sure everyone hears it, Lev. I want them whispering his name as a cautionary tale. But do not kill him, he needs to warn others like himself."

Zasha shifts slightly. We risk drawing unwanted attention from the authorities if this becomes messy.

Viktor's gaze sharpens, pinning Zasha with cold authority. "Messy is exactly the point. Roman needs to understand—and so does everyone else—that betraying me is a fatal mistake."

I let out a soft chuckle, anticipation coiling in my chest. "Understood."

Viktor turns fully toward me, intensity radiating off him. "Handle it personally, Lev. No mistakes, no loose ends."

My lips twitch upward, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Have I ever let you down?"

His eyes soften briefly, the closest Viktor ever gets to warmth. "Never. That's why this assignment is yours."

I nod slowly, feeling the weight and trust of Viktor’s words. Zasha leans forward, still tense. "You need backup?"

"Come along if you like," I say lightly, smirking at Zasha. "Just remember, this isn’t your quiet, subtle type of operation."

Zasha shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "One of these days, Lev, your theatrics will get us all into trouble."

Viktor's lips curl slightly, the ghost of a dark smile. "Not today. Today, Lev's theatrics send a message."

Rising smoothly, I adjust my cuffs and meet Viktor’s gaze with quiet confidence. “Consider it delivered.”

The cigarette hangs lazily between my lips, smoke drifting upward in slow, spiraling wisps as I lean back comfortably against the plush leather seat. My dark shirt, sleeves casually rolled up to reveal the ink etched across my forearms, feels perfectly tailored—comfortable enough for casual brutality, stylish enough to blend into the shadows. The silver of my wristwatch glints briefly under the faint glow from the streetlamp outside, highlighting my relaxed grip on the gun resting lightly against my knee.

Zasha shifts restlessly in the driver’s seat, eyes locked on the warehouse across the street, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Viktor wanted this handled swiftly, Lev.”

I inhale slowly, savoring the burn of tobacco, then exhale smoothly toward the cracked window, my lips curling upward into a lazy smile. "I promise I won’t linger for tea then.”

He mutters something under his breath, but I’m already stepping out into the cool night air, stretching casually. This isn’t his call—it’s mine. A message needs to be sent, loud and clear. I cross the street, deliberately slow, savoring the anticipation.

Inside the warehouse, the air smells of rust and stale cigarettes. Roman sits behind a battered metal table, flanked by two burly guards who tense at my approach. Roman’s sneer curls up as he meets my gaze.

“Viktor sent his little shadow?” he scoffs, leaning forward arrogantly. “You don't scare me.”

I tilt my head, amused. “Funny, I'm not here to scare you. I'm here to have a conversation."

His confidence flickers as I sit across from him, placing my gun on the table with exaggerated care. Roman’s eyes dart to the weapon and back to me. “You won’t shoot me. Viktor wouldn’t—”

My smile turns sharp. Dangerous. “Who said anything about shooting?”

I rise slowly, pulling a blade from my pocket. Roman’s bodyguards stiffen, hands reaching toward their jackets.

I wink at them, almost friendly. “Relax, gentlemen. This is just a conversation.”

Circling behind Roman, I press the cold tip of my knife gently against the base of his neck. He freezes, breath hitching audibly.

“See, Roman, here’s your mistake,” I murmur softly into his ear, enjoying his trembling beneath the blade. “You stole from Viktor —which means you stole from the Bratva, and that also means you stole from me. And I really don’t appreciate people touching my shit.”

“It was a misunderstanding—” Roman stammers desperately.

My laughter is smooth, easy, but edged with ice. “Even misunderstandings have consequences.”

Roman jolts upward, desperate to escape, but I slam his head against the table, pinning him effortlessly. “Did you honestly think you could fuck with us?”

A guard lunges forward, but my pistol’s already in my hand, firing a clean shot straight through his kneecap without so much as a glance. His screams echo off the walls, and I chuckle softly, shaking my head in mock regret.

“Oops.” I lean close to Roman’s pale, sweaty face. “Now I’m just having fun.”

Before he can respond, I drive the blade through his hand, pinning it to the table. His scream is raw, and music to my ears. Straightening up, I leave the knife lodged there, patting his cheek gently.

“You’re lucky Viktor sent me,” I whisper lightly. “Don’t make him come for you himself.”

Stepping over the writhing guard on my way out, I emerge back into the night, savoring the lingering adrenaline rush. Zasha waits by the SUV, jaw tight, arms folded.

“What the hell was that?”

“A conversation,” I reply smoothly, climbing back inside and sliding the gun into its holster.

“You were supposed to keep it quiet,” Zasha growls.

“It was quiet,” I counter. “For me.”

I lean back, shutting my eyes as the SUV pulls away, adrenaline still humming in my veins. But it’s not the business I just took care of that I’m thinking about—it’s her. Alina. Consuming me from inside out. My hands are steady, but my heart pounds painfully. I know I shouldn’t want her. But damn it, I do. Even in the middle of a job, I keep seeing her come apart in my arms. Her essence is lodged in my memory like a fatal bullet.

Viktor’s voice carries through the half-open door just before Zasha and I step in.

He’s sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, a steaming mug of black coffee in hand. Alina is across from him, her legs crossed, a thick folder balanced on her knee. Her head is bent, dark hair falling like a curtain as she pores over the contents. She doesn’t look up when we enter, but I feel her tense. She always does when I’m nearby.

“Lev. Zasha.” Viktor nods toward the seats in front of his desk. “Glad you’re here.”

Zasha and I sit. Viktor looks tired but sharp as ever. The only sign he’s been pulling double shifts is the loosened collar at his throat.

He glances at me. “I heard you paid Roman the visit last night.”

Zasha tries not to sigh. “Tried to keep it quiet. But you know Lev.”

I grin faintly. “Can’t help it. I’m charming.”

Viktor rubs the space between his brows but doesn’t sound angry—just exasperated in that older brother kind of way. “You were supposed to keep it quiet.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But I figured if his guards are bold enough to make a move on me, then I could use them as an example for him.”

Viktor observes me—not with judgment, not with reprimand, but with understanding. He knows who I am and what I do. And he knows I’ve never let him down.

“No deaths?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not a single one.”

He raises a brow. “Pain?”

I grin wider. “A little.”

Viktor leans back, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “You and Zasha are going to be the death of me.”

Zasha snorts. “You’d be bored without us.”

“No doubt.” Viktor glances down at the open file Alina’s holding. “We’ll handle the paperwork fallout quietly. No noise.”

“Roman won’t make noise,” I say smoothly. “He got the message loud and clear.”

Viktor raises his brows. “Which was?”

I glance at Alina. Just a glance. Barely a second.

She finally looks up.

And everything inside me stirs.

“I protect what’s mine.”

Her lips part. Her breath catches. Her eyes widen, then quickly drop back to the file as if she’s suddenly forgotten how to read.

My pulse doesn’t slow.

I feel the heat in her stare even as she looks away. The air between us charges, heavy and electric.

Viktor doesn’t catch it. But I do.

And I’m sure she does too.

Why am I fucking playing this dangerous game?