Page 12

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Lev

The house is silent when I step in. Not quite—silent. The kind of silence that wraps around you, rich and total, the way only a fortress like this can manage. I move silently through the corridor, the heavy duffel slung over my shoulder, brushing my hip with every step. My boots make no sound on the marble floors—I know this house too well to trip over anything.

Only three people know the estate’s complete layout—me, Viktor, and Zasha. And only the three of us have access to the underground vault.

I walk the path to it without hesitation, my boots whispering against the granite floor. I pass the casual sitting rooms and the soundproofed study, where Viktor conducts Bratva business like a monarch on his throne. I take the stairwell that winds beneath the east wing and arrive at the vault door—hidden behind a biometric scanner and a steel wall masked by false paneling.

I press my thumb to the scanner and wait for the soft chime to sound. The steel vault door unlocks with a heavy clunk, and the hydraulics hiss as the security lock disengages.

Inside, cold fluorescent lights flicker on automatically. The air smells like concrete and control. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the room—gunmetal-gray and perfectly labeled. Rows of cash. Lockboxes. Weapons. Passports. Blackmail folders. The real heart of the Makarov empire beats here, underneath this house.

I slide the duffel bag onto the nearest table and unzip it. Neatly banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills stare back at me. Four million, all from a quick portside flip we ran last week.

Once the money is stored and the vault resealed behind me, I climb back up into the main house. The lights are dimmed in most wings—security is on nighttime mode. The guards outside are on rotating patrols, and the interior team has been doubled with Viktor and Zasha out of the country. Viktor’s wife, Scarlett, and their twins occupy a different wing of the house. And I wonder if Alina feels lonely, given that Yelena is married and now living in Philly.

I shouldn’t linger. I should leave. But my feet don’t head for the front door. They carry me down the west corridor. Past the family library. Past the sunroom with its vaulted glass ceiling.

Toward her.

I tell myself I just want to make sure she’s all right. That she’s safe and not lonely.

She’s been distant since Yelena got married. Quieter. Her laughter doesn’t come as often. She barely looks at me. I tell myself it’s good—better for both of us.

But I hate it.

I stop in front of her door. Just for a second. Just to be sure she’s okay. The hallway is quiet, the lights soft and golden from the recessed sconces. I raise my hand and knock softly.

A moment passes.

Then I hear her voice—low, guarded. “Yes?”

I open the door.

And step into the room.

Her room is nothing like the rest of the house.

It’s warm. Feminine. Draped in muted tones of lavender and soft ivory. Shelves filled with worn books and delicate trinkets line one wall. A candle flickers near the window, casting dancing light across the hardwood floor. The air smells like something soft and floral—lavender and rain.

She stands at the far end, barefoot, in an oversized robe that slips off one shoulder. Her hair is loose, dark and falling like ink around her face.

She blinks at me. “Lev?”

I fucking shouldn’t be here.

But something about this room—the gentleness of it, the softness of her—it reaches places inside me that I’ve spent years burning into ash.

“I was just…” I clear my throat. “I came to check if you were okay.”

Her eyes linger on mine, cautious but curious. “I’m fine.”

I haven’t seen her all week. I've been avoiding the estate, drowning myself in work while Viktor and Zasha are abroad, locking down a deal. There’s too much on my plate to risk slipping again—to risk… her.

But I’ve been thinking about her. More than I want to admit.

I clear my throat. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t.” Her voice is soft. “Is something wrong?”

I almost say no.

I should say no.

But instead, I look past her. Her room is feminine and soft in every way that mine isn’t. There’s a faint scent of vanilla and jasmine in the air. Her reading chair is covered in a delicate cream throw. A plush blanket sits folded at the end of her bed. There’s a teacup by the window and a book half-open on the floor.

I’ve walked through fire.

I’ve carved enemies open with a smile.

But this room… this softness?

It undoes something in me.

“I just wanted to check on you,” I say quietly. “Make sure you’re okay.”

Alina tilts her head, curiosity in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Alina—” I begin.

But her hand lifts to touch my jaw.

Soft. Gentle.

I inhale sharply.

And then her lips find mine.

It’s like getting punched in the chest and kissed by lightning all at once. My heart stutters, then hammers. I should pull away. I should walk out.

But I don’t.

Years of pent-up frustration come rushing to the surface, and my hands grip her waist, my mouth crushes back onto hers. The taste of her sends heat racing through my blood, and my control finally evaporates.

Her robe slides off her shoulders, and my jacket hits the floor. We’re stumbling back, barely making it to her bed.

Her hands tug at my shirt, and I let her strip it off me like I belong to her. Like I’m hers.

Maybe I am.

Maybe I always have been.

My head is screaming that I shouldn’t be doing this. But my heart says I should. And it’s the most right and most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

Later, when her body lies curled beside mine, bare and soft and warm under the sheets, I stare at the ceiling like a man watching his world end.

She shifts closer, her cheek resting on my chest. I can feel her smile against my skin. “We’re finally together,” she whispers.

Alina

The knock on my door is soft, almost hesitant. I called out, “Yes?” expecting Scarlett’s familiar face to peek in, maybe with a question about dinner or in a mood to chat. Instead, the door creaks open, and it’s Lev. My heart skips a beat, then hammers against my ribs like a prisoner trying to escape. Shock freezes me in place. Lev. Here. In my room?

How did he even know my room?

“Lev,” I breathe, my voice barely audible. I’m frozen, torn between the urge to run and the desperate need to close the distance between us. His presence here, in my room, is dangerous. Forbidden. But years of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken words surge to the surface. I forget where I am and who I’m supposed to be. I forget everything except the way his eyes darken as he looks at me.

Before I can think, I’m moving, closing the gap between us. My lips press against his, tentative at first, but then he responds, and it’s like a dam breaking. His kiss is hungry and desperate, like a man starving for something he’s been denied too long. His hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard planes of his body and the heat radiating from him. It’s reckless, it’s wrong, but I can’t stop.

Lev’s hands move up my back, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he’s afraid I’ll shatter. But I’m not fragile. I’m on fire, consumed by a need I’ve tried to ignore for years. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing closer, my breasts against his chest, my hips instinctively grinding against his. His groan vibrates against my lips, and I know he feels it too—this raw, unbridled desire that’s been simmering between us for far too long.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged as he trails kisses along my jawline, down my neck. “Alina,” he murmurs, my name a rough whisper against my skin. “This shouldn’t—”

I cut him off with another kiss, silencing his doubts, silencing my own. I don’t want to think about the consequences, about my brother, about the danger of this moment. I only want this—him.

My robe slips off, and Lev’s hands glide down to the hem of my nightdress, tugging it up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I shiver as the cool air hits my skin, but his touch is warm and reverent as he pushes the fabric up and over my head. I’m left with nothing on; I feel exposed but not ashamed. His hungry gaze rakes over me, and I feel attractive under his scrutiny.

He steps back, and I look at his bare, tattoo-covered chest. His torso is marked with scars—each one a testament to his strength and survival. I reach out, tracing the lines of his skin, my fingers trembling. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper, and he chuckles, a sound that’s both bitter and fond.

“You’re the only one who’d say that,” he replies, but his eyes soften as he looks at me.

Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, his hands moving to cup my right breast, and he groans into my mouth. His lips leave mine, capturing one of my nipples, sucking gently before teasing it with his tongue. I arch into him, my hands tangling in his short, dark hair, holding him close.

His mouth moves lower, kissing down my stomach, his hands sliding down to the edge of my wetness. I’m trembling now, anticipation coiling tight in my core. I’ve never been with anyone, and the thought of him—of this—is both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Lev,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I—I’ve never—”

He looks up, his green eyes intense, searching. “I know,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be gentle.”

He kneels, his hands resting on my hips. His breath ghosts over my core, and I shiver, my legs threatening to give out.

“Steady,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing over my thighs. “Let me take care of you.”

His lips press against my folds, soft and warm, and I gasp, my hands clutching at his shoulders. His tongue dips inside me, slow and deliberate, and I’m overwhelmed by the sensation—wet, hot, and impossibly good. He hums against me, the vibration sending shivers through my body, and I moan, my head falling back.

One of his hands slides between my legs, his fingers teasing my clit as his tongue continues to explore. I’m a mess, my body tightening, my breath coming in short gasps. “Lev,” I whimper, my voice pleading. “Please.”

He looks up, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want,” he commands, his voice rough.

“You,” I pant. “I want you.”

He stands, his eyes never leaving mine as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants. His cock springs free, thick and hard, and my breath catches. He’s big, bigger than I imagined, and the thought of him inside me makes my heart race.

He steps closer, his hands guiding me back toward the bed. I sit, then lie down, my legs spreading instinctively as he kneels between them. His hands rest on my thighs, his thumbs brushing over my sensitive skin.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch. It’s tight, stretching me in a way that’s both uncomfortable and exhilarating. I bite my lip, my nails digging into his shoulders, but he waits, giving me time to adjust.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice concerned.

I nod, breathing through the discomfort. “Keep going.”

He does, sliding deeper until he’s fully seated inside me. I’m filled completely, his cock thick and hot, and I feel impossibly full. He stays still for a moment, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ghosting over my skin.

“You’re so hot,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “So perfect.”

He begins to move, slow at first, pulling out before pushing back in, setting a rhythm that has me gasping. Each thrust sends pleasure spiraling through me, building and building until I’m on the edge, teetering between control and release.

“Lev,” I moan, my hands clutching at him. “Don’t stop.”

He quickens his pace, his hips snapping against mine, his cock pounding into me with a force that’s both rough and tender. I’m lost in the sensation, my body tightening around him as I chase my release.

He thrust into me harder now, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Look at me,” he demands, and I open my eyes to meet his gaze.

His face is flushed, his lips parted, and I see the raw need in his eyes, a desperation that mirrors mine. “Cum for me, Alina,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Let me feel it.”

I can’t hold back anymore. My body tightens, pleasure exploding through me, and I cry out his name as I come, my walls clenching around him. He follows, his hips stuttering as he fills me, his groan of release echoing in the room.

For a moment, we just lay there, our bodies still joined, our breaths coming in sync. I feel his heart pounding against mine, the warmth of his skin enveloping me, and the weight of him pressing down. It was perfect. It is everything I’d ever wanted.

I lie in bed, tangled in soft sheets and the lingering warmth of Lev’s body. The air still hums with the aftershocks of what just happened between us. My skin tingles where his hands touched, where his mouth kissed. My heart is still trying to find a rhythm after the way he made it race.

For the first time in so long, I feel whole. Like everything I’ve ever wanted is finally within reach.

Lev is mine.

I turn toward him, ready to speak, to say something—anything that captures what this night has meant. But he’s already sitting up.

His back is to me, shoulders tense, muscles rippling beneath the skin as he drags his shirt on with rigid, mechanical movements. My heart falters.

“Lev?” I whisper, voice small in the silence that’s suddenly far too loud.

He doesn’t turn.

“About what just happened—”

“This…” His voice is rough. Raw. He pauses, his jaw clenching as he rakes a hand through his hair. “This was a…”

He stops. The word mistake hangs heavy in the air, unsaid but screaming in the space between us.

He can’t even say it.

He turns to face me, finally, his eyes stormy and unreadable. “This should never have happened.”

“Lev,” I said, my voice shaking. “Wait.”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn around. “This should never have happened, Alina,” he said, his voice calm, measured, like he was discussing a strategy, not our hearts.

I sit up, pulling the sheet around me, my chest tight with pain. “But it did,” I whisper.

He didn’t respond. He just opens the door and leaves, closing it softly behind him. I lay back on the bed, my body still buzzing with the aftermath of what we’d just shared, but my heart feels hollow. Seven years of longing, of dreaming, and it had all come to this—a moment of passion followed by regret. He kissed me like I was the only woman who ever existed. And then he vanished like I was nothing.

I close my eyes, trying to hold on to the memory of his touch, his kiss, but it is slipping away, like sand through my fingers. And all I can think is that this wasn’t over. It couldn’t be, but the silence that follows swallows me whole.