Page 15

15

Lev

Why are these parties always so bright?

The ballroom is a sea of glittering glass and polished steel, filled with men in tailored suits and women in silk and diamonds. Chandeliers drip with light overhead, casting fractured shadows across the marble floor. The scent of expensive perfume hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the low murmur of voices and the soft strains of classical music.

It’s the opening of Viktor’s new hotel—the crown jewel of his growing empire. The guest list is a careful balance of power: Russian Bratva, Greek Elliniki, Columbian Cartel, and Italian Mafia. A precarious truce held together by a shared interest in wealth and control.

I stand at the edge of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey. My back is to the wall, my gaze sharp beneath the low lighting.

I’m not mingling. I never do.

I prefer to watch from the shadows, reading the room the way I was trained to. Who’s talking to whom. Whose smiles don’t reach their eyes. Whose hand lingers too long on someone else's arm.

It’s supposed to be business. Viktor wants us to project strength tonight—to remind everyone that the Makarov name holds power far beyond Moscow. And has claimed its place in the underworld of New York City. But my attention isn’t where it should be. My gaze keeps sliding towards Alina.

She is standing across the room, her back to me, wearing a dark red dress that shimmers beneath the crystal light. It’s fitted and low-cut at the back, the thin straps resting on her smooth, bare shoulders. Her long black hair spills down her back in soft waves.

She’s laughing at something her current admirer said. Her head tilts back slightly, the curve of her neck exposed.

My jaw tightens to match my grip on the whiskey glass.

I’ve been doing my best to avoid her since she started pulling away from me. But it’s been hell. Seeing her every day at Viktor’s estate, passing her in the hallway, and hearing her quiet voice when she speaks to Viktor has been pure torture.

I’ve told myself it’s for the best. That this distance is necessary. That I’m protecting her—from myself and freeing her to have the kind of future she was born to have.

But it doesn’t feel like protection now. It feels like punishment. And the worst part is—she’s finally stopped looking at me. For years, Alina watched me like I was the only thing in the room. But now? Her gaze skims past me like I’m nothing. Like I never mattered. It’s exactly what I wanted. So why does it feel like my heart is stopping?

A flash of movement catches my attention, and I see the same Greek who had flirted with Alina at Yelena’s wedding. He’s standing too close to her now, his hand brushing against her bare arm as he leans in. He’s tall, dark-haired, and polished. The kind of man who grew up with money and influence and knows precisely how to wield it.

My jaw sets hard. The glass in my hand trembles.

He says something, and Alina laughs again.

Not a polite laugh. Not a fake one. A real laugh. The kind that makes her eyes brighten and her mouth curve.

My pulse spikes dangerously.

I tell myself to stay calm. There’s nothing wrong with Alina talking to him; after all, her twin sister is married into their organization. This is what these alliances are for: strength through connection.

But the sound of her laughter slips under my skin like a knife. I move closer, partially concealed behind a potted palm, just close enough to hear the conversation.

"You should come with me," the Greek says smoothly. "I have a private cruise boat. Open ocean. Just you and me under the stars."

Alina smiles faintly. "And how do you know I love the sea?"

The Greek’s eyes gleam. "It’s obvious. You’re a free spirit. The kind of spirit that shouldn’t be caged or subdued."

Every cell in my body strains painfully. And at that moment, her eyes meet mine. For a brief second, I anticipate her usual lingering stare—the silent plea for attention she’s given me for years. But this time, her gaze feels cool and uninterested.

She looks away first and then leans in toward the Greek and says, "Do you want to dance?"

“Of course.” The Greek smiles and takes her hand.

My world tilts on its axis as Alina lets him lead her toward the dance floor. His hand settles low on her back. Too low. And she rests her hand on his shoulder. Her head tilts toward him as they move together beneath the soft lights.

My breath burns in my throat, and my hands start to shake violently. I set my glass down on a side table with a sharp clink and take a deep breath to stay calm.

But then the motherfucker’s hand slides even lower. And Alina doesn’t stop him. I storm out onto the balcony, the cold night air slamming into my overheated skin. I imagine the damage I would cause should I stroll to the dance floor now and deck the guy. No doubt it will dent our relationship with the Greeks, but it will send a message to other fools to stay away from Alina.

I brace my hands against the stone railing, my breath coming hard and fast.

The city sprawls beneath me, glittering with lights. A cold wind rakes through my hair, but it does nothing to cool the heat crawling beneath my skin.

I tell myself to let it go, that Alina isn’t mine. She never was, and she is bound to receive a marriage offer soon. But the image of her laughing in the arms of another man is too much for even my cold heart to bear.

I squeeze my eyes shut and remember the taste of her mouth beneath mine. The way she trembled when I pulled her close. The way her breath hitched when I touched her. The way she moaned when I slid into her wetness.

Fuck.

I still want her like a drowning man needs air. And now some arrogant Greek bastard is touching what isn’t his.

My hand curls into a fist against the stone railing, my knuckles grinding painfully beneath the pressure. I stalk back into the ballroom, my gaze cutting toward the dance floor, ready to march down there and tear them apart from each other.

But Alina is gone, and so is the leering bastard. And for the first time in my life, I go into panic mood.

I stride toward Yelena, who is now seated at one of the nearby tables while her husband talks with some men. She could easily be mistaken for Alina if not for her tiny growing bump.

"Where’s Alina?" My voice is low and rough.

Yelena frowns. "She said she was going to her room."

My mind spirals darkly as a clear picture form in my mind: Alina in her room, the Greek’s hands on her. His mouth on her.

My feet are already moving toward the elevator, and I am halfway running. I slam my hand against the button. The doors slide open. My pulse hammers painfully beneath my skin as the elevator ascends. For once, I feel thankful that I am aware of how the rooms are assigned. I have this information for security reasons, and I cannot think of a better time to keep Alina safe from a leech.

I tell myself to calm down. But I can’t. The elevator opens on the top floor, and I stride down the hallway, my footsteps sharp against the polished marble. I am breathing hard when I arrive at Alina’s door.

Just as my hand hovers over the handle, I change my mind and pull out my master keycard. I push the door open to find Alina standing by the window, already changed and wearing a black lace lingerie set.

Her silk robe hangs loosely off her shoulders, and she freezes when she sees me.

"Lev?"

I scan the room, and it’s empty.

"Where is he?" My voice is dark, sharp as glass.

Alina’s brows furrow. "Who?"

"The Greek."

“Why would he be here?”

“Because the both of you disappeared from the party.”

Alina’s lips part—but before she can speak, my gaze drops to her exposed skin.

My mouth hardens. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Alina’s cheeks flush, but her chin lifts. "Why would I do such a thing?"

My chest tightens. "Alina—"

"Say it, Lev," she whispers. "Admit you care."

My jaw clenches painfully.

"You have no idea what you’re asking for."

Alina steps closer. "I do."

My breath leaves me in a sharp exhale as I watch her invade my space.