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Lev

The air is cold, crisp, and sharp enough to cut through the thick flannel of my jacket as I step out onto the wooden deck of the hunting cabin. My breath fogs the air, curling in soft tendrils before fading into the early morning mist. Beyond the deck, the dense Maine forest stretches for miles—dark pines and barren branches clawing toward a pale gray sky. The only sound is the distant rustle of wind through the trees and the soft crunch of frost beneath my boots.

I bought this place years ago. Secluded. Remote. Tucked into the wild heart of Maine’s hunting grounds. A place to disappear. A place to breathe. When I’m not hunting down men for the Bratva, I hunt animals out here — deer, moose, bear — the closest thing to peace I’ve ever known.

But not even this place can give me peace anymore.

Not now. Not after her.

I grip the railing, my knuckles whitening as I stare out at the dark stretch of trees. My rifle leans against the side of the cabin, forgotten. Hunting used to clear my head — the quiet patience of the hunt, the stillness of waiting for the right moment. It’s what I was made for. Killing is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.

But Alina…

Alina has ruined me.

It’s been almost two months since I left the Bratva. Exactly seven weeks since I walked away from Viktor — from Alina. It's forty-nine days, but feels longer, like a fucking lifetime. I thought leaving would make it easier. That cutting the cord would rip her out of my head.

I was wrong.

She’s still there. In every breath. Every silence. Every fucking second.

I close my eyes, yet I see her regardless. The softness of her mouth, the electric blue of her eyes when she kisses me, the way her body felt beneath mine, and how I lost myself in her completely.

I was so fucking weak. But not weak enough to stay.

I left because it was the only way to protect her. I told myself that over and over again as I drove away — that leaving her was the only way to save her from me. From Viktor. From the fallout that would come when Viktor found out what we’d done.

But none of that matters anymore.

Because I can’t breathe without her.

My hand tightens on the railing as the truth sinks into my bones. There’s no point in running. No point in hiding. Without Alina, I’m already fucking dead.

I turn toward the rifle propped against the wall of the cabin. For a brief moment, I consider it. The weight of it in my hand. The clean solution of it. A single pull of the trigger. A quick end. No more guilt. No more longing.

But even that wouldn’t bring me peace.

I could leave this world and still carry the weight of her — not even death can bring me peace from walking away from her. I set my jaw and push away from the railing. I can’t live without her, and I sure as hell won’t die without trying to get her back.

Even if it means facing Viktor, even if it means dying at his hands. My pulse hammers as I head back inside the cabin. The fire is low in the stone hearth, with the soft crackle of embers filling the empty room. I shrug off my jacket, pull my phone from my pocket, and turn it on. I scroll through a month's worth of messages — missed calls from Viktor and Zasha. But there’s nothing from Alina.

Of course, there isn’t.

I left her. She probably hates me. But it doesn’t matter. Viktor could kill me. He might put a bullet in my head the second I walk through the door — and I wouldn’t blame him. But I’d rather die with her name in my mouth than live another day without her.

My hands are steady as I toss the phone onto the table.

I pull on my jacket and grab my keys. My heart slams against my ribs as I step out of the cabin, the cold air biting at my skin. I climb into the driver’s seat of my black Maserati and fire up the engine.

The road stretches out before me — dark and endless beneath the early morning sky. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I hit the gas, the tires spitting gravel beneath me. Whatever happens next — whatever Viktor does to me — I don’t care.

Because I’m going home.

To her.

My New York apartment hasn’t changed since I left. Same dark walls. Same sleek black leather furniture. Same view of the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s cold and impersonal — like a place that belongs to someone else. Maybe it always did.

But I’m back now—a different Lev from the one that left.

I toss my keys on the glass table in the living room and strip off my jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. My hands feel shaky as I loosen the cuffs of my shirt and drag a hand through my hair.

I’m fucking exhausted. The long drive from Maine was brutal, but it’s not the miles that have left me raw. It’s the weight of the decision I’ve made. The fact that I’m standing here at all.

I walk toward the bathroom, stepping out of my boots as I go. My reflection in the mirror looks worse than I expected — dark stubble lining my jaw, the shadows beneath my eyes deeper than usual.

I need to clean up.

If I’m going to face Alina — if I’m going to tell her how I feel — I need to look like a man who’s worth her time.

Not the wreck I’ve been since I left.

I strip off my shirt and step into the shower. The hot water pounds against my skin, scalding, but I don’t care. I brace my hands against the tile and let the heat seep into my bones. It washes away the grime and the ache of the road — but not the thoughts. Not the memory of her.

Her soft mouth beneath mine. The way her breath hitched when I touched her.

My chest pounds painfully.

When I finish, I towel off and step into the bedroom. I pull on dark jeans and a fitted black shirt — simple and clean. I run a hand through my damp hair, brushing it back as I head toward the kitchen.

I lean my palms against the counter and stare down at my phone. Then I finally pull up Viktor’s contact. I’ve avoided this moment for as long as I could. I know exactly how this conversation will go and what Viktor will say. But if I’m going to have a chance with Alina — if I’m going to stand in front of her and tell her that I love her — I need to handle this first. I sit on the edge of the couch, my pulse hammering painfully in my ears as I dial the number.

It rings once. Twice.

Then he picks up.

The silence on the other end is louder than any sound I’ve ever heard.

“Lev,” Viktor’s voice cuts through the line like ice.

I swallow hard. My hand tightens around the phone. “Boss—”

“How could you?”

The words hit harder than any punch. My chest tightens painfully.

“I—” My throat closes up. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Viktor’s voice is low and deadly. “You crossed a line, Lev. You know that right?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No.” His tone sharpens. “Don’t lie to me. You meant it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you slept with my sister.”

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

“You were like a brother to me,” Viktor says coldly. “And you betrayed me.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

Viktor’s breathing is steady. Too steady.

“But because of those years we had,” he continues, his voice even sharper now, “I won’t hunt you down.”

My breath hitches.

“But if I see you — if you set foot anywhere near me — I will not be responsible for what I do to you.”

My stomach clenches painfully. I grip the phone so tightly my knuckles ache.

“Do you understand me?” Viktor’s voice drops an octave.

“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

There’s another long silence. Then Viktor’s breath hisses through the line. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The line goes dead, and I sit there for a long time, the phone still pressed to my ear. The sound of Viktor’s voice, the coldness in it — it cuts deeper than I thought it would. I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees, hands clenched together; my pulse hammers in my ears. I should have known this would be his reaction. I did know. But hearing it is different from preparing for it. Viktor might kill me, but I’m not walking away this time. Life without Alina would be worse than death.

I toss the phone onto the couch and rise to my feet. I won’t go to Viktor right now. He needs time. He needs to cool off — if he ever will.

But Alina?

My hands tighten into fists at my sides.

I left her once.

I’m not making that mistake again.

My chest tightens painfully as I walk toward the window, the city glittering beneath the night sky. I don’t know how this will play out, but I know one thing. I’m going after her. And this time, I’m not letting go.