Page 34

34

Lev

I look up at the clock and see it is past midnight. I’ve been sitting here for hours, my hand moving slowly over Alina’s back as I trace circles into the soft cotton of her sleep shirt. Her skin feels clammy beneath it. She shifts occasionally in her sleep, breathing unevenly, her brow furrowed even in rest.

She’d gotten sick again after dinner—sweating, pale, retching up everything she tried to keep down. Her body’s still fighting, and she’s only a few months in. I sit here battling with the urge to punch a hole through every wall in this goddamn house.

If I could take it all—the nausea, the weakness, the dizzy spells—I would. Without hesitation. Without complaint. I’d bleed for her, break for her, burn the whole world down if it meant she didn’t have to feel like this.

But I fucking can’t.

All I can do is sit here and rub slow circles across her back, whispering things I’ve never said out loud, hoping that somehow she hears them.

That she knows.

Earlier, Viktor had cornered me in the hallway, jaw set like stone. “You should rest. I’ll have someone sit with her.”

I hadn’t backed down. I never intend to. “No,” I said. “She’s mine to take care of.”

He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to throw a punch or accept it- maybe both. However, he didn’t argue again. After a few moments, he surprised me by bursting into laughter.

“Welcome to daddy duties.” He clapped me on the back before walking off.

Alina’s breathing hitches, pulling me out of my thoughts, and my hand freezes. She shifts, murmuring my name in a dry rasp. I lean in before I even consider it.

“I’m here,” I whisper.

Her eyes blink open, heavy-lidded and dazed. “I’m so hot… my throat—”

“I’ve got you,” I say instantly.

I slide an arm around her and help her sit up. Her body feels delicate against mine, warmth radiating from her skin in waves. I take the glass of water from the nightstand and bring it gently to her lips.

She sips, then pulls back, wincing. “I just… need air.”

I nod and help her to her feet, gently wrapping the soft knit blanket around her shoulders. She leans into me, and my heart soars with joy that she trusts me enough to rely on me for strength. I push open the balcony doors, allowing the night air to rush in. It’s cool, crisp, and fragrant with pine and early spring.

Alina breathes it in like it's her salvation.

I guide her to the railing and stay close. I will always be near. One of my hands rests on her lower back. She leans forward, supporting herself with both hands on the stone edge, her eyes closed.

“Better?” I murmur.

She nods slowly. “Much.”

I study her in the moonlight. Her hair’s tousled, face pale, lips dry. But even like this—even now—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She opens her eyes, glancing at me. “You haven’t slept either, have you?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t plan to.”

“Lev…”

“I’m not leaving you, kotyonok .”

She leans her head against my shoulder and whispers, “I know.”

And for a moment, we don’t speak. Just breathe. Just feel.

Her head rests softly on my shoulder. She hasn’t said anything for a while, but I can sense it—something swirling behind her silence. Not fear. Not doubt. Just truth, waiting to be spoken.

“Lev,” she finally says softly, her voice still rough. “Can I ask you something?”

I nod, even though I already know what’s coming.

“Why did you leave?”

There it is. Not an accusation. Just a question. But it slices through me sharper than any blade I’ve ever used. I don’t answer right away. Instead, I watch the wind stir her hair and feel the weight of every wrong decision I’ve ever made settle in my chest. It’s heavier tonight, somehow. Or maybe it’s just because I can’t hide from it anymore.

“I thought,” I begin, my voice rough, “that if I leave, I could stop wanting you.”

She stiffens a little beside me.

“I thought… you’d move on. That someone else—someone clean, someone whole—would step in. That maybe you’d forget me and find a future without someone whose family name is as weighty as yours.”

“Lev…”

“I’ve done things,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. “Things you don’t even want to imagine. I’ve broken men. I’ve made people disappear. I’ve killed with my hands and laughed afterward.”

I pause. My jaw clenches.

“And for a long time, I was okay with it. I thought that was all I could do with my life. That all I could offer was violence, control, and fear.”

Her fingers curl gently into my shirt.

“But then you walked into my life,” I whisper. “All soft and fiery. All grown up and impossible to overlook. And for the first time in years, I wanted something I thought I didn’t deserve.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I sense the catch in her breath, that quiet hurt she attempts to conceal from me.

So I give her the rest of it.

“I used to run packages for Carlos Mendes from when I was twelve. Drugs, mostly. Small stuff. He had me on a leash. A kid with no last name, no family, trying to survive in a city that ate kids for breakfast.”

I close my eyes, remembering the cold of the basement floor, the blood in my mouth, the weight of that gun pressed against my temple.

“A package worth ten grand got lost once. I didn’t even see it with my own eyes, but I still got pulled into a warehouse by one of his men and beaten half to death. I begged. I offered to work it off. But they laughed.”

Alina is entirely still beside me. I can see her struggling to reconcile the teenager I was to the man now standing before her.

“He was going to kill me with no hesitation. I was just a fucking disposable pawn.”

“No, you are not a mere disposable pawn. You are Lev, the man whose blood is woven into the very foundation of the Makarov bratva here in New York.” Her voice is desperate and reassuring, as if to convince me of who I am now.

“And then Viktor came,” I say, my voice softer now. “He didn’t just pay the debt. He stood between me and Mendes, snatching me right out of the clutches of death itself.”

She turns to look at me now. I feel her eyes on my face.

“I owed him everything,” I murmur. “Still do.”

A long silence follows. Only the wind dares to speak between us. Then finally, Alina reaches out and gently touches the side of my face, turning me to her.

“You left because you didn’t feel worthy,” she says, and I nod.

Her expression is gentle yet fierce. “Lev, I wish I could go back in time and find that boy. I’d hold him tight and tell him it’s not his fault, that he’s more than what they tried to make him.”

My throat tightens.

“And then I’d tell him,” she continues, “to hold on. Because one day, he’s going to become the kind of man women fight to love—and men fear to cross.”

I shake my head, emotion choking my words. “You deserve more than a man who learned to live with blood on his hands.”

“No,” she says firmly, her hand still against my cheek. “I deserve you. The real you. The one who protects, who sacrifices, who stayed up all night just to make sure I could breathe.”

I can’t speak, so I don’t. I simply lean forward and rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.

“I’m not clean, Alina,” I whisper. “I never will be.”

“Good,” she breathes. “Because clean men don’t fight the way you fought for me.”

And just like that, something inside me breaks. And something else begins to heal.

Alina’s POV

For a long moment, we say nothing. Our foreheads are pressed together, and I can feel Lev’s breath on my lips, steady but tight. Like he’s holding something inside—something sharp and buried for far too long.

But it’s not just grief I feel.

It’s release.

His truth poured out between us like blood from an old wound, and now there’s only stillness left. Stillness… and the heat of the man who swore he wasn’t worthy, even as he became the safest place I’ve ever known.

I run my fingers down his jaw, over the faint stubble lining his skin. He exhales a breath that trembles slightly, and I catch the flicker in his eyes when they finally meet mine. I shift closer, curling into his side. He doesn’t hesitate; he wraps his arm around me, tucking me in as if I belong there. As if I’ve always belonged there.

We sit in silence under the stars, the wind brushing cool against my face, Lev’s body warm against mine. I rest my hand on his chest and feel the strong, steady thump of his heart beneath my fingers. It's the same heart that once belonged to a broken boy. The same heart that came back for me.

I close my eyes and whisper into the dark, “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to stay.”

His arm tightens.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I shift in his arms and look up. “Can I tell you something?” I ask.

He looks down, his eyes softer now. “Anything.”

“I used to lie awake at night, wondering where you went. Why you left. And then I hated myself for still wanting you.”

He flinches slightly, but I shake my head and keep going. “I tried to be angry. I tried to stop loving you. But I never could.”

He studies me like he’s memorizing every line of my face. “Why?”

“Because I saw you,” I say simply. “The way you watched over Viktor. The way you protected us without ever needing a thank-you. You were already everything… even when you didn’t believe it.”

He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine again. This time, there’s no weight in the silence—only a quiet understanding.

“You terrify me,” he whispers.

I blink. “Why?”

“Because you make me want to live for something more than violence.”

I reach for his hand and place it on my belly. “Then live for this,” I whisper.

His fingers flex slightly over the blanket that separates his skin from mine. I watch his eyes as they shift—something fierce and fragile flickers through them like firelight.

“I already am,” he says. “You and our baby are my only reasons for living now.”

The horizon begins to blush with the faintest stroke of pink by the time we go back inside.

Lev helps me into bed like I’m made of porcelain—his touch so gentle, it nearly undoes me. I let him fuss, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders, brushing the hair from my face like it’s second nature.

“Come lie by me.” I invite.

“Not yet, moya lyubov' ”

A small smile dances on my lips because Lev just called me his love. When I drift off, it’s to the sound of his breath, his hand in mine, his heart still beating—steady and present—beside me.

For the first time since that nightmare began, I sleep without fear because Lev Ivanov didn’t just come back for me.

He came home to me.