Page 5

5

Alina

One Year Later

It’s been a year since I last saw Viktor and Lev, too.

A year of torturous nights, of lying awake in bed thinking about him. A year of remembering the sound of his laugh, the way his green eyes sharpen when he’s focused, the roughness of his hand when he steadied me from falling.

I thought time would dull the ache. I thought distance would help me forget, but it hasn’t.

If anything, the ache has only sharpened to an almost physical pain, and it is a wonder I haven’t lost my virginity from slipping my fingers into my pussy while imagining it is Lev.

Now I’m back in New York, and it feels like fate is pressing down on me. Like I’m standing at the edge of a precipice. In a few days, I’ll be leaving for London, and if I don’t take my chance—if I don’t seize the opportunity—I know I’ll regret it.

I have to make him see me.

Not as Viktor’s sister. Not as a child. But as a woman.

I’m curled up in one of the oversized leather chairs in the house library, my legs tucked beneath me, an old book on ancient civilizations balanced in my lap. The room is dimly lit, the flicker of soft golden light casting shadows along the dark wood paneling.

I’m trying to read, but I’m not absorbing a single word. My mind is too restless. My heart is pounding too hard beneath my skin as I think how best to approach Lev.

And then the door creaks open. I glance up—and my breath catches in a painful, silent gasp.

It’s Lev, standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a fitted dark shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The first two buttons are undone, giving me a delicious peek at his chest. His hair is slightly rumpled, like he’s been running his hand through it. He looks effortlessly lethal, his green eyes cutting toward me beneath the low light.

“I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” he says. His voice is low and rough around the edges.

My pulse jumps. “It’s fine.”

Lev’s gaze slides over the room, assessing. Calculating. His eyes linger on the shelves before drifting back toward me.

“I was looking for the private study,” he says. His mouth tilts faintly at the corner. “Guess I took a wrong turn.”

My heart is racing. I should let him leave—I know I should—but I may not have another opportunity to be alone with him again.

Seize this opportunity, Alina.

“The hall is two doors down,” I say instead.

Lev’s mouth curves faintly as he steps farther into the room. My heart slams painfully beneath my chest as he crosses toward me.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

I glance down at the book in my lap. “Ancient civilizations.”

Lev raises an eyebrow. He steps closer. His gaze drops toward the open page. “Mesopotamia?”

I nod. “It’s fascinating.

“Mesopotamia,” he says, his voice thoughtful.

I lift my chin slightly. “You know about it?”

“A little.” His mouth tilts. “Oldest known civilization. Invented writing, right?”

I raise my brow. “I’m impressed. Mafia men are generally not bookworms.”

Lev’s mouth curves faintly. He steps closer. His hand drops to his side. His gaze lingers on me. “Reading is one of my few hobbies.”

I feel the heat of his presence. My pulse quickens beneath my skin. I sit back in the chair, watching him. Trying to pretend I'm an adult who is wise in my ways.

I need to act the way I want him to see me.

“You like history?”

Lev shrugs. “I like knowing how things began.”

I swallow hard. My eyes drop to his hands. His knuckles are scarred, the tendons taut under his skin. He appears relaxed, but I know better. Lev is never truly relaxed. Bratva men never relax.

He shifts closer. My breath tightens.

“Why are you hiding in here?” he asks.

“I’m not hiding.”

Lev’s gaze sharpens. “No?”

I meet his eyes. “No.”

Lev’s mouth tilts faintly. He leans against the edge of the table and hums, as if lost in deep thought. His voice vibrates low and deep in my chest. “You’re the quiet one, aren’t you?”

My mouth parts. “What?”

“Yelena makes herself known,” he says. “You… disappear.”

“I don’t disappear,” I whisper.

Lev’s gaze sharpens. His eyes glint beneath the low light. “No. You don’t.”

My chest tightens painfully. My breath feels too thin. This is it. My chance.

My hand slides up his forearm. My fingertips skim over the rough ridge of his skin. Lev’s gaze drops toward my hand—but he doesn’t move away.

My breath catches.

“Lev,” I whisper.

His gaze darkens.

I lean in before I can lose my nerve. My lips brush against his—soft, tentative. The taste of him is everything I envisaged and more. He tastes of cigar, whisky, and something spicy. His scent is dark, musky and intoxicating.

Lev stiffens. For a moment, his lips freeze beneath me. And then he kisses me back.

His mouth opens beneath mine, and I feel the sharp drag of his breath. His hand slides to my waist. His fingers tighten—possessive and hot through the thin fabric of my dress, and my heart soars. He kisses me like a hungry man who has finally stumbled on a buffet. I close my eyes to savor the heady feelings swelling in my brain. An involuntary moan tears through my lungs, and then he stops.

Lev’s hand tightens at my waist before he shoves me back—not hard, but firm. His chest is heaving beneath his shirt, his gaze dark and conflicted.

“Stop,” he says. His voice is sharp and rough.

My breath shudders. My chest contracts painfully. “Lev—”

“No.” His gaze flashes dangerously. He steps back, putting space between us.

“Why?” My voice breaks.

Lev’s jaw tightens. “Because you’re Viktor’s sister.”

“And why does that matter?

“You are also a child. Viktor’s baby sister.”

“I’m not a child!”

“You think not?” His eyes burn into mine.

“I’m nineteen,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m not a baby.”

Lev’s mouth hardens. “Viktor isn’t just my best friend, Alina. He’s my brother.”

“So?” I whisper.

Lev’s gaze darkens. “So that makes you my sister and off-limits.”

I stumble back a step, my throat burning. “I’m not your sister.”

“You are.” Lev’s voice is cold. Detached. “And even if you weren’t—”

My pulse stutters painfully. “What?”

Lev’s gaze hardens. “Alina," he breathes, regret that he kissed me back laces his voice. "You need to understand that you're Viktor’s sister. We can’t cross this line. I can't betray him—not even for you. And even if you weren't, I am also not a pedophile.

“I’m not a child,” I snap, feeling frustrated and fighting back my tears. “I can do whatev….”

“I’m twelve years older than you.” He cuts me off.

“So?” I demand. My heart is slamming painfully in my chest.

Lev’s mouth twists. “You think that’s not a problem?”

“No,” I say.

Lev’s gaze sharpens. His mouth curves faintly—but there’s no humor in it. “You know what I see when I look at you?” His voice is quiet.

My breath stutters painfully. “What?”

Lev’s eyes darken. His jaw clenches. “I see a child trying to taste forbidden waters.”

I stumble back a step.

“You’re not only like a sister to me,” Lev says coldly. “You’re also like a daughter to me.”

His words hit like a slap.

My breath shudders painfully. My heart cracks open beneath my chest.

“You don’t mean that,” I whisper.

“I do,” Lev replies, his gaze stern and cold. “You’re Viktor’s responsibility, which makes you my responsibility, too.”

My throat burns. “You’re not that much older than me.”

Lev tilts an eyebrow.

“Twelve years is not enough to make you feel old enough to birth me.”

Lev’s mouth tilts faintly. “Feels like it.”

“Well, you’re not old enough to be my father.”

Lev’s gaze hardens. “It doesn’t matter.”

Tears burn behind my eyes. “But you kissed me back.”

“That was a mistake.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

Lev’s jaw flexes. His gaze burns into mine. “I’m stopping you now.”

My hands curl into fists. “So that’s it?”

Lev’s gaze remains cold and detached. “Yup, this is it.”

My chest constricts painfully.

Lev steps back. His eyes darken. “Forget it happened,” he says. His voice is low. Final.

“Lev—”

“It meant nothing.”

My throat tightens painfully. Tears sting my eyes as Lev turns toward the door. My breath shudders painfully as I press my face against my folded arms. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

You’re like a daughter to me.

The words cut deeper than any blade. They echo through my mind, slicing into me with cruel precision. I thought if I kissed him, he would feel it, too. He would see how much I love him. He would realize that I’m not a child anymore—that I’m a woman.

Instead, he told me I’m like his sister. Like a daughter.

A fucking daughter.

My heart cracks painfully in my chest. I believed I could handle rejection—I thought I could survive if he didn’t feel the same way—but this? This is worse. This isn’t just rejection; it’s humiliation.

But for a brief second—for that one perfect moment—he kissed me back. I know he did. His mouth opened against mine, his hand tightened around my waist, and for a single heartbeat, it felt like he wanted me. But then he shut it down. He shut me down.

I rub the heel of my hand against my chest, trying to steady the frantic pounding of my heart.

Why did he kiss me back if he didn’t want me? Why did it feel so real for a moment if it meant nothing to him?

I bite down hard on my bottom lip, trying to stop the tears from falling. It doesn’t work. A single tear slips down my cheek and lands on my arm.

My chest constricts painfully. I swipe at my tears, forcing my breath to steady. At least in a few days, I’ll leave for London. I’ll put some distance between us, and maybe it'll help. But right now, it feels like my heart is being torn apart.

I lift my head, my breath trembling. The faint sound of voices drifts through the house—the low murmur of Viktor and Zasha talking down the hall.

And Lev…

He’s already moving on from that kiss; meanwhile, I’m sitting here, feeling like my heart has just been carved out of my chest.

I curl into myself, hugging my knees tighter. Next week, I’ll leave. I’ll pretend that didn’t happen. But today, I let myself break. I thought rejection would hurt. But I wasn’t prepared for him to look at me like I was a mistake he regretted.

Tears slide silently down my cheeks as I close my eyes. My chest aches with every breath. The worst part is knowing that I will still dream about him. Even now. Even after this. Because I don’t know how to stop wanting him. I should have stayed quiet. Should have let him pass by. Now I’ll never be able to forget the taste of a kiss that shattered me.