Page 6

6

Lev

I sit in the dark, nursing a glass of whiskey.

The room is quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on the nightstand. The amber liquid reflects the low light from the single lamp, casting long shadows across the walls of my bedroom.

My jaw tightens as I take another sip, the burn sliding down my throat. It’s not enough to dull the ache twisting through my chest.

I shouldn’t have kissed her back.

My hand tightens around the glass. The memory of Alina’s mouth against mine burns through me like a live wire. The softness of her lips, the way her hand slid over my chest, the warmth of her body pressed against me—fuck. I let it happen because I wanted it.

For that brief second, I didn’t care that she’s Viktor’s sister. I didn’t care that she’s too young. All I cared about was how she tasted, how perfectly her body fit against mine.

And that makes me the worst kind of bastard.

I push the glass to my lips and drain it. The alcohol does nothing to cut through the storm raging beneath my skin.

She’s nineteen, for fuck's sake, and I’m thirty-one. While twelve years isn't enough for me to be her father, it feels like a damn chasm between us. I lean back against the headboard, rubbing the heel of my hand across my chest. My muscles are tense, wound up to the point of snapping.

The worst part is that I don’t even know how to stop this. She’s Viktor’s sister. Viktor isn’t just my best friend—he’s my brother. He saved my life. Gave me a future. I owe him everything.

And now I’ve kissed his baby sister.

I should’ve pushed her away the second her mouth touched mine. But I didn’t. I kissed her back. My hand slid to her waist. My body reacted instinctively.

It’s not instinct. It’s her. Alina isn’t just any woman. And that’s the problem.

I stand abruptly, setting the empty glass on the nightstand with a sharp clink. My chest feels like it’s about to explode and the room feels too fucking small. I need to shut this down. I must bury this feeling before it takes root. I want to hit something. Grabbing a towel, I head downstairs to my personal gym.

The gym is cold and quiet. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The scent of sweat and leather clings to the air. I wrap my hands slowly, the sharp sound of the tape stretching and snapping echoing through the empty room. My fingers curl into fists.

I start with the heavy bag. A hard right jab connects with the leather, and the bag swings beneath the impact. I follow it with a left cross, feeling the satisfying jolt travel through my knuckles.

My breath comes sharp and fast. My muscles burn. But it’s not enough. Every punch I land against the bag feels like punishment—punishment for wanting the one woman I can't have. Alina’s kiss still lingers on my lips, making me hate myself a little more with every ragged breath.

Alina’s face flashes through my mind. The way her blue eyes widened right before she kissed me. The softness of her mouth. The sound of her breath hitching when my hand slid to her waist. The innocence radiating from her.

Fuck.

I hit harder and faster. My knuckles scream beneath the tape, but I keep going. I can’t want her; even if she weren’t too young, she’s still Viktor’s sister.

The betrayal of that fact cuts deeper than any wound I’ve ever taken. Viktor found me when I was seventeen. He pulled me out of the hell I was in, took me in, and gave me a place in the Bratva. I owe him my life. And now I’m thinking about his sister in ways that would get any other man killed.

I hit the bag so hard it swings back and nearly clips my shoulder. My breath comes rough and ragged. Sweat drips down my back. This isn’t going to stop. Not unless I shut it down, and the first step is to stop being around her.

The next day, I sit at the far end of the dining room table. Zasha sits beside me, his gaze fixed on the phone in his hand as Viktor outlines the latest shift in security.

I’m not listening because Alina is in the same room as me.

She looks… calm. Too calm. Her long dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a simple fitted sweater that clings to her body in all the wrong ways. I feel her gaze slide toward me. My jaw tightens, but I focus on my coffee.

Yelena leans closer to her. “You’re quiet,” she says.

Alina’s smile is faint. “Just thinking.”

My pulse jumps.

Yelena smirks. “About what?”

Alina’s gaze flicks toward me. Her mouth tilts faintly at the corner. “Nothing important.”

My grip tightens on the coffee mug.

Yelena laughs softly. “Sure.”

Alina’s gaze lingers on me for a second longer before she looks away. I hate how much I notice it. How much I feel it. I keep my face neutral and my gaze fixed on the table as Viktor speaks. My chest tightens with every breath I take. I don’t look at her. I don’t react.

I can’t.

I don’t see her for the rest of the morning. Not until early afternoon, when I’m in the Pakhan’s office discussing the new change in security at the docks and how this may affect our shipments.

Viktor, Zasha, and I sit opposite Igor. His gaze is dark, his face impassive as he listens.

“We’ve secured two of the routes,” Viktor says. “But the Irish are still pressing on the east side. If we push back too hard, it could escalate.”

Igor’s mouth hardens. “Then make sure it doesn’t escalate.”

Viktor nods. “We’ll handle it.”

The door opens. I glance toward it—and freeze inside.

Alina steps inside.

She hesitates, her gaze flicking toward the room, clearly flustered to have walked into the middle of a meeting. Her hand curls around the edge of the doorframe.

Viktor glances at her. “You need something, moya dorogaya?”

Alina’s gaze shifts toward her father. "I just wanted to speak with Papa. But I'll come back.”

She starts to turn, but the Pakhan’s voice stops her.

“Stay.” Igor’s gaze softens. “Whatever it is, it can wait until after we’re done, right?”

“Yes, Papa." She nods and steps toward the bookshelf. Trailing her fingers along the spines of the books, her gaze flickers toward me. I don’t move. I don’t look at her. But I am painfully aware of her presence.

Viktor leans toward Igor. “We’ll double the patrols on the east side.”

Igor’s mouth thins. “That will draw attention.”

“We’ll keep it low-key,” Zasha says smoothly.

I feel Alina’s gaze linger on me. I force myself to focus on the conversation.

“We can’t afford any more disruptions,” Igor says. His voice is sharp. “Handle it.”

Viktor nods once and stands. Zasha follows, and I begin to gather up the documents that we used for the meeting. Alina is still sitting on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her.

Igor’s gaze relaxes when he looks at her. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Alina sits up straighter. “I need to pick up a few more things for London.”

“Shopping?” Igor’s mouth tilts faintly. “You’ve never needed permission for that before.”

Alina’s eyes shyly dart around the men in the room. “I’m still not very familiar with New York.”

Igor watches her for a moment, then smiles. “You remind me so much about your mother. She was ever so calm.” His gaze shifts toward me. “Lev, take her.”

I tense, and my heart starts to pound.

“Sure, Pakhan,” I say carefully. “But shouldn’t Anton or one of the guys go with her? We have an assignment to carry out.” I nod toward Viktor and Zasha.

Igor’s gaze hardens. “No assignment is greater than my daughter.”

Alina smiles faintly. “Thank you, Papa.”

My jaw tightens. There’s no way out of this. “Understood.”

Tension sits heavy between us in the car.

I keep my hands on the wheel, my gaze fixed on the road as I steer toward the mall. Alina sits quietly beside me, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

We drive in silence for almost five minutes before she finally speaks.

“Lev,” she says softly.

I keep my eyes on the road. “Don’t.”

Her head tilts toward me. “We need to talk about—”

“No.” My voice is sharp.

She presses her lips together. “You can’t just ignore it.”

“I can.”

Alina shifts toward me. “Why are you acting like this?”

My grip tightens on the wheel. “Because it can’t happen again.”

Alina’s mouth hardens. “You kissed me back.”

“And for that, I apologize. I shouldn’t have.”

She’s quiet for a second. Then—

“You think I’m stupid?”

My eyes flick toward her briefly before turning back to the road. “I think you’re young and acting your age.”

Her jaw tightens. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“You kissed me.”

Her chin lifts. “And?”

I inhale sharply through my nose. “Not all men will turn you down.”

Alina’s brow furrows.

“If you go around kissing other men in the Bratva, they won’t all be gracious enough to push you away,” I say coldly. “And when that happens, Viktor or your father will kill them. We’ll lose valuable men because you think you’re grown enough to be playing games.”

Her eyes flash. “Is that what you think this is?”

My jaw flexes, but I do not respond.

“You think I’m playing a game?” Her voice shakes. “You think I’m stupid enough to go around kissing other men?”

I stay silent.

Alina’s voice sharpens. “Just because I kissed you does not mean I’ve kissed anyone else.”

My chest tightens.

“I’ve never kissed anyone else,” she says quietly. “You are my first.”

My heart thumps painfully.

I grip the wheel hard enough for my knuckles to ache. I don’t let my face betray what I’m feeling. My chest feels too tight. My hands tremble on the wheel. It would be so easy to pull over. To turn toward her. To tell her that I feel it too. That I’ve wanted her since the second I saw her in the safe house, sitting beside Viktor.

But I can’t.

I force my jaw to unclench. My voice comes out cold. “It’s better this way.”

Alina turns toward the window, her face pale. Her shoulders tense as she presses her forehead against the glass. I tell myself that I’m protecting her. That this is for the best. But the hollow ache in my chest tells me it’s a lie. I know if she kisses me one more time with those damn lips, I’m going to burn every line I’ve drawn between us to the ground. And if I do that, I’ll never forgive myself.