Page 8

8

Alina

Russia feels different after four years away.

I can’t tell if it’s the air—the sharp bite of winter as it presses through the windows—or if it’s just me.

Yelena and I have been back for two months now. After four years at Imperial College London, the transition should feel more jarring—but it doesn’t. Moscow is familiar in a way London never was. The darkened streets, the cold wind cutting through the trees, the quiet weight of the estate—it’s all embedded into my bones.

We’ve changed, though. Yelena and I are no longer the sheltered, inexperienced girls we were when we left. We have business degrees now. We know how to run numbers, balance the books, and track the flow of money through the organization's accounts. Our father ensured we were educated—and not just in the traditional sense. Over the years, he’s involved us deeper in the workings of the Bratva. We’re not just his daughters—we’re part of the business now.

I sit at my desk in the corner of my room, flicking through financial statements on my laptop. Across the room, Yelena lounges on the bed, flipping through a magazine.

She stretches, yawning. "We should go out tonight."

I barely look up. "We just got back."

"Exactly." Yelena closes the magazine with a soft snap. "We need to reacquaint ourselves with the city."

I roll my eyes. "You mean you need an excuse to flirt with one of Papa’s guards as you have been doing since we returned."

Yelena grins. "I’m weighing my options."

My phone buzzes on the desk. I glance down and see a message from my father:

I need you and your sister to come to my office now.

I frown. "We’re being summoned."

Yelena raises an eyebrow. "Think we’re in trouble?"

"I doubt it."

We walk side by side down the long corridor leading to our father’s office. The dark marble floors echo beneath our heels.

My father’s office is designed to intimidate. It has huge glass windows and black leather furniture. A massive mahogany desk dominates the center of the room. A heavy silence hangs in the air when we step inside.

Our father sits behind the desk, his dark eyes steady as he watches us enter. He gestures toward the chairs in front of him. "Sit."

Yelena sits easily, one leg crossed over the other. I sit beside her, more cautious.

My father’s gaze sweeps over us. "I have two important matters to discuss with you."

I tense.

Yelena tilts her head. "Good news or bad news?"

"That depends on how you look at it."

He leans back, his hands steepled in front of him.

"First," he says, "I’ve been contacted by the head of an Elliniki family."

My breath stills.

"The Greek Mafia?" Yelena asks.

My father nods. "They are proposing an alliance. Through marriage."

My heart stops, and my hands curl into fists on my lap. A cold pressure settles in my chest.

An arranged marriage.

My father’s gaze sharpens. "It’s a strategic opportunity. The Greeks are getting more powerful. An alliance through marriage would secure our influence across Europe."

My stomach twists painfully.

"To… which of us?" I ask carefully.

My father’s expression remains unreadable. "That’s yet to be decided."

Before I can even process the weight of those words, Yelena speaks. "I’ll do it."

My head snaps toward her. "Yelena—"

"If they’re worthy," Yelena adds smoothly. "I’m not marrying a fool or a weakling."

My father’s mouth twitches in amusement. "I would expect nothing less."

I stare at Yelena, stunned.

"Why would you offer yourself so quickly?" I ask.

Yelena’s gaze flicks toward me. Her smile is faint. "Because it’s business, Alina. And it’s smart business."

But there’s something else beneath her tone. Something guarded. And it makes me uneasy. I feel like she offered herself because she thinks I have not gotten over Lev.

"I’m not so sure it’s that simple," I say quietly.

My father’s gaze slides toward me. His expression sharpens slightly. "Is there a reason you would object to this arrangement? Do you want to be the bride instead of your sister?"

I hesitate.

I don’t have a reason. Not a logical one, anyway. But the thought of kissing another man—being bound to another man—makes my chest seize painfully. Because part of me is still tethered to someone else.

To Lev.

My father’s eyes narrow slightly. He’s watching me too closely. I steady my expression.

"No objection," I say quietly. “Yelena can marry first.”

He watches me for another beat, then sits back. "Good."

Yelena stretches lazily. "What’s the second piece of news?"

My father’s expression hardens slightly. "It’s time for Viktor to come home."

My eyes pop in surprise.

Yelena sits up straighter. "Seriously?"

My father nods once. “He has proven himself in New York. It’s time for him to take the lead here, too.”

A bright rush of warmth spreads through me.

It’s been too long since I’ve seen him. We’ve visited him in New York over the years, but it’s never been for long enough. He’s always been busy. Focused.

"Does Viktor know?" I ask.

"No."

"And what if he doesn’t want to come back?"

"He can’t refuse."

Yelena grins. The Bratva is about to undergo a makeover. I laugh, but there’s a hitch in my breath. Because if Viktor comes back…

Lev will come with him.

My chest tightens painfully. Yelena’s gaze flicks toward me. Her eyes sharpen slightly.

"Lev and Zasha will be here too? Or will Viktor inherit your right-hand man?" She asks casually. Although I know she is asking for my benefit.

“That will be his choice. But every Pakhan always surrounds himself with those he trusts. Right-hand men do not come based on recommendations.”

We round up our meeting with Papa and head back to my room.

“This may be challenging for you,” Yelena says quietly.

I force my expression to stay neutral. "It doesn’t matter."

Yelena tilts her head. "Doesn’t it?"

"It’s been years."

"So?"

"I was nineteen. It was just a crush."

Yelena raises her eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes."

Yelena’s lips curve faintly. "That’s funny because you looked ready to strangle Papa when he mentioned the marriage proposal."

I shoot her a glare. "That’s not why."

"Sure," Yelena says, amused.

I press my lips together.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Lev made it clear a long time ago that I was off-limits. I’ve moved on, I’ve outgrown the silly crush I had on him, and I’m over it. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

"I’m not a child anymore, Yelena."

"No," she agrees. "You’re not."

But I feel like one the moment I think of Lev. I close my eyes. My pulse hammers painfully beneath my skin. Viktor’s return warms me, yet anxiety coils tightly at the thought of Lev inevitably returning to my life. I’m caught between longing and dread, between happiness and apprehension.

Lev may be coming here, and I’m not ready for it.