Page 20

Chapter 20

Where the Monsters Sleep

Vasiliyi

T he city sprawls beneath my penthouse windows, a glittering tangle of light and shadow. Dawn creeps across the skyline, smearing the horizon in strokes of gold and bloodred. It should look beautiful. Instead, it feels like a warning.

Galina sleeps beside me, her auburn hair fanned across my pillow like spilled flame. One hand rests over her stomach, always that quiet, unconscious act of protection. It guts me more than I want to admit.

A father.

The word still tastes foreign. Heavy. Like a title that doesn’t belong to a man with blood on his hands and ghosts in his closet. But watching her now, breathing slow and even, I can almost picture a life that isn’t soaked in violence. Almost.

Doesn’t mean I deserve it.

My own father taught me what not to be. He destroyed everything he touched. I used to think Katya and I escaped that legacy, that only Nikolai carried the weight of our bloodline. But maybe he was just the only one honest enough to face what we really are. What we were born into.

The phone buzzes on the nightstand, vibrating like a warning shot. Jaromir.

I slide out of bed without waking her and answer as I cross into the living room.

“What’s the status?”

“The police finished their sweep. Left a couple inspectors behind. Detective Rong’s still hanging around.”

I drop into the armchair and drag a hand down my face. “They find anything?”

“Of course not. Rong seemed...deflated.”

Something sharp twists in my gut. “Deflated how?”

“I can’t explain it exactly. Like she expected to find something specific. She was watching everything—everyone—closely. Especially me.”

Fuck.

Galina’s still sleeping, serene and oblivious. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the baby. Maybe it’s the way we tore each other apart last night and put ourselves back together in the dark.

“There’s more,” Jaromir says, voice edging into unease. “She asked about Galina.”

Ice replaces blood in my veins. “What about her?”

“Whether she was safe. Whether you were...forcing her to stay.” His pause is loaded. “Boss, this isn’t just a search. She’s sniffing around for something deeper.”

Of course she is. Rong’s been circling Galina since the beginning. But why? There’s something here I’m not seeing.

“If she wants Galina,” I say, voice low and lethal, “she’ll have to come through me first.”

“I’ll keep eyes on her.”

“No. I want more than that. Find out who she is. Who she answers to. Who’s backing her. I want names, schedules, blood type if you can get it.”

“Understood.”

“And Jaromir?”

“Da?”

“Keep Vladimir’s men off the property. Whatever it takes. I’ll call Nik and Igor; we need more boots on the ground. The last ambush made us look sloppy. That won’t happen again.”

“Copy that.” He hangs up.

The sun finally breaks over the edge of the skyline, flooding the room in blood-orange light. I stare at it, jaw tight. The view is perfect, but all I see is a battlefield, an endless maze where everyone I love becomes a target. And I’m always the fucking reason.

The club is secure, for now. The product’s stashed, the front’s clean. But Vladimir’s not done. And Matvei? He’s like rot. Just when you think you’ve scraped it all out, it spreads.

But it’s not him I’m most worried about.

It’s Rong.

Her interest in Galina isn’t procedural. It’s personal. And if she’s hiding something...I’ll tear the truth out of her myself.

The city stretches beneath me like something I’m supposed to rule, but this morning, I feel like I’m losing every war.

My phone buzzes. I grab it and fire off messages to Nik and Igor. I need their men. Need the streets to know that anyone fucking with my territory will answer to me. There are monsters to hunt, and no room for distraction.

Not even the one asleep in my bed.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Her voice slips into the room like smoke. I turn.

Galina stands in the doorway, wearing one of my shirts—bare legs, mussed hair, flushed from sleep. My shirt hangs off her like temptation itself, barely brushing the tops of her thighs. Her skin is still marked by last night’s surrender. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

Mine.

I bury the instinct. I can’t afford it right now.

“The police found nothing,” I tell her. “But Detective Rong asked about you.”

She moves to the window, arms folded under her chest. Her reflection blurs against the rising sun. “What kind of questions?”

“If you were safe. If I was holding you here against your will.”

She goes still. Her voice is calm when she answers, but her shoulders tighten. “Interesting line of inquiry.”

“Interesting enough,” I say, stepping behind her. “I’ll ask you straight. What’s your connection to her?”

A long pause. Her hand moves, unthinking, to her stomach.

“She thinks I need saving,” she says finally. “That I’m just another woman trapped in a Bratva-owned club. Easy story to sell.”

“Try again.”

She sighs. “She’s connected to Vladimir. I don’t know how deep it goes. But she’s watching me, using me to get to you.”

Everything locks into place. That look in Rong’s eye. The way she circled, not just the club, but Galina. This isn’t a cop building a case. This is a hunter lining up her prey.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before?” My voice is low, sharp.

She turns, fire flashing in her eyes. “Would you have believed me? You’ve barely looked at me since you found out I was pregnant. You don’t see me—you see a liability. Or a bargaining chip.”

The accusation slices through me, precise and merciless.

“You’re carrying my child,” I say. “Everything else is secondary.”

“Exactly,” she says, stepping closer. Her scent hits me like a memory. “You say you’re protecting me, but it feels a lot like possession.”

“I protect what’s mine,” I growl. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Her voice is quiet now. Wounded. “Because it feels exactly like what my father did. Like what every Bratva man does—wrap a woman in chains and call it safety.”

I flinch. Just slightly. But she sees it.

“I’m not your father.”

“No,” she agrees. “You’re worse. Because you make me think you care.”

That lands harder than any bullet.

I reach for her. My fingers brush her cheek, so soft. So breakable.

“I do care.”

She looks away. “You have a strange way of showing it. Just…leave me alone. I want a shower. And some privacy.”

The word pierces me clean through. Pride wars with something more urgent—need.

I don’t let her go. I step in. Wrap her up. My hand finds her belly. She softens for a breath, lets her head tip into me, and I cling to it like a drowning man. Then she stiffens again, the walls going back up.

“Stay with me,” I murmur. Not a command. A plea. A whisper of something I barely understand.

She doesn’t answer. Not at first. Then, slowly, she nods.

“I still want that shower,” she says, voice gentler now.

“Want company?” I ask, teasing.

Her cheeks go pink. “Only if you behave.”

Spoiler: I won’t.

I follow her into the shower, stripping my clothes off as she drops my shirt on the floor, and I step into the shower behind her. “Beautiful,” I murmur, pulling her flush against my chest. She’s short enough that my hard cock poking out of my boxer shorts nestles perfectly in the gentle curve of her belly. Just the idea of her body opening around me makes my pulse pound in my ears.

Sliding my hands down her naked body, I savor the supple warmth of her skin. I find her folds wet and wanting, her arousal mixing with the drops of water that mist across her skin.

“Vasiliy,” she breathes, leaning against me for support.

I bury my face in her hair, marveling at the easy intimacy. “Can I have you?” I hold my breath, waiting for her reply. I’m letting her choose. It’s up to her to decide whether to let me in or not.

Galina reaches up, tangling her fingers in my hair, and pulls me down for a fierce kiss. Whatever answer she wanted to say, the wet heat of her tongue against mine says enough. I grunt in approval, pushing down my boxers and lifting her effortlessly in my arms and guiding her legs around my waist.

The glass of the shower door is slippery beneath my palms, but I push forward until her back is pressed against the smooth tile. Groaning at the delightful wet pressure around the head of my cock, I guide myself inside her with a slow roll of my pelvis.

Galina moans, tilting her hips to take me deeper. She pants against my shoulder, tugging impatiently at my hair as we move together, finding a frantic rhythm. My eyes fix on the tantalizing slope of her belly, imagining how it will soon round out. Water and steam engulf us as we move together, lost in the sensation. The fierce tightening in my balls means I won’t last long. This quick union has all the urgency of a fight—all the raw, violent adrenaline of taking her for the first time. But instead of controlling her with fear and anger, we’ve found something new. A connection that takes my breath away.

I squeeze her thighs, urging her to hold on, then jerk her hips forward, thrusting deeper. With a broken scream, she clenches around me, flooding the shallow space between us with her arousal. Her orgasm sets off mine, and I finish inside her, grunting low curses in Russian against the slick skin of her neck. We slump together, holding each other up with trembling limbs as the water continues to cascade over us.

We finally pull ourselves apart. I turn off the water and reach for a towel, wrapping her gently before grabbing one for myself. She’s shivering, but there’s a softness in her eyes I don’t see often—unguarded, almost peaceful.

I guide her back to bed, pulling the heavy blanket over us as she curls into my side with a contented sigh. For a fleeting moment, everything feels still. Safe.

Then my phone buzzes.

Once. Twice.

I ignore it.

The third time, something shifts. A dull thud settles in my gut—instinct screaming louder than the device in my hand. I slip out of bed and snag the phone from the dresser, already bracing for what I’ll find.

“Everything okay?” Galina asks from the doorway, the towel wrapped tightly around her body.

Jaromir’s name lights up the screen. I open the thread, scanning the flood of messages—and ice hits my bloodstream.

“Fuck.” My voice cuts the air.

Her eyes sharpen. “What is it?”

I’m already pulling on my shirt, not bothering with anything else. There’s no time for suits or silk. “They’re coming back,” I say. “Rong and the cops. ”

“What?” she breathes. “Why now?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I head for the closet, grabbing weapons, keys, a clean pair of jeans. “We need to move the product. Again. And this time, it can’t stay anywhere near the club.”

She steps in front of me, trying to catch my eye. “Vasiliy?—”

“You can stay,” I cut in. “Or you can come. But I have to go now.”

Her jaw sets. “I’m coming. I can help.”

I nod once, tossing her last night’s dress. While she throws it on, I scroll through the updates from my men. Jaromir’s already mobilized everybody. Raffe’s in place. Backups are en route. But it’s not enough. It never is.

Moments later, Galina’s hair is pulled back, eyes clear, shoulders squared. She’s slipped back into her armor, quick and seamless. But I still see the woman from moments ago beneath it. I kiss her, slow and deep, a promise carved in silence.

She tastes like last night. Like surrender and heat and something terrifyingly close to hope.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready,” she replies, and even with the steel in her voice, I catch the tremor tucked beneath it.

I reach for her hand. We step into the morning together—two people carrying more secrets than trust but still moving forward. For now, that’s enough.

And if it’s not?

We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.