Page 13 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

ANNIKA

“ I need to speak with my sister,” Aleksey repeats, his gray eyes flicking to me. “It’s important.”

I step forward, ignoring the way Liam’s arm instinctively shifts like he’s trying to hold me back. “Let him in.”

“Are you serious?” Liam mutters, still standing in the doorway. “Here? Now?”

“He wouldn’t come if it wasn’t urgent.”

Liam’s jaw ticks, but he steps aside reluctantly. “Make it quick.”

As Aleksey enters, I see Liam retreat toward the laundry area, yanking open the washer with more force than necessary. A shirt falls to the floor; he doesn’t pick it up. I hear the sharp clatter of detergent being poured in, followed by the lid slamming shut.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Liam calls from over his shoulder. “So don’t even try pulling any of that shadowy shit you Russians love.”

Aleksey doesn’t respond. He’s already halfway to the couch.

I follow and sink down beside him, adjusting Lily in my arms. She’s starting to fuss again, so I lift my shirt and guide her toward the bottle I’d tucked under the blanket earlier. She latches with a soft sigh, settling immediately.

“You look tired,” Aleksey murmurs, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder.

I give him a soft smile. “A little,” I admit.

He nods and then leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know I wouldn’t have come unless it was urgent.”

A sigh escapes my lips and I lean back against the couch cushions. “Just tell me.”

“Your father has a trial date,” he says quietly. “It’s been set. And it’s coming fast.”

My heart stutters. “How fast?”

“Three weeks.”

The air feels thinner. I shift Lily slightly, suddenly needing something—anything—to ground me.

“That’s not all.” Aleksey’s voice drops even lower. “He’s been asking about you.”

I tense, my grip tightening just slightly around Lily’s warm little body.

“What does that mean?” My voice is flat, but the undertone is sharp. Cautious.

Aleksey exhales. “He wants you to come to the trial. Says he’s forgiven you.”

I blink. “Forgiven me?”

He nods slowly. “He says he understands now. That maybe he was wrong about you. He just… wants to see you again, Annushka.”

My heart slams hard against my ribs. For a second, I don’t breathe.

And then I laugh. Bitter and thin. “Right. The man who had me hunted down like a traitor wants to see me again.” I shake my head.

“He thinks I’m the reason he’s behind bars.

He’s the reason I had to go on the run with my newborn daughter.

He was going to hand me over to Dariy and let them tear me apart. And now he wants reconciliation?”

“He was angry,” Aleksey says quietly. “He felt betrayed. But time changes things.”

“He doesn’t do forgiveness, Aleksey. You know that.”

“I know that he can be a tough man,” he says, voice tight. “But he took me in when I had no one else. His heart isn’t made of stone, Annushka .”

I meet his eyes, and it hurts how much I want to believe him. Because once upon a time, we were both just kids caught in Anatoly’s shadow. We grew up together. Trained together. Survived together.

And he believes this. I can see it in the way he sits, the way he speaks. Like he wants this to be real. Like he needs it to be.

“I want to believe you,” I admit, my voice soft now. “God, I do. But you weren’t there when they cornered me. When they screamed in my face, called me a traitor, said I had disgraced the family. You didn’t see how quickly they turned on me. How fast love turned to hate.”

Aleksey looks down at his hands. “He says he was wrong.”

“And if he’s not?” I ask. “What if this is just another play? Another performance to lure me out into the open?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“He asked about Lily, too,” he finally says, almost a whisper.

My stomach drops.

“Of course he did.”

Aleksey shifts beside me, frustration tightening the lines of his face. “Annushka, I’m telling you—he’s not angry anymore. He wants to make things right.”

“You really believe that?” I say, stunned. “After everything? After he had his men chasing me through the city like I was some goddamn fugitive?”

“He was hurt?—”

“He was furious, Aleksey. He wanted someone to blame, and I was an easy target.”

“He’s changed. He’s had time to think.”

I look at him like he’s lost his mind. “You really think Anatoly Volkov had some kind of prison epiphany? That he suddenly found clarity and compassion in his cold little soul?” I shake my head. “No. This is a strategy. A play. He wants control again.”

Aleksey’s jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“And you do?” I snap. “You think you’re immune to his lies just because he treated you like a son?”

His eyes flash. “I was his son. As much as he was capable of having one.”

“Well, then maybe you’re too close to see it clearly.

” I’m shaking now, frustration mounting as I try to believe him but knowing the truth.

“You’re acting like this is about family, but it’s always been about power and control with that man.

And I’m not walking my daughter into a trap just because you’re desperate to believe the man who raised us isn’t a monster. ”

He looks wounded. “Our father is not a monster.”

Frustration simmers over as I stare at him. “Good fucking God, Aleksey. You wouldn’t know honesty if it smashed you in the face.”

He goes rigid and I know my words have cut him deeply.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

I don’t flinch. “You run one of the most opulent clubs in the city. A place built on expression and truth and freedom.” I pause, leveling him with a look. “And you can’t even be honest with yourself .”

Aleksey’s eyes narrow and his mouth presses into a firm line, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. Shit. I’ve done it again—let my mouth get carried away and hurt someone I care about.

I look down at Lily, now sleeping quietly against my chest, and try to breathe through the ache in my throat, trying to figure out what to say to fix this moment.

But it’s too late for that. “You think you’re the only one who’s had to survive him?” he hisses. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever been afraid of what he might do?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Not with Lily warm and heavy in my arms, not with guilt pressing down on my shoulders like a weight I can’t shrug off.

“Say what you want about me, Annushka,” he goes on, his voice rising now. “But at least I’ve always tried to protect you. Even when you didn’t want it.”

I scoff under my breath, but he barrels forward, voice cracking just slightly.

“You think he didn’t notice when you froze up at the table? When you couldn’t look him in the eye or answer fast enough?” Aleksey’s hands are clenched now. “I covered for you. I learned your tells. I’d step in, make excuses, say whatever I had to so he wouldn’t lose patience.”

“Aleksey—” I start, but he talks over me.

“I used to fake fevers to get you out of Sunday dinners. Lie to him about your headaches. You think I didn’t know what was really going on? I knew. And I did whatever I could to make sure he wouldn’t lash out at you for it.”

My chest tightens. I never asked him to do any of that. I didn’t know he had.

“You were a kid,” I whisper. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I did,” he snaps. “Because if I didn’t, who the hell would’ve?”

He shoots to his feet, chest rising fast like he’s trying to keep a lid on whatever’s brewing under the surface.

“You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to look at me again,” he says, voice cracking a little. “But don’t stand there and pretend I didn’t try. Don’t pretend I didn’t care.”

A shadow moves across the floor. I glance up—Liam’s standing behind the couch now, arms crossed tight, jaw locked.

“I think it’s time you left,” he says, calm but cutting.

His voice doesn’t rise, but there’s weight behind it. Final. Protective.

Aleksey turns, caught off guard. His mouth twitches into something that’s not quite a smile. “Of course. The white knight shows up.”

“You’ve made your point,” Liam says. “Now you’re upsetting her. That’s not happening here.”

Aleksey’s eyes flick back to mine. There’s a flash of something—sharp, almost cruel.

“I’m not the only one keeping things buried,” he says.

I stiffen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilts his head just a little, studying me. “You really think he knows everything?” His voice drops, slow and pointed. “What made it all so hard for you? What made him crack? What made me step in—again and again?”

My mouth opens, but I’ve got nothing.

“I kept your secrets because I understood them,” he says, smooth as glass, sharp as a blade. “I wonder how long you think he would.”

He doesn’t wait for a response—just turns and walks out, slow and steady like he didn’t just set the whole room on fire.

The door clicks shut behind him.

I stay frozen. Lily shifts in my arms, letting out a little sigh in her sleep, but doesn’t stir.

Even she can feel the tension bleeding out of the room.

Liam lingers behind the couch for a moment, then slowly rounds it, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gentler now.

I nod without looking up. “Yeah.”

“Ana.”

His tone is more serious this time, edged with something heavier.

I sigh. “I’m fine, Liam.”

“You didn’t look fine.” His voice tightens, barely restrained. “Did he upset you? Because if he did—I’ll find him.”

That pulls a faint breath of air from me, almost a laugh. “You’re not gonna track down Aleksey.”

“Don’t test me.”

I shake my head and glance at him, finally meeting his eyes. “I wasn’t afraid of him.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

I finally glance up. He’s watching me carefully, the crease between his brows deep with concern.

“But,” he says, “I do want to know what the hell he meant. That comment he made—about you hiding something.”

I force a short laugh. “It’s not that deep. He was talking about the pregnancy. About me not telling you.”

Liam doesn’t look convinced. “That’s not how he said it.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It kind of does,” he says, softly but firmly. “Because if there’s something else going on—something I should know—you need to tell me.”

I look down again, tracing my thumb over the edge of Lily’s blanket. My throat feels tight.

“It’s nothing,” I whisper.

He crouches in front of me, resting one hand lightly on my knee. “Ana.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. My voice is small when it finally breaks free.

“It’s you.”

He blinks. “Me?”

“Not—” I shake my head, trying to collect the words. “Not you, you. Just… the way you are. The mess, the noise, the constant movement. I know you don’t mean anything by it, but it’s—” I pause, then admit, almost inaudibly, “It’s been pushing every single one of my triggers.”

Liam’s eyes narrow just slightly, not in anger—more like confusion tipping toward realization.

I exhale shakily. “Because I’m autistic.”