38. Sasha
38
SASHA
I stay for as long as I can.
Cuddling Ariel to sleep in my arms is as close as it gets to salvation for a man like me. I can’t keep myself from touching the swell of her pregnant belly again and again. She’s soft, warm, and fragrant. Everything my life is not.
But eventually, I have to rise.
There is business waiting for me downstairs.
Even after I extract myself and get to my feet, though, careful not to wake her, I feel torn in two. I don’t want to leave this room. This moment.
So I linger in the doorway, watching the gentle rise and fall of Ariel’s chest. She’s curled on her side, one hand splayed over her belly even in sleep. The sight does something to my chest that I’m still not used to—a sharp twist followed by an expanding warmth. Like I’m growing into a dimension I didn’t know existed.
It’s quieter than it was when we first slunk up here. The storm has finally passed, leaving behind that particular stillness that follows summer rain. In the silence, I can almost pretend this is just another peaceful night. That I’m just a man watching his pregnant wife sleep.
But I know better.
My fingers trace the familiar shape of my gun, tucked into the waistband at my back. The weight of it grounds me, reminds me who I really am.
I am still Sasha Ozerov. Pakhan in exile, but pakhan nonetheless. I am still the man who will do whatever it takes to protect what’s his.
Ariel shifts in her sleep, mumbling something that might be my name. The movement makes her dress ride up to reveal the curve of her hip. Even now, after all these months, the sight of her fucking floors me.
My beautiful little bird. No longer so broken.
I force myself to turn away. Feliks is waiting downstairs. But as I pull the door closed behind me, I allow myself one final glance at the life I never expected to want: my woman, my children, safe in our bed.
Whatever comes next, I’ll make damn sure they stay that way.
I find the men hunched over the kitchen table like vultures over carrion. Maps and documents cast long shadows in the candlelight, since Judas the generator is still refusing to cooperate. Feliks’s fingers drum an uneven rhythm against a stack of surveillance photos while Kosti and Pavel exchange glances loaded with meaning I don’t like.
“Tell me,” I say, settling into the chair across from them.
Feliks slides a photo across the table. “Let’s start with the damage. This is our Chinatown warehouse. Three days ago.”
I study the image. The loading dock where we used to move product into Queens is a blackened husk. Scorch marks climb the brick walls like vines. “Casualties?”
“Mikhail. Dmitri. The new kid—what was his name? The one with the stutter.”
“Yuri,” Pavel supplies quietly.
I grimace. I remember teaching Yuri to field strip a Makarov last spring. His hands shook so bad he dropped the slide pin twice. But he had potential.
Had.
“That’s not the worst of it.” Feliks produces another photo. This one shows Wei Huan, the Bratva’s liaison to China, emerging from a dim sum restaurant with Dragan four blocks away from the smoldering ruins of my warehouse. They’re both smiling. “The Serbs have been making moves on our Asian connections. Three meetings in the past week. Wei Huan is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Fucking snake,” I mutter, but there’s no real heat in it. Huan is a businessman. We all knew he’d jump ship the moment someone offered him a better deal. “The Taiwanese routes?”
Kosti shakes his head. “Gone. Along with the gambling dens in Flushing and the protection racket on Canal Street.”
My jaw tightens. Those operations took years to build. Thousands of hours’ worth of carefully cultivated relationships, all gone because I’ve been playing house in Tuscany instead of?—
No. I shut that thought down hard.
I’ve made my choices. I won’t regret them now.
“What about the docks?” I ask.
“Still holding, but barely.” Pavel unfolds a detailed map of the Port Authority terminals. Red X’s mark the spots we’ve lost. There are more of them than I’d like. “But Dragan’s offering the longshoremen triple what we pay. It’s only a matter of time before they all start slipping away.”
I trace the familiar geography with my fingertip. Every X represents dead men, lost revenue, shifting loyalties. A decade of power being methodically dismantled while I heal and hide and fall deeper in love.
“He’s being smart about it,” Feliks summarizes, respect and disgust mingling in his tone. “Taking us apart piece by piece. No big moves that would draw attention. Just death by a thousand cuts.”
I lean back, processing. Problems I can handle. It’s solutions that get messy. I once told Kosti that. His response was, That’s because your solutions are limited to ‘shoot it, threaten it, or throw money at it until it goes away.’
What do I do now, though? This is a war I was raised to fight, trained to fight. Who do I shoot? Who do I threaten?
“What are our options?”
The silence that follows tells me everything I need to know. But I wait for them to say it anyway.
Feliks meets my eyes. “We go back. Now. Before there’s nothing left to go back to.”
An unexpected spasm rips through my shoulder as I lean over the maps, and I can’t quite suppress the grunt of pain. Fuck. The bullet wound is singing its favorite song tonight.
I’d hoped we were past that.
Kosti’s eyes track every tremor, every aborted movement. The old bastard doesn’t miss anything. “You’re not ready yet, son,” he says quietly. “Another few weeks of healing could mean the difference between victory and death.”
I bare my teeth at him. “I’ve fought with worse.”
“And look how well that worked out for you last time.” His voice is mild, but the rebuke lands. “The twins aren’t due for three more weeks. Use that time. Build your strength back. If you go rushing into it, then?—”
My fist slams into the table, rattling the glasses. “Three weeks is too long. You heard Feliks—we’re hemorrhaging territory. By the time the babies come, there might not be anything left to fight for.”
“There are other ways,” Pavel interjects. He spreads his hands over the map, indicating key points. “Look—we hit them here, here, and here simultaneously. Coordinated strikes. You direct from a secure location while our crews do the heavy lifting. Minimal physical risk to you.”
I study the marks he’s made. The strategy is sound. But…
“That’s not how this works.” I flex my shoulder, testing the limits of the pain. “The men need to see me. Need to know I’m willing to bleed alongside them. Leadership from behind a desk is no leadership at all.”
“Better a living leader than a dead hero,” Kosti mutters.
He’s right. I know he’s right. But the thought of hiding while my men fight my battles makes bile rise in my throat.
“What about a compromise?” Feliks suggests. “We spend two weeks gathering intel, moving pieces into position. Then you come back for the final push, once you’re stronger.”
I close my eyes. Above us, floorboards creak as someone—probably Ariel—shifts in their sleep. The sound twists something in my chest.
I made her a promise. No more lies. No more choosing power over love.
But what kind of love can I offer if I’m too weak to protect her? What kind of father will I be if I let Dragan strip away everything I’ve built?
My shoulder throbs, a steady reminder of my limitations. Of how close I came to dying last time.
Problems I can handle. It’s solutions that get messy.
“Two weeks,” I say finally. “Not a day more. And I want daily reports on every movement Dragan makes.”
Kosti nods, satisfied. But I notice he doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
A muffled cry pierces the night. My body moves before my brain can catch up. Ariel. Moaning in fear.
I’m halfway out of my chair when Feliks’s hand catches my wrist. “Boss.” His voice is gentle but firm. “We need to finish this.”
The maps spread across the table swim in my vision. Territory lines blur into meaningless shapes as another whimper filters through the ceiling. I know these nightmares. I’ve held her through enough of them to recognize the cadence of her fear.
My shoulder throbs as I force myself to sit back down. The bullet wound seems to pulse in time with her distress.
Feliks watches me with too much understanding in his eyes. He’s seen me gut men without flinching, seen me take bullets without breaking stride. But this—this helpless tension as I listen to Ariel struggle alone—is this what finally breaks me?
“She’ll be fine,” he says quietly. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner you can go to her.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, but my eyes keep drifting to the ceiling. Each sound is like a hook in my chest, pulling me in two directions at once. When did I become this man? This person who can be unmade by a woman’s nightmare?
“Focus,” I growl, more to myself than the others. But even as I bend over the maps again, my ears strain for any sign that her dreams have eased. Just a little longer, I promise silently. Hold on, ptichka . I’ll be there soon.
We talk strategy, trying to find a way to break down Serbian defenses and reclaim the key patches of the city. Eventually, the others shuffle out, their footsteps heavy with the weight of everything we’ve discussed. Only Feliks remains.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” he says as he gathers the surveillance photos into a neat stack.
“Which one?”
“About being ready.” He taps the stack of photos against the table, squaring the edges. “And I don’t mean physically.”
I scowl at him. “Did I wander into a confessional booth by mistake?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’ve known you since we were kids smashing windows in Moscow. I’ve seen you make impossible choices. But this…” He gestures vaguely upward, toward Ariel. “This is different.”
“How?”
“Because for the first time in your life, you actually have something to lose.” His voice drops lower. “Something that matters more than power.”
I want to deny it. Want to tell him that nothing matters more than maintaining control, that love is still the weakness I’ve always believed it to be.
But the words stick in my throat. I know they’re untrue. He does, too.
Feliks watches my internal struggle with knowing eyes. “Just… think about it, okay? Really think about what you’re willing to sacrifice. Because once we start this, there’s no going back.”
He leaves before I can respond. Maybe that’s for the best—I’m not sure what the fuck I would say anyway.
I sit in the dark kitchen for a long time, surrounded by maps of a kingdom I may have to choose between keeping or deserving. When I finally go upstairs, moonlight catches a pair of open eyes, glowing like silver coins. Ariel doesn’t ask where I’ve been or what kept me. She doesn’t need to.
The mattress dips as I slide in beside her. Her body instinctively curves toward mine. My hand finds its home on her hip.
“Whatever you’re planning…” she whispers into the darkness, her voice barely a breath, “just come back to us.”
I pull her closer and inhale her scent. She trusts me to return. After everything, she still believes I’ll choose her—choose us —over the darkness that’s always defined me.
I press my lips to her temple and make a silent vow to prove her right.