Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ALEKSEI
Once the meeting ends, I have no intention of going home. The thought of walking through that door and pretending I can exist in the same space as her…it’s unbearable.
I could go to one of our bars, drink until the world blurs, and sleep it off in the back office. But even that doesn’t tempt me.
What I need isn’t a drink. It’s destruction. My hands crave the violence of it, the release, the pain that comes after.
Tonight, I’ll disappear into the gym at home where she won’t find me and tear this unrest out of me with every hit I land. This chaos. This hunger. This obsession. I’ll beat it out, muscle by muscle, until there’s nothing left of her inside me.
Kirill is one of the last ones still here, rising from his chair and buttoning his jacket as he moves toward the exit.
“Are you leaving, or do you plan to sleep here?” His mouth jerks.
My jaw tenses; I’m not sure what the hell to say. “Yeah, I’m going. What about you?”
He shoots me a dumbfounded look. “Diner with Lev. It’s Monday.”
Nu blyat, I forgot. Lev has his routines, and this is one. Every Monday, they go to the same diner not far from where they live.
Kirill starts toward the door, and I follow.
“Can I come?”
He stops just before the elevator, eyes narrowing. “Why? Shouldn’t you be off entertaining your blushing bride?”
I grit my teeth. “Zamalchi.” Shut up.
The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s enjoying this far too much.
Kirill presses the button for the elevator, then glances over. “Already having problems? That has to be a record.”
“This marriage means nothing,” I bite out. “She means nothing.”
“Of course.” Sarcasm threads through his calm tone like a knife.
I don’t care what he thinks. This has never been about me. This marriage is all about her and how much she despises it.
But the thought of her unhappy doesn’t bring me much satisfaction. Not like I thought it would.
Doesn’t matter. This is for the best. The less time I spend near her, the better.
The less she talks, the easier it is to pretend I don’t care what she thinks of me.
That her moods don’t sink their teeth into mine.
That I didn’t spend the entire goddamn day thinking about her.
How her morning went. Whether she actually ate the breakfast Galya made. If she smiled. If she felt safe.
I even called Viktor, pretending it was about logistics, just to hear him confirm she got to work without trouble. Then I texted him again hours later to check on her.
I don’t know what the hell is happening to me, but somewhere between the hate and obsession, she’s carved herself into every part of me.
The elevator ride stretches in silence while his words echo in my head, gaining weight with every floor we descend until they settle like lead in my chest.
Once I’m in my car and he’s in his, I grip the wheel harder than I should, that familiar dull pressure blooming behind my ribs again. A throb I can’t ignore. A burn that’s got her name written all over it.
This was supposed to be simple. A transaction. A way to break her down slowly, on my terms.
Instead, she’s breaking me.
By the time I pull up to Kirill’s, he’s already outside, strapping Lev into the backseat. I kill the engine and head toward his car, planning to ride with them.
He eyes me with a smirk. “What, your car broken?”
“Don’t feel like driving.”
“Horosho,” he says, opening the door. “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, we roll into the lot. Kirill settles the car in the last row, hidden in the far corner. In the backseat, Lev’s flipping through the pages of his book, headphones on, oblivious that we’ve arrived.
I reach for the door handle, but Kirill stops me with a low grunt.
“Podajdi.” Wait.
I still, following his line of sight with a raised brow.
Two rows down, a young woman, maybe mid-twenties, steps out of a rusted Volkswagen. She stretches like her body’s been folded too long, knuckles pressed into the small of her back, then drags a hand through her light brown hair.
Her eyes scan the lot as if she’s making sure no one is watching.
Then she opens the car door, pulls out a toothbrush and a half-empty bottle of water, and slips behind the edge of the lot. She rinses, spits, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
When I glance at Kirill, his entire expression changes, tightening and sharpening as if something set him off. He’s probably thinking what I’m thinking: either she’s weirdly committed to oral hygiene or she has been sleeping in that car.
That makes me more interested.
“She yours?” A smirk carves itself out as I tilt my head toward her.
His glare cuts.
“No,” he growls. “I haven’t touched her. But do not think for a second that I won’t kill you if you do.”
I’ve never once heard him this intense over any woman, not even Lev’s mother.
This girl matters. Maybe more than he wants to admit.
“Ya ponil.” I nod once, clapping his shoulder. “Bezdomnaya devushka tvaya.” Got it. Homeless girl is yours.
“She’s not homeless,” he snaps. “Or she wasn’t supposed to be.”
“What does that mean?”
But he ignores me.
The girl disappears into the diner, and Kirill finally shuts off the engine.
“Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s eat.”
He helps Lev out of the car, and we head inside. The second we step through the door, a hostess approaches with a bright, overly rehearsed smile.
“How many?”
“Three.” Kirill’s voice is flat, almost cold.
Her smile flickers. “Right this way.”
She grabs three menus and turns toward the nearest open booth, but Kirill doesn’t budge.
“That section.” He tilts his chin toward the far end of the diner.
“Of course.”
And the moment we round the corner, I understand why he made this request. The girl from the parking lot is working this side.
“So…” I lean across the table once we’re all seated. “Homeless girl works at the diner. Does she know you own it?”
“Net,” Kirill bites out.
That reaction? It tells me everything. There’s something going on here, and I intend to find out what.
I glance over at Lev seated beside him, flicking through a menu like he’s memorizing it for a test, headphones resting over his ears.
The girl starts toward us, and Kirill immediately sits up straighter.
Interesting.
When she reaches us, she grins brightly, her cheeks heating up when she looks at my brother. “Hey, guys. Good to see you.”
I catch her name, Sloane, on the tag pinned to her apron as her gaze sweeps the table.
“Can I get you started with some drinks? The usual for you, buddy?” she asks Lev.
Lev slides off his headphones, eyes still on the menu, but the subtle nod he gives tells me he’s listening.
“And for you, sir?”
Her voice is soft, but not timid. And after all my time observing people, I can tell there’s something careful about the way she carries herself. Like she’s used to holding things together even when they’re falling apart.
“Aleksei.” I let my name curl off my tongue with a smirk.
“Aleksei,” she repeats, her smile widening.
I don’t miss the way Kirill’s jaw tenses as she says my name.
“We will put in our food order too,” he adds.
Sloane nods. “Of course.” Then she looks over at Lev with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll make sure the chef gives you extra curly fries today. Pinky promise.”
Lev looks up and stares. Not just a flash of a glance, but full-on eye contact.
“Th-th-thank you,” he says, just above a whisper.
Across the booth, Kirill freezes, like something in him just broke wide open. He’s staring at his son like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. Like one wrong move might shatter it.
And I get it. Because I know what this means. Lev doesn’t speak often. When he does, it’s usually with effort or if Kirill prompts him. To see him look at her and say thank you on his own…it hits Kirill hard. It hits me too.
She turns to us, not realizing how monumental this was. “What can I get you guys?”
We both order, and she jots everything down before heading toward the kitchen. As soon as she’s gone, Lev slips his headphones back on like nothing happened.
I lean in closer toward the table. “Are you going to tell me who Sloane is, or do I need to start digging?”
He shoots me a warning glare.
“All I’m saying is, the boy needs a mother. And he obviously likes her.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Too young.”
“That’s not the reason.”
“She’s just a girl who works here. That’s all.”
I let him have the lie. For now.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s back with our food. Chicken nuggets and fries for Lev, burgers for us. Lev looks down at his nuggets like they are something sacred. Then, without a word, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a chocolate bar, still wrapped, and holds it out to her.
The shift is instant. Her face crumples, tears filling her eyes that she can’t blink away fast enough.
“Oh, wow,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “Thank you, Lev. But I can’t take that. It’s yours.”
“Take it,” Kirill says firmly.
She peers over at him, her lips parting like she wants to argue, but she stops herself and just nods. “Okay. Thank you, Lev. You’re always so sweet to me.”
She turns and struts off, still clutching the chocolate to her chest like it means more than she knows how to say. Right before she disappears into the back, she peers at Kirill, and I grin.
I might need to start tagging along to the diner more often. This is entertaining.
When dessert comes, Lev gets a chocolate chip cookie, but she brings two and sets the second one down in front of him like it’s a secret between them.
“This one’s on me,” she says with a wink. “For the chocolate.”
Kirill watches her. When she catches his stare, her cheeks flush.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I should’ve asked first. I just thought—”
He lifts a hand, stopping her mid-ramble. “It’s fine.”
And for the first time since he stepped inside, the corner of his mouth twitches. Barely a smile, but it’s there.