Chapter Twenty-One - Erik
The dim glow of a single lamp bathes the office in warm light, casting long shadows across the dark wood desk cluttered with papers and files.
My estate in Russia is quiet at this hour, the silence broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
I lean back in my chair, scanning the contract in my hand with a critical eye. The Bratva’s affairs have been my sole focus these past five months—shipments, alliances, negotiations. It’s a web of delicate power plays that demands precision. Distraction isn’t an option.
The buzz of my phone slices through the quiet, the screen lighting up with a familiar name: Mikhail Volkov. My lawyer.
I press the answer button and bring the phone to my ear. “Speak.”
“Good evening, Mr. Sharov,” Mikhail begins, his tone calm and measured. “I wanted to inform you that the case in New York has been resolved.”
My grip on the phone tightens, though I keep my voice even. “Resolved?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “The charges have been dropped. The court’s decision has been overturned, as expected. You’re free to return to the States at your convenience.”
I sit in silence for a moment, letting his words sink in. Free to return.
“Good work, Mikhail,” I say finally, my tone clipped. “Ensure the loose ends are tied.”
“Of course, sir,” he replies smoothly. “I’ll handle everything on my end. Safe travels, Mr. Sharov.”
I end the call and set the phone down on the desk, leaning back in my chair. The faint ticking of the clock fills the room again, but my thoughts are far from contracts and schedules now.
Chloe.
The name forms in my mind unbidden, her image flashing vividly before me. Her fiery eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the warmth of her skin beneath my touch—it all rushes back as if she’s standing right in front of me.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. Five months. Five long months since I’ve seen her, since I’ve felt the tension that seems to coil in the air whenever we’re in the same room.
The memory of her is a double-edged sword, both a distraction and a driving force. I’ve buried myself in work to keep my mind occupied, yet she lingers in the quiet moments, slipping past my defenses like a thief.
I imagine her now, her pregnancy further along. The gentle curve of her belly, the way she might press her hand there protectively. Her hazel eyes, sharp yet softened by the life she carries.
A rare smirk tugs at the corners of my lips.
“She’s probably still angry,” I murmur to myself, the thought oddly amusing. I can almost hear her voice, laced with sarcasm and irritation, calling me out for something or other.
There’s a knock at the door, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Enter,” I command, my voice steady.
Semyon steps in, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. “Everything is in place for tomorrow’s shipment,” he says without preamble.
“Good,” I reply, motioning for him to take a seat.
He does, his expression calm but curious. “You look… distracted,” he comments after a moment.
“I’ve been cleared to return to New York,” I say, leaning forward slightly.
Semyon raises a brow. “That’s good news.”
“It is,” I agree, though my mind is already a thousand miles away.
His eyes narrow slightly, his perceptiveness something I’ve always both respected and resented. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
I smirk, though I don’t deny it. “She’s my wife, Semyon. It’s only natural.”
He snorts softly, leaning back in his chair. “Natural, huh? I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t let anyone occupy your mind unless you want them there.”
“Your point?” I ask, my tone cool.
“My point is, five months is a long time,” he says, folding his arms. “You think she’s waiting for you with open arms?”
I laugh, the sound low and humorless. “Chloe? Hardly. She’ll probably throw something at me the moment I walk through the door.”
Semyon chuckles. “Sounds about right. You like that about her, though. Admit it.”
I don’t answer immediately, my thoughts returning to her once more. The fire in her eyes, the way she challenges me even when she knows she won’t win—it’s maddening. And addictive.
“She’s different,” I say finally, my voice quieter.
Semyon tilts his head, studying me. “You care about her.”
“Care isn’t the word I’d use,” I reply, though the words lack conviction.
He smirks knowingly but doesn’t press further. “So, when do you leave?”
“As soon as I can arrange it,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’ve spent enough time away.”
“And when you see her?”
I glance at him, my smirk returning. “When I see her, she’ll remember exactly who she belongs to.”
Semyon chuckles again, shaking his head. “God help the woman.”
I shrug on my jacket, my mind already moving ahead. The thought of Chloe waiting for me—whether with anger or something else—only sharpens my resolve.
***
The morning sun casts long shadows over the private runway as I step out of the car, the crisp air biting against my skin. My private jet waits ahead, sleek and imposing, its engines humming softly in preparation for takeoff. Beside me, Semyon walks with his usual steady confidence, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing in my mind.
The past twenty-four hours have been a blur—finalizing shipments, handing off temporary leadership, and ensuring every loose end is tied before I leave Russia. My thoughts, however, haven’t been on the Bratva or its operations.
They’ve been on Chloe.
“You’ve been quiet,” Semyon comments as we approach the jet. He carries a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his expression unreadable as he glances at me.
“I’ve had a lot to think about,” I reply curtly, adjusting my coat against the chill.
He smirks, a knowing glint in his eye. “Let me guess: the fiery Mrs. Sharov.”
I cast him a sideways glance but don’t respond. There’s no point denying it—he’d see through the lie anyway.
“You know,” he continues, his tone teasing but edged with sincerity, “for someone who’s always in control, you’ve let her get under your skin.”
“She hasn’t gotten under my skin,” I say sharply, though the words lack conviction.
“Hasn’t she?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow. “You’re leaving behind the empire you’ve built here, flying halfway across the world, and risking exposure just to get back to her. If that’s not ‘under your skin,’ I don’t know what is.”
I don’t answer immediately, my boots crunching against the asphalt as we reach the jet. The crew waits at the bottom of the stairs, their heads bowing slightly in acknowledgment.
“She’s my wife,” I say finally, my voice low. “She’s carrying my child. Of course, I’m going back.”
Semyon chuckles, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that, Boss.”
I glare at him, though there’s no real heat behind it. “Get on the plane, Semyon.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender before climbing the steps. I follow, my mind still churning as I step into the jet’s sleek interior.
The cabin is as luxurious as expected—plush leather seats, polished wood accents, and a faint scent of cedar. Semyon takes his usual seat near the back, leaving me the space I prefer up front.
I sink into the chair by the window, loosening my tie as the crew begins their final preparations. The hum of the engines grows louder, a steady vibration underfoot as the plane readies for takeoff.
Leaning back, I let my gaze drift to the window. The sky is clear, the horizon stretching endlessly ahead.
“Five months,” I murmur to myself, the words heavy.
Five months away from her. From the woman who has occupied my thoughts far more than I’d ever admit.
Semyon’s words linger in my mind, grating and irritating because they hold a grain of truth I don’t want to face. Chloe has gotten under my skin. She’s infuriating, stubborn, and unpredictable. But she’s also….
My fingers tighten against the armrest as the realization sinks in, unrelenting and undeniable.
I love her.
The thought hits like a blow, the weight of it settling in my chest. I’ve spent months telling myself otherwise, convincing myself that what I feel is possessiveness, responsibility, anything but love.
It’s a lie.
The memory of her burns too brightly—her fiery defiance, her unexpected vulnerability, the way she fit perfectly against me, as though she were always meant to be there.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair.
“Something wrong, Boss?” Semyon calls from the back, his tone laced with amusement.
“Nothing that concerns you,” I snap, though the corner of his mouth quirks in a smirk.
“Sure,” he says, leaning back in his seat with a knowing look.
The engines roar to life as the plane begins its ascent, the ground falling away beneath us. I stare out the window, my thoughts racing as the horizon tilts and the clouds draw closer.
Love.
The word feels foreign, almost absurd, yet it’s the only explanation that fits.
I don’t just want Chloe. I don’t just care about her.
I love her.
The realization doesn’t bring relief. It brings tension, the kind that coils tight in my chest and refuses to ease. Love means vulnerability, something I’ve spent my entire life avoiding. Love means risk.
I think of her now, likely surrounded by her family in New York, her belly rounded with our child. The image stirs something deep within me—a fierce protectiveness I’ve never felt for anyone else.
“You’re thinking about her again,” Semyon says, breaking the silence.
I glance back at him, my expression hard. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Not when I’m right,” he replies with a grin. “So, what’s the plan when you get back?”
“Hell if I know. Continue as normal, I suppose.”
“Won’t be normal for long, with a kid on the way.”
I don’t answer, my gaze shifting back to the window.
I know the answer, even if I can’t say it aloud.
I belong with her.
No matter how much she fights it, I’ll make sure she knows that too.