Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
ALEXANDER
I sink into one of the armchairs across from Anton’s desk, my fingers drumming against the armrest as I watch him skim through a legal document.
His brows pinched. As the eldest and CEO of our father’s construction company, he goes through hell working directly with my father.
Not that I have ever seen him complain, honestly.
The faint scent of cigar smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the richness of leather and aged whiskey, making me crave one myself.
Maksim, as always, doesn’t have the patience for whatever this meeting is. He paces near the window, arms crossed, shoulders tight.
“This is a fucking joke,” he mutters, voice sharp with frustration. “We should handle this the real way, not waste time with paperwork.”
Anton doesn’t even look up.
“You mean the violent way.”
Maksim scoffs, glancing at me like he expects backup. I don’t give him any, just tilt my head, waiting.
A rival company—one that’s been a thorn in our side for months—filed a fraudulent claim against our construction company and tried to stall one of our biggest upcoming projects.
It’s not an outright attack, but a calculated move and an inconvenience.
It’s also a huge deal since the rival company is owned by one of the powerful Italian families.
“Let’s take the legal route first,” Anton says, still calm. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll consider alternatives.”
Maksim exhales harshly, shaking his head. “So we just let them fuck with us?”
Before Anton can respond, the office door swings open.
Tristan steps in, all broad shoulders and sharp presence, commanding the room without trying.
His suit is perfectly tailored to his massive frame, dark fabric pressed smooth.
His deep brown skin contrasts against the crisp white of his dress shirt, and his sharp, unreadable gaze flickers over all of us before settling on Anton.
“Gentlemen.”
I don’t miss the way Maksim immediately stops pacing, his stance shifting—just slightly, but enough for me to notice, his shoulders draw back, chin lifting a fraction. It’s subtle.
Tristan closes the door behind him and strides toward Anton’s desk, setting a file down with practiced ease.
“I reviewed the claim,” he says, voice clipped and efficient.
“It’s complete bullshit, as expected. They don’t have a legal standing, but they have enough connections to drag this out if we don’t counter properly. ”
“Or, we could attack and make it very clear that they need to drop this shit.” Maksim says with an eye roll.
“That would be stupid.” Tristan counters, not even glancing at him and I feel Maksim stiffen.
“Excuse me?”
Tristan finally meets his gaze, his expression as blank as ever.
“I said it would be stupid to escalate this into something unnecessary.” He says, then shifts his attention to Anton.
“We handle this right, we shut them down legally, permanently. No loose ends. If we start something physical, they’ll have even more leverage against us.”
“Or,” Maksim interjects, “we tell grandpa about this.”
Anton looks up from the paper.
“Absolutely not.”
I sigh, “Maksim, think for a second.”
“I am thinking.” He replies with a scoff.
“This project is too important. It’s been in talks and development for almost a year now, and suddenly, out of nowhere, some third-rate company thinks they can pull this shit?
I don’t care if they’re a powerful Italian family.
” He shakes his head. “Grandpa can deal with them. One warning, and they’ll crawl back into whatever hole they came from. ”
Tristan exhales slowly, looking like he’s about to lose patience. “Bringing the Bratva into this is the worst idea you could have.”
Maksim’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing at him.
“It would be the fastest.”
Anton sets his pen down, fingers interlocking as he leans back in his chair. His expression is unreadable as ever, but his tone is firm. “Dad would never allow it. You know how he is about keeping Bratva influence out of our business.”
Maksim mutters a curse under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Dad is too soft on this shit.”
Tristan gives him an unimpressed look.
“Do you think throwing a tantrum will make them back down?”
The tension between them is sharp enough to cut. Maksim’s hands curl into fists, not in outright aggression—more like restraint, a beat of silence stretches between them and Anton sighs, muttering something under his breath about having a headache.
I suppress a smirk. Maksim rarely backs down in an argument. But I can see it in the way he holds himself—he’s not just frustrated about this. There’s something else. And if I had to guess, Tristan is part of it. I turn my attention back to the matter at hand.
“What’s the next move?” I ask.
Tristan straightens. “We hit them back with a countersuit, making it clear that we know what they’re trying to pull. If they push, we push back harder—legally. I’ll start drafting the filings first thing tomorrow.”
“Good,” I say with a nod.
By the time I step out of Anton’s office, the weight of business discussions is still lingering in my head, but I push it aside as I make my way to the elevator. Maksim and Tristan’s tension was obvious. The only thing more entertaining than watching them argue is waiting to see who snaps first.
The second I slide into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzes. I lean back, glancing at the screen.
Lucas: I’m here.
You’re not done with work?
Alex: I’ll be home in about
Half an hour, make yourself
Comfortable.
The typing bubbles appear, then disappear. Then it pops up again, almost like he can’t decide what to reply.
Lucas: Oh, okay.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. That’s it?
I type again.
Alex: You’re not going to
get bored are you?
Lucas: You don’t mind if I
go through your library, right?
Alex: You can do what-
ever you want, Lucas.
Lucas: Alright…Thanks.
I smirk. He’s always like this over text, awkward and brief, like he’s unsure if he should even be texting me.
Alex: Do you want
Sushi for dinner?
I think that question took him by surprise, because it shows he’s seen it, but there’s no reply for a while, the typing bubble pops up, then vanishes. It does several times, and I smile patiently. We have been eating dinner together since last week, when we started the ASL lessons.
Lucas: Yes, If
you don’t mind
I exhale. He’s impossible. And yet… I like it.
Working with him these past few days has been—unexpected.
He’s patient, focused, and careful. But he’s also nervous around me, too aware.
His fingers tremble sometimes when he signs, betraying the calm he tries to hold.
He fidgets if I stare too long, like he can feel my attention burning into his skin.
He’s always hyper-aware of me.
I shake my head, about to start the engine, when a sharp knock taps against the passenger window.
Of course.
I glance over. Maksim. His grin spreads wide, cocky, like he already knows he’s won. Before I can say a word, he pulls open the door and slides in, sprawling out as if the car belongs to him.
I narrow my eyes. “How may I help you?”
“Drop me off at the Deluxe Hotel.” He kicks his long legs out, boots thudding like he’s settling into a throne.
My scowl deepens. “What happened to your car?”
“Got towed yesterday.” He waves his hand carelessly.
I don’t ask why. I know better. With Maksim, there’s always a reason, and it’s always trouble.
“And the other car? The one you drove here?”
He shrugs. “Told my driver to take it home. Thought I’d ride with my beloved big brother.” He smirks, leaning back, making himself comfortable.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The hotel’s on my way to the penthouse anyway, so I don’t bother fighting it. I start the engine and pull out onto the road.
He doesn’t even give me thirty seconds of peace.
“So…” He drags out the word like he’s sharpening a knife. “You and the kid, huh?”
“He’s not a kid. Don’t make me throw you out of this car.” I say tightly, and he lets out an amused laugh.
“Fine. You and Lucas, then?”
I keep my eyes on the road, refusing to give him the reaction he wants, but he’s relentless as always.
“I saw your driver drop him off yesterday,” he says “ Right at your parking spot.”
My grip on the steering wheel hardens, leather creaking under my fingers. “And what exactly were you doing there?”
“Checking out the high-rise apartment that’s available.”
My exhale is sharp. “You’d better be joking.”
“Why?” He grins, teeth flashing. “Don’t want me in the same building you live in?”
“If you move in, I’m moving out.”
“You just bought that penthouse, Sasha. Eleven million down the drain—” he whistles low, leaning back smugly. “And you’re going to move out just to avoid me?”
It was more than eleven. Much more. But I don’t correct him.
“Absolutely,” I say, deadpan.
He presses a hand to his chest, mock wounded.
“Ouch. That hurts.”
I let the silence sit. Five seconds. Ten. I should’ve known better than to hope.
“Fine,” he huffs. “I won’t pay for the place—yet.”
He tips his head toward me, eyes glinting.
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
“What’s going on with you and Lucas?” He asks grinning like a shark, I swear one day I’m gonna break his nose.
Of course. Maksim isn’t subtle. He never was. If I give him even half a thread, he’ll pull until there’s nothing left. So instead, I toss the net back at him.
“What’s going on with you and Tristan?”
That shuts him up. His body goes rigid, smirk slipping for just a beat before he masks it with a low, muttered curse and an amused chuckle.
“Fuck. I forgot how goddamn observant you are, Sasha.”
My jaw ticks as I glance at him.
“So?”
He rubs his chin, trying for casual.
“If I tell you about Tristan, will you tell me about Lucas?”
I snort. “Not a chance.”
He groans, throwing his head back against the seat.
“You’re no fun.” He mutters.
“You do realize Tristan is thirty-two, right?” I say, voice even.
His head jerks toward me, eyes sparking with mischief.
“Ha. You realize you’re turning thirty next year, right? And look at you, moon-eyed over a kid. What is he, twenty? Practically a baby.”
I cut him a cold look, voice dropping.
“Call him a baby again. Go on. I dare you.”
His smirk widens at my tone, though he lifts his hands like he’s surrendering.
“Hey, I’m just saying—you can’t throw Tristan’s age in my face when you’ve got almost the same gap with your precious Lucas.”
“So what,” I say, raising a brow at him, “are you actually involved with Tristan, or are you just delusional?”
He shrugs, eyes sliding away to the window. It’s the smallest tell, but I catch it. I always catch it.
My lips twitch, betraying the smile I fight back.
“You know…” I say slowly, savoring it, “ that he’s getting back with Jake, right?”
His head snaps toward me so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash.
“What?!”
***
I finally drop Maksim off at the hotel. He takes his time getting out, still trying to pry into my business, but I slam the door shut before he can get another word in. He has this strange love for hotels—like the mansion isn’t enough, like an apartment would suffocate him.
The drive to my favorite Japanese restaurant is exactly quiet. A relief. No chatter, no noise, just the hum of the engine and my own thoughts. Inside, the staff greets me with the kind of familiarity that borders on routine. They know me and what I always order.
Normally, I wouldn’t even glance at the menu. But tonight, I hesitate.
Lucas.
He’s at my place.
And for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what the hell another person likes. It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care. But the thought unsettles me, not because he didn’t tell me, but because I never asked.
The irritation sharpens in my chest, so I do the only thing that makes sense—I order everything. Spider roll, California roll, sashimi, tempura, miso soup, and sauces. Excessive, maybe. But Lucas eats like he hasn’t been fed properly in years. I like that about him. His appetite feels… honest.
By the time I get home and the elevator doors slide shut behind me, I can already smell the food bleeding through the paper bags. But when I step into the open living room, a frown cuts across my face.
It’s too quiet. My place is always quiet, but tonight, the silence feels wrong. I set the takeout on the counter and check the den upstairs. Empty. The cinema and guest rooms. Empty. My jaw tightens as I head back down, irritation coiling tighter in my chest. Then I notice the balcony door is ajar.
Cold air brushes against me as I step outside, scanning the space. Nothing. Until I round the corner by the pool.
I see him.
He’s standing at the very edge of the pool, staring down at the water. His posture relaxed, but there’s something about the way he’s standing—so still, so lost in thought, that makes my chest tighten.
For some reason, I do not like it.
So I break the silence.
“Lucas.”
The reaction is instant.
He jumps, startled— too startled… His foot slips, and before I can even take a step forward, he falls straight into the pool.