Chapter 31 #3
I shift slightly, just enough to tilt his chin up so I can see him. His face is calm, but his eyes are uncertain, like he’s bracing for something.
“The trust has enough to cover Blackwood,” I say gently. “I made sure of it.”
His brows knit together. There’s a flicker of something — guilt, maybe — crossing his expression.
“Alex…” His voice trembles just a little. “The money in that trust… It’s a lot.” He hesitates, eyes flicking away from mine before dragging back. “Do you even have any money left?”
The question catches me off guard, and before I can help it, I laugh. Not loudly. Not unkindly. Just… startled and soft. Because, of course, he would ask that. Of all things. Even now. Even like this.
He frowns, smacking my shoulder lightly.
“Don’t laugh,” he scolds, pouting in that way that never fails to undo me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though the amusement still lingers in my voice
He looks at me for a second longer, like something is sitting heavy on the edge of his tongue. But instead of speaking, he lets out a soft breath and rests his head against my chest again, hiding there like the question might disappear if he stays still long enough.
I brush my fingers through his hair slowly, reassuringly.
“I know there’s something you want to ask.”
He hesitates. I feel it in the way his hand stills on my skin.
“You can ask,” I say, voice low and calm.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he asks softly, almost childlike,
“Is it true? That your family is… involved in the mafia? Or stuff like that?”
The way he says it — cautious, like he’s testing the water with a toe instead of diving in tells me he’s been thinking about this for a while.
Like he’s afraid the question will trigger or piss me off.
But I just run my hand slowly down his arm, letting him feel that I’m still here. Still soft with him.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, without hesitation. “My grandfather runs a Bratva organization in Russia.”
He lifts his head, looking up at me with wide eyes, half-curious, half-nervous, like he doesn’t know whether to press closer or back away. But I see the answer didn’t change anything in his gaze. If anything, he just looks like he wants to understand.
I almost laugh—not at him, never at him, but at the quiet absurdity of this moment. Him lying naked on my chest, flushed from what we just shared, tangled in my sheets like he belongs here… and now we’re casually talking about organized crime.
I reach up and brush my fingers across his cheek. God, I can’t seem to stop touching him. Not when he’s like this, open and beautiful and still here.
“We’re not exactly a bunch of guys in tracksuits threatening people with baseball bats,” I say, the corner of my mouth tugging up. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smile. I can tell he’s relieved I didn’t get mad at his question.
“Is that… where you get your money from? The Bratva?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.
I exhale, shifting slightly beneath him.
“Part of it,” I say, honestly seeing no reason to lie to him. “But most of my money comes from my shares in Pavel Global Holdings. It’s my father’s company — construction, real estate, and investment branches. It’s clean. Legal. He hasn’t been involved in the Bratva for decades.”
He listens, eyes steady on mine, like he’s trying to see past the words into something deeper. So I continue,
“I also own shares in my mother’s family’s resort chain — that’s all legal, too. Additionally, I manage my own private investments. No families attached.” I pause, then add quietly, “The Bratva… that world belongs to my grandfather. And yeah, I’m tied to it, partially.”
He nods slowly, and I can tell he’s piecing it together, all the contradictions, all the sharp edges that make me. There’s something in his eyes, too. Not judgment. Something quieter. Understanding, maybe. Awe, even.
“Oh,” he whispers, barely audible. Like the word just fell from his mouth without his permission.
I shift slightly under him, leaning on one elbow, smirking a little.
“The trust fund, by the way,” I add, “is one hundred percent legal. You won’t be arrested for tuition fraud.”
This time, he lets out a laugh that breaks so suddenly it feels like sunlight flooding into a dim room. It knocks the wind out of me, that laugh. It’s bright, unguarded. It makes me ache.
He shifts closer, his bare chest brushing mine as he pushes himself up slightly. Then, after a pause, he raises his hand in a small, trembling movement and cups my face in both palms. His touch is warm, careful. Like he’s afraid he might break me.
His fingers brush my jaw, and then… he leans in.
Shy. Careful. Delicate like he’s afraid I’ll break.
His lips press against mine in a soft kiss — just lips, just warmth — no pressure, no rush. Just him. It’s the kind of kiss that startles you with its honesty. The kind that doesn’t need to prove anything. And for a moment, I don’t move. I just feel it. Feel him.
Because Lucas never initiates. He always waits for me to close the distance. And now he’s doing it himself, giving and trusting.
When he pulls back, his eyes are glassy again, but his mouth is set, trembling slightly.
“Thank you for the trust fund, Alexander,” he whispers, voice thick, like it hurts to say. “It still feels unreal. And it’s still hard for me to process. I don’t know how to repay you for this, but just… know that I truly appreciate it. Deeply.”
My heart twists in my chest, tight and aching.
“You don’t have to thank me, and you don’t owe me anything,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along the curve of his jaw. “Just… don’t run from me. Don’t pull away.”
He gives me a small smile, the kind that softens his whole face and makes something in my chest ache.
“I won’t,” he says quietly, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t even let me.”
I huff out a breath—part laugh, part truth— he knows me too well.