Chapter 13 Xander
XANDER
The house buzzes with conversation and clinking glasses.
Men I've known for years move through the crowd, their wives and girlfriends on their arms.
Everyone dressed in their finest, playing at civilization while we all know what business we're really here to discuss.
Nadya stands beside me, her fingers wrapped around a champagne flute.
My hand rides the small of her back everywhere we walk, marking her as mine for anyone who cares to look.
And they do look.
Eyes follow her as we move through the room, some curious, others calculating.
She doesn't belong here, and everyone knows it.
Her posture is too straight, her eyes too wide.
She takes small sips of champagne and keeps her free hand at her side instead of gesturing while she talks.
The other women here learned long ago to drape themselves over their men, to laugh at the right moments, to look bored during the wrong conversations.
Nadya does none of these things.
She watches everything and memorizes faces and names.
It's her nature and she's good at it, and she's on my elbow because of those things.
Things that if used the wrong way would get her killed.
"Xander."
Leonid appears at my elbow, his gray hair combed back and his suit impeccable.
At sixty-two, he moves with the confidence of a man who has outlived most of his enemies.
"Boss."
I incline my head slightly.
His gaze shifts to Nadya.
"You brought a guest."
"This is Nadya."
I don't offer her last name.
In our world, details are currency, and I'm not spending any tonight.
"Charming."
Leonid's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"What does she do?"
"She works for me."
He raises an eyebrow but doesn't press me.
He can figure things out on his own, but the look in his eye tells me he knows exactly who she is.
It isn't like he hasn’t told me to get rid of her before.
He gestures toward a quieter corner of the room.
"When you have a moment."
I nod, and he moves away.
Nadya's grip tightens on her glass.
"Was that…?"
"The Pakhan. Yes."
She swallows hard.
"He seems…"
"Dangerous? He is. That's why he's still alive."
I guide her toward a group of lieutenants standing near the massive fireplace.
Igor catches my eye and nods. Ivan raises his glass in greeting.
These are men I trust, or at least men I trust more than the others in this room.
"Xander," Igor says as we approach.
"Good to see you."
"Igor. Ivan."
I keep my hand on Nadya's lower back and nod at them.
"You remember Nadya."
Both men return my nod politely.
We've all worked side by side a number of times, but bringing her here is different.
This is social.
This is personal.
"Lovely dress," Ivan's wife says, appearing beside him with perfect timing.
She's been doing this dance for ten years, knows exactly when to smooth over awkward moments.
"That color suits you."
Nadya smiles, the first genuine one I've seen from her tonight.
"Thank you."
The conversation flows around safe topics—the weather, holiday plans, nothing that matters.
I listen with half my attention while scanning the room.
Other crews are here, men from different territories who normally wouldn't be in the same building without bloodshed.
Leonid's holiday gatherings serve multiple purposes, and information gathering is one of them.
A burst of laughter draws my attention to a cluster of younger soldiers near the bar.
Taras Rakitin holds an audience captive, telling some story that has them grinning.
He's twenty-eight and hungry, the type who thinks nothing bad will ever befall him.
His eyes meet mine across the room, and he says something to the men around him.
They all turn to look at Nadya.
My jaw tightens.
"Excuse me," I tell Igor, then lean down to Nadya's ear. "Stay here."
She nods, and I cross the room toward Taras's group.
The conversations around me quiet as people notice my movement.
In our world, body language speaks louder than words, and mine is saying plenty right now.
"Taras."
I stop just inside their circle.
"Xander."
He grins, showing too many teeth.
"We were just admiring your… assistant."
The pause before "assistant" tells me everything I need to know about what they were actually saying.
"Is that right?"
"She's very… thorough, I hear. I'd love to have her clean something for me."
His friends snicker.
The sound grates against my nerves until all I can hear is white noise.
I move fast.
My hand closes around the back of Taras's neck, and I slam his face down onto the polished wood of the side table.
Bottles rattle.
His champagne glass shatters against the floor.
The room goes dead quiet.
"Repeat what you just said."
My voice carries in the sudden stillness.
Taras tries to lift his head, but I press down harder.
Blood trickles from his nose onto the table.
"I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly what you said. So say it again. Louder."
He stays quiet, which is a very smart choice.
I lean down close to his ear.
"She belongs to me. The next man who forgets that won't get a second chance to remember."
I release him and step back.
He straightens slowly, one hand pressed to his nose.
The men who were laughing with him thirty seconds ago now study their shoes.
The room gradually comes back to life, conversations resuming in careful tones.
I turn and walk back to Nadya, who watched the entire exchange without moving.
Her eyes are wide, and the desire in them makes heat pool in my stomach.
"Are you all right?" she asks quietly.
"Fine."
I take her champagne glass and set it on a nearby table.
"We're leaving."
She doesn't argue.
I guide her toward the exit, nodding to Leonid as we pass.
We'll have to have that chat later.
He raises his glass in acknowledgment, a small smile playing around his mouth.
Message received and understood.
We get our jackets and I motion to Igor, who rushes ahead of us toward the car.
Snow falls steadily now, coating the driveway in white.
He opens the rear door, and Nadya slides in first.
I follow, settling beside her as Igor starts the engine.
"Where to?" Igor asks.
"Take me home," I tell him, then lean back against the leather seat.
The adrenaline from the confrontation still hums under my skin.
And I find it difficult to calm myself. I have a temper issue, but I'm not a tiny bit regretful.
I'd have slit his throat for that comment if I had my knife and Leonid would've had his party moved to somewhere else.
"You didn't have to do that," she says after several blocks.
"Yes, I did."
"He was just talking."
"He was disrespecting you. Which means he was disrespecting me."
She turns to look at me.
"And that's unacceptable."
"In my world, respect is the only currency. Take it away, and you have nothing."
"Is that what I am? Currency?"
The question catches me off guard.
I study her profile in the dim light from the passing streetlamps.
She's got a defiant expression but her eyes are searching.
She wants answers and I don’t know what to tell her.
"You're mine," I say finally.
"That makes you valuable beyond measure."
She doesn't respond, but I see her reflection smile in the window.
My phone buzzes with a text from one of my watchers and I pull it out to see who it is and what they want.
Stepan: 9:45PM: Yaroslav's moving. Three cars heading toward Arbat district. Target confirmed.
I lean forward and tap Igor's shoulder.
"Change of plans. Head toward Arbat."
"Sir?" Igor glances in the rearview mirror.
I show him the text.
His expression sharpens, and he takes the next right turn.
Hauling Nadya along on this wasn't my plan, exactly, but when a target finally emerges from hiding you strike fast, like a game of whack a mole.
If not you lose your chance.
"What's happening?" Nadya asks.
"Work."
I type a quick response to Stepan, telling him to maintain distance and keep me updated.
"One of the Brotherhood leaders is on the move. We've been waiting for this opportunity."
"You're going after him? Now?"
"Opportunities don't wait for convenient timing."
She falls quiet as Igor navigates through the snowy streets.
My phone continues buzzing with updates.
Yaroslav is heading to a warehouse in the industrial district, meeting with arms dealers from Chechnya.
The location is isolated, perfect for business that requires privacy.
"Warehouse district," Igor announces, turning onto a street lined with concrete buildings and chain-link fences.
I spot Stepan's sedan parked behind a loading dock, engine running.
Through the windshield, I can see him watching a corrugated metal building two blocks ahead.
Three black Mercedes sit in the lot outside, along with a van I don't recognize.
"Pull up behind Stepan," I tell Igor.
He does, and I roll down the window.
Stepan gets out of his car and approaches with his gun in his hand.
"He arrived thirty minutes ago," Stepan reports.
"Six Brotherhood soldiers, plus four Chechens. They're on the main warehouse floor, conducting business."
"Where are the exits?"
"Front loading bay and a side door on the east wall. The Chechens' van is blocking the loading bay. Their driver stayed outside."
I nod.
Ten men inside, one outside.
The numbers aren't ideal, but the isolation makes up for it.
"What are you going to do?" Nadya asks.
I look at her, sitting there in her expensive dress with diamonds around her neck.
She belongs in warm rooms with champagne and soft music, not watching me plan an execution in a frozen parking lot.
"Stay in the car," I tell her.
"Igor will keep the engine running."
"Xander—"
"Stay in the car, Ptichka."
I hold her chin, pinching it slightly so she gets the message.
Now is not the time to mess with me.
"I'll be back soon."
I get out before she can argue further.
The cold air cuts through my suit jacket, but I barely feel it.
My focus narrows to the warehouse ahead, to the men inside who think they're conducting business safely.
Stepan falls into step beside me as we approach the building.
Our breath forms clouds in the frigid air.