Chapter 31 Xander
XANDER
Nadya's hand trembles in mine as we stand outside her sister's door.
Four days have passed since she vanished from this building, four days Irina spent believing her ultimatum drove Nadya away for good.
The guilt radiating from her is palpable, her fingers cold despite the heated hallway.
"She probably thinks I abandoned them," Nadya whispers, her voice breaking.
"She threatened to take the children and I just disappeared."
I squeeze her hand, feeling the terror beneath her words.
Makeup covers the bruises on her face—expensive cosmetics I purchased this morning to hide the evidence of Sokolov's abuse.
Foundation and concealer transform her battered features back into the woman her family remembers, erasing her days of captivity from eyesight.
"We tell them the truth," I say, "or a version they can accept."
Before she can respond, the door flies open.
Irina stands in the threshold with an expression of relief and fury and desperate love.
Tears stream down her cheeks as she pulls Nadya into an embrace so fierce it forces me to release my grip.
"You're alive," Irina sobs against her sister's shoulder.
"You're alive and you're here."
"I'm so sorry," Nadya gasps, returning the embrace with equal intensity.
"I'm so sorry, I should have called—"
"I thought you left because of what I said. I thought I drove you away and you weren't coming back."
The children appear behind their mother, Anya's face streaked with tears while Mikhail tries to maintain composure that crumbles the moment he sees his aunt.
They pile into the embrace, four people clinging together in the doorway while I stand back and observe the family I've nearly destroyed through my world's violence.
Eventually, Irina pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Her gaze lands on me, assessing and suspicious despite the relief of Nadya's return, while Nadya crouches to hug her niece and nephew.
When her gaze meets mine, I see skepticism and fear there.
"Who are you?" she asks, hugging her arms over her belly while Nadya stands and straightens her coat.
"Xander Morin," I say, extending my hand.
"I'm the reason Nadya disappeared."
The temperature in the hallway drops ten degrees.
Irina's expression shifts from relief to protective fury, her body positioning itself between me and her sister.
"You need to explain that statement," she snips, and I feel so much satisfaction in the fact that she's so protective over her sister.
"May we come inside?" I ask.
"This conversation deserves privacy."
She hesitates, glancing at Nadya, then steps aside to allow us entry.
The apartment greets us with warmth and the scent of baking bread.
Children's artwork covers the refrigerator, family photographs line the walls, and the tree I sent still dominates the living room with its ornaments and gifts piled high.
Nothing much has changed since that day I slipped in without anyone knowing, and it feels like a warm comforting home.
"Anya, Mikhail, go to your room," Irina orders.
"Adults need to talk."
"But Mama—"
"Now."
The children retreat reluctantly, casting curious glances over their shoulders as they disappear down the hallway.
Irina waits until their door closes before turning her full attention on me.
"Start talking."
Nadya opens her mouth with wide eyes and a crinkled forehead.
She's preparing to confess everything—the crime scenes, the murders, my organization.
The truth that will shatter her family's innocence and possibly end with police involvement neither of us can afford.
So I step forward, placing myself between Irina's anger and Nadya's guilt.
"I'm the wealthy man who has been spoiling your sister," I say in a steady tone, and I place one hand in the small of Nadya's back while I smile at her warmly.
"The one responsible for the tree, the gifts, the expensive clothes she's been wearing."
Irina's eyes narrow on me before she flicks a glance at Nadya, whose cheeks are bright red with embarrassment… or perhaps shame.
"And who are you, exactly?"
"A businessman. Import-export operations throughout Eastern Europe. I stay at the Metropol frequently when conducting business in Moscow."
My ability to lie has always frightened me.
Even as a boy, I could swindle an old woman out of her inheritance.
But in this case, it's being used for good, not evil.
"Nadya cleaned my suite two months ago. We started talking, and I found myself drawn to her intelligence and beauty."
"So you started buying her things," Irina says in a flat tone, narrowing her eyes on her sister.
I'm not sure what lies Nadya made up to cover for my foolishness, but they'll come out eventually.
"I started courting her," I correct.
"Perhaps too aggressively. When you grow up with money, you forget that expensive gifts can feel threatening rather than romantic."
Nadya watches me with wide eyes, understanding dawning as she realizes the story I'm constructing.
A story her sister can accept, can believe, can live with.
"The night we argued," Nadya says, picking up the thread I've laid out, "I went to meet Xander.
He'd invited me to spend a few days at his estate outside the city.
I should have told you, but I was angry and hurt and I just… left."
"Without your phone," Irina points out.
"I tried calling you dozens of times."
"I forgot it in my rush to leave," Nadya lies, her voice gaining confidence.
"And Xander's estate doesn't have cell reception. By the time I realized, days had passed and I was terrified you'd never forgive me."
The explanation is plausible enough to satisfy someone who wants to believe it.
Irina studies both of us, searching for cracks in the story that might reveal deeper deceptions.
"You took my sister to your estate without telling her family where she was going," Irina says to me.
"That's not romantic. That's reckless."
"You're absolutely right," I agree.
"It was selfish and thoughtless. I wanted time alone with Nadya without the complications of her daily life interfering. I didn't consider how my actions would affect the people who love her."
"And the hotel job?" Irina presses.
"Was any of that real?"
"She does work at the Metropol," I say.
"But I've been supplementing her income substantially. The tips she mentioned came from me, not from foreign guests. I wanted her to have financial security without feeling as though she was dependent on my charity."
Irina crosses her arms, her nurse's instinct for detecting lies working overtime.
"So you lied to me about things coming from the lost and found?"
She quirks an eyebrow up and Nadya's head ducks.
"This is the truth, Irina," Nadya says, moving to stand beside me.
"I didn't think you'd approve of him. He's much older, much wealthier. I felt ashamed of…"
Her words trail off and I realize what a good little liar she is too.
Maybe too good.
I'll have to make a mental note of that.
But I reach for Nadya's hand, lacing our fingers together in a gesture that speaks of genuine affection. Because beneath the lies, that part is true.
I do love her.
I would give her anything she asks for, destroy anyone who threatens her.
"The tree was too much," I admit to Irina.
"The gifts, the clothes, all of it. I overwhelmed your family with displays of wealth when what Nadya really needed was for me to respect her boundaries and her circumstances."
"You think?" Irina's sarcasm could cut glass.
"I'm learning," I say.
"Nadya has been teaching me that love isn't measured in rubles or expensive ornaments."
The tension in Irina's posture begins to ease, doubt giving way to reluctant acceptance.
She wants to believe this story, wants to think her sister found romance rather than danger.
The alternative—that Nadya has been involved in criminal activity—is too painful to contemplate.
"How old are you?" Irina asks suddenly.
"Forty."
"Fourteen years older than my sister."
"Yes."
"And what are your intentions toward her?"
The question is old-fashioned, the kind fathers ask suitors in an earlier era.
But the concern behind it is timeless—a protective older sister ensuring her sibling isn't being exploited by a man with more resources and experience.
"I intend to marry her," I say, the words surprising even me with their sincerity.
"If she'll have me."
And I look down into her eyes to search them, to see her reaction and know how she really feels about me.
Nadya's hand tightens in mine and sucks in a breath.
We haven't discussed marriage, haven't planned beyond surviving the immediate future.
But saying it aloud feels right, feels inevitable.
"You want to marry her," Irina repeats, testing the words for truth.
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
When I say the words, it's while I look Nadya directly in the eye.
Irina looks at her sister, searching Nadya's face for confirmation or denial.
"And you? Do you want this?"
"Yes," Nadya whispers, looking up at me with dewy eyes and a smile.
"I love him, Irina. I know it seems fast and possibly foolish, but I love him."
Irina's eyes shine with unshed tears as she studies her sister's face.
She's searching for signs of coercion or fear, looking for any indication that Nadya is being forced into declarations she doesn't mean.
But all she finds is genuine affection and hope.
"You really love him," Irina says, wonder creeping into her voice.
"More than I thought possible," Nadya confirms, and she finally pulls her gaze away from me as she swipes at the moisture on her cheeks now.
The silence that follows feels pregnant with possibilities. Irina could still reject my presence, and demand that Nadya choose between family and the man who has brought such chaos into her life.
But instead, her expression softens into acceptance.
"I need to sit down," Irina says, moving to the kitchen table and lowering herself into a chair.
"This is a lot to process."
We join her at the table, Nadya and I sitting close enough that our shoulders touch.
The physical contact grounds me.
Irina turns her attention to me, studying my face with a protective posture.
"If you hurt my sister, I will make you regret it. I don't care how much money you have or how many business connections you've accumulated. Family protects family."
"I would expect nothing less," I say.
"And I promise you, Nadya's wellbeing is my highest priority."
"Good." Irina takes a deep breath, seeming to come to some internal decision.
"Tomorrow is Novy God. We're having dinner here with the children. Traditional foods, nothing fancy. You're invited if you want to join us."
The invitation catches me off guard.
I expected continued suspicion, possibly a demand that I stay away from Nadya until Irina could investigate my background more thoroughly.
Instead, she's welcoming me into their family celebration.
"I would be honored," I say.
"And Christmas," Anya's voice pipes up from the hallway where she's clearly been eavesdropping.
"And Old New Year too!" Mikhail chimes in.
"Anya!" Irina calls, but there's no real anger in her voice.
"Were you listening to adult conversation?"
The girl emerges from the hallway, Mikhail behind her.
"You said Xander could come tomorrow. That means he should come to all our celebrations. It's only fair."
Her eyes sparkle with joy.
"She has a point," I say, smiling at the child's logic.
"Fine," Irina concedes.
"But you're bringing food. I'm not cooking for six people on my salary."
"Done. Tell me what you need and I'll have it delivered."
We spend the next hour planning menus and discussing logistics while the children show me their favorite ornaments on the tree.
Anya particularly loves the ballerina music box, which she demonstrates three times to ensure I understand its importance.
Mikhail explains the intricacies of his model airplane with the enthusiasm of a future engineer.
Nadya stays close to my side throughout, and translates family jokes I don't understand and fills in background on traditions I've never experienced.
For someone raised in the Bratva, where family means blood oaths and criminal loyalty, the domesticity feels alien and yet wonderful.
Eventually, we make our excuses to leave, promising to return the following evening with supplies for the celebration.
Irina hugs Nadya again at the door, then surprises me by embracing me as well.
"Take care of my sister," she whispers against my shoulder.
"If you hurt her, a nurse's knowledge of anatomy means I know exactly where to stab for maximum pain."
"Understood," I reply with a chuckle, respecting her protectiveness.
I will never in my life let someone threaten me for real, but the sentiment is heartwarming.
We walk down the hallway toward the elevator, Nadya's hand warm in mine.
She's quiet until we're alone in the descending car, then she pulls me toward her with desperate urgency.
Her kiss is hungry and grateful, her body pressing against mine as if she can communicate through touch what words cannot express.
When we finally break apart, her eyes shine with unshed tears.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"For the story, for convincing her, for wanting to marry me."
"I meant every word about marriage," I say, pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger.
"When this is over, when we've built the life we want, I'm going to put a ring on your finger and make it official."
"I'll hold you to that promise."
"Good."
I cup her face in my hands, careful of the bruises hidden beneath makeup.
"And you can make it up to me tonight, back at my apartment, where I can properly demonstrate my appreciation for your family's acceptance."
Her laugh is pure joy, untainted by the darkness that has consumed us both.
"I have plans for you, Khishchnik. Very detailed plans that involve significantly less clothing than you're currently wearing."
The elevator doors open onto the lobby, releasing us into the late afternoon cold.
Tomorrow, we'll celebrate Novy God with her family, playing the role of a normal couple building a normal future.
But tonight belongs to us alone.
Some lies are worth telling.
Some truths are too dangerous to speak aloud.
And some loves are strong enough to bridge the distance between the world we inhabit and the world we want to build.