Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Dmitry
One month later…
It’s been a month since I told Callista I loved her, and somehow, every day since has felt like both a lifetime and a heartbeat.
She has become my constant. My gravity.
The mornings start with her voice and end with her asleep in my arms, her breath warm against my chest. I never thought I’d enjoy something as ordinary as having someone to wake up next to, but now, I can’t imagine not having her there.
Our lives have fallen into a rhythm that feels too perfect for the world I come from.
I wait for her outside her dorm with a cup of coffee every morning. Vanilla latte with an extra shot, exactly the way she likes it. Her face lights up every time she sees me holding it, even when she tries to hide it behind a yawn.
“You’re going to spoil me,” she teases.
“That’s the plan,” I tell her.
Between classes, I carry her books from the library. She pretends to protest, but I can see the way her fingers brush against mine when I take them, how her eyes linger on me before she looks away.
I kiss her before she walks into her classroom, slow enough that her lip gloss smudges onto my mouth. It earns her a few jealous glances from other students, and I can’t help but enjoy that. The world should see that she’s mine.
I used to think romance was weakness. That caring about someone meant losing control. But Callista has made me realize that loneliness isn’t strength. It’s emptiness.
And I’ve been empty for too long.
I used to think I felt alone because people didn’t understand me. Now I know it was because I didn’t have anyone to give my love to. Someone to take care of. Someone who made me want to be gentle.
With her, I finally understand what peace feels like.
The business side of my life is flourishing, too.
The new recruits from the finance gala are working well.
The laundering operations are smooth again, and I’ve started exploring other ventures to expand our influence—cryptocurrency trading fronts, shell corporations, even property investments. Leo will be pleased.
But as I watch Callista leave her last class of the day, walking toward me in her skirt and cardigan, all that matters is her.
She spots me and smiles. That shy, sweet smile that makes everything else fade away.
“Hi,” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I slip an arm around her waist, pulling her close. My thumb strokes her stomach through her sweater. It’s flat now, but sometimes I let myself imagine what it would look like rounded with my child. The thought makes something deep inside me ache.
She leans against me. “I have to write an essay tonight,” she says, frowning a little. “You?”
“I have work,” I admit. “We can do it together. In the library.”
Her smile returns. “Deal.”
The library is quiet at this hour, the low hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of turning pages filling the space. We take our usual spot at the far corner near the tall windows. She sets down her laptop and a notebook filled with colorful pens and sticky notes.
I open my laptop beside her, running numbers and reviewing reports.
For a few minutes, she distracts me completely. The way she chews her pen when she’s thinking. The tiny crease between her brows. The faint scent of her shampoo.
“Stop staring,” she whispers without looking up.
“I wasn’t,” I say.
“You were,” she says, glancing at me from under her lashes. “I could feel it.”
I smirk. “Maybe I just like watching you think.”
She rolls her eyes but her lips curve into a small smile. “Then you’re easily entertained.”
“I am, when it’s you.”
She shakes her head, pretending to focus on her essay, but I see the blush rising on her cheeks.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm after that. She types, I run figures, and somehow, the quiet between us feels warm instead of empty.
Every so often, she reaches for her coffee and our fingers brush. Every time, I have to stop myself from leaning in to kiss her again.
I used to think I could never balance my two lives—the bratva and the boy. But when she looks at me like that, I start to believe I can.
It’s close to midnight when I finally close my laptop. The library is quiet except for the rustle of pages and the soft hum of fluorescent lights.
Across from me, Callista yawns, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes flutter. She blinks a few times, trying to stay awake, then rubs her eyes with the back of her hand like a sleepy child.
She looks adorable.
“Come on,” I say softly. “You’re done for the night.”
“I just need to finish this paragraph,” she mumbles, squinting at the screen.
I lean forward, pushing her laptop closed. “It’ll still be there tomorrow. You need to eat.”
She groans quietly. “I should head back to the sorority house. The girls will worry.”
“Stay over,” I say before I can stop myself. “I’ll cook for you.”
Her head pops up, her eyes widening. “You can cook?”
I smirk. “A few things. I’m in the mood to make something for my girlfriend. So why not?”
She bites her lip, her tiredness fading into a shy smile. “I like when you call me that.”
“I like it too,” I tell her. “It makes it clear you’re mine.”
Her cheeks color, and she starts to pack up her bag. I do the same, taking her books before she can protest.
When we step outside, the air is cool and the parking lot is nearly empty. I open the car door for her, watching her slide in, her hair catching the glow of the streetlights.
The drive to the mansion is quiet. She leans her head against the window, half-asleep, while I sneak glances at her from the corner of my eye. Her face is relaxed, soft, peaceful in a way that makes something in me ache.
But the moment I unlock the front door, the peace shatters.
Leo is sitting in the living room.
I freeze. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He looks tired—more than tired. His shirt is half unbuttoned, his hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes have that hollow, sleepless look that means something went wrong.
“Leo,” I say slowly. “You were supposed to be in Moscow.”
He lifts his gaze to me, then notices Callista standing behind me, clutching her bag. One eyebrow arches.
Before I can explain, she blurts out, “Hi. I’m Callista. Dmitry’s… friend.”
“Girlfriend,” I correct, stepping closer and taking her hand.
Leo’s face doesn’t change. No reaction. No teasing. No shock. Nothing. Just that same empty calm that makes me uneasy.
I expected him to say something, make some kind of remark, but he seems too tired to even alter his facial expression.
Callista’s stomach growls. She blushes, her fingers tightening around my hoodie. I hold her hand, saying, “It’s okay. I’m going to whip up something fast.”
Leo’s presence marks the space. He looks past me, toward the kitchen, then back at me. “You were going to cook?”
“Yeah,” I say. “For her. But you look like you could use something too.”
He shakes his head. “No. I have to go.”
There’s something heavy in his tone, something I don’t like. But before I can ask, he’s already standing.
“Have dinner in peace,” he says quietly, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve as he walks past us.
I watch him leave, his footsteps echoing through the marble hall. The front door shuts, and silence settles over the house again.
Callista lets out a breath. “He seems… intense.”
“He’s usually like that,” I say, still staring at the door. “But he was really quiet tonight. Something happened.”
She touches my arm gently. “Should we check on him?”
“He wouldn’t want that.” I force a smile. “Let’s eat. I promised you dinner.”
Her eyes soften. “Okay. But I’m helping.”
I don’t want her wandering alone with Leo still somewhere nearby, so I nod and lead her to the kitchen.
She ties her hair up while I find the apron hanging by the pantry door. When I put it on, she giggles. “You look good in an apron.”
I glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, leaning against the counter. “It’s very… domestic.”
I cross the space between us, catching her chin with my finger. “Only you get to see me like this,” I murmur, and kiss her.
It’s a slow, lazy kiss that tastes like sugar and promise, the kind that makes me forget the world outside this house.
When I pull back, I hand her a cutting board and a knife. “Now chop those onions before I change my mind.”
She laughs, brushing her hair off her shoulder. “Yes, chef.”