Chapter Twenty - Pavel
Work should provide the distraction I need. The shipping manifests require approval, territory negotiations with the remaining Kravin contacts demand attention, and there’s a security briefing scheduled for this afternoon that can’t be postponed.
Serena is in my study now, curled up in the armchair near the window with a book, and my attention keeps drifting toward her despite conscious efforts to maintain focus.
She’s wearing fitted jeans and one of my shirts—taken from my closet this morning without asking, the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame in a way that shouldn’t be this distracting.
Her hair is pulled back in a messy knot, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
The bruises have faded almost completely now, leaving only faint shadows that will disappear entirely within days.
She looks comfortable, which in itself is unusual.
“You’re staring again,” she observes without looking up from her book.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what exactly?” Now she does glance over, one eyebrow raised.
“Operational concerns,” I lie smoothly.
She doesn’t believe me—I can see the skepticism in her expression—but she returns to her book without pushing.
I force my attention back to the tablet, reviewing the proposed terms for the shipping route consolidation. The numbers are solid, the timeline reasonable, the risk assessment thorough. I should approve it and move on to the next item requiring decision.
Instead, I find myself reading the same paragraph three times because I’m listening to the subtle sounds Serena makes—the soft rustle as she turns a page, the quiet sigh when she shifts position, the barely audible hum of contentment that suggests she’s enjoying whatever she’s reading.
This is a problem.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from Mikhail: Council meeting moved to tomorrow morning.
I type a response confirming the meeting and authorizing Mikhail to handle it however he sees fit.
“Is everything okay?” Serena asks, and I realize my jaw has tightened with irritation.
“Minor business issue. Nothing that concerns you.”
“Everything about your organization concerns me now.” She sets down her book. “I’m your wife. Your issues are my issues.”
“This is Bratva business. You don’t need to.”
“Don’t patronize me, Pavel.” Her tone sharpens. “I’m not some fragile thing you need to shield from reality. I’ve seen what you do. I know what your organization is. Stop treating me like I can’t handle the truth.”
The challenge in her voice makes something primal stir. “I’m protecting you from unnecessary exposure to violence and criminal operations.”
“It’s controlling.” She stands, crossing her arms. “You make decisions about what I should and shouldn’t know, what I can and can’t handle, without even consulting me. How is that different from the forced marriage that started this?”
“Now you’re choosing to be here.” I set down the tablet with controlled precision. “You’re in my bed willingly. You say you love me. That changes the context entirely.”
“Does it?” She moves closer, her expression defiant. “Or does it just give you another excuse to maintain total control while pretending it’s for my protection?”
The accusation hits harder than it should. “You think I’m using your feelings as manipulation?”
“I think you’re so used to controlling every variable that you can’t recognize when you’re doing it anymore.” She stops a few feet away, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. “I love you, Pavel. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to be kept ignorant of the life I’m part of now.”
“Keeping you ignorant keeps you safe.” I stand, closing the remaining distance. “The less you know about specific operations, the less leverage anyone has if they—”
“If they what, kidnap me again?” She laughs, bitter and sharp. “That already happened. Kravin already tortured me for information. Keeping me ignorant didn’t protect me then.”
“Which is exactly why I’m ensuring it doesn’t happen again.” My voice drops lower, more controlled despite the frustration building. “You don’t need operational details. You need to trust that I’m handling threats appropriately.”
“Trust without transparency isn’t trust, Pavel. It’s blind faith.” Her hand comes up to poke my chest, emphasizing the point. “I’m not built for blind faith in men who make decisions for me.”
The gesture is small but challenging. She’s deliberately pushing boundaries, testing how far she can press before I push back.
“Don’t,” I warn quietly.
“Don’t what?” She does it again, poking harder.
My hand shoots out, catching her wrist before she can poke me a third time. “Don’t test my patience when you know exactly how thin it is right now.”
“Or what?” She steps closer, close enough that I can feel her breath.
The challenge in her eyes is deliberate provocation. She’s pushing specifically to get a reaction, to see if I’ll default to the control she’s accusing me of maintaining.
Every tactical instinct screams to de-escalate. To release her wrist, step back, approach this argument with the same calm discipline I apply to negotiations and strategic decisions.
She’s so close, and the defiance in her expression makes something primal surge through me—anger and desire tangling together until I can’t separate them.
“You want to see control?” I back her against the desk, my body crowding hers. “You want me to prove I’m exactly what you’re accusing me of being?”
“I want honesty.” Her breathing has quickened, pupils dilating despite the anger in her voice. “I want you to admit that you’re still trying to manage me like a variable in your strategic calculations.”
“You’re not a variable.” My free hand finds her hip, gripping with possessive pressure. “You’re a complication I never planned for and can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try.”
“Then stop trying.” Her uninjured hand fists in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she glares. “Stop trying to control me and just be with me. As equals and as partners.”
“We’re not equals, Serena.” The admission is brutal honesty. “I have more power, more resources, more experience in this world. Pretending otherwise doesn’t change reality.”
“You could choose to share that power instead of wielding it over me.” Her voice cracks slightly. “You could trust me to handle the truth instead of deciding what I’m capable of knowing.”
She’s right. The realization cuts through anger and frustration with uncomfortable clarity. I’ve been treating her like an asset to protect rather than a partner to include, defaulting to control because it’s safer than vulnerability.
Acknowledging that internally and admitting it out loud are entirely different things.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” I say instead, my grip on her hip tightening.
“Transparency means exposure to details that will keep you awake at night. Operations that cross lines you might not be comfortable with. Decisions that prioritize organizational survival over moral considerations.”
“Then let me make that choice.” Her chin lifts defiantly. “Stop deciding what I can handle and let me prove I’m stronger than you give me credit for.”
“I know you’re strong.” My other hand moves to brace against the desk beside her, effectively caging her in. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” She doesn’t back down despite the way I’m crowding her space. “It looks a lot like you’re using protection as an excuse to maintain the same control you’ve always had.”
The accusation makes anger spike hot and immediate. “You think I enjoy lying to you?”
“I think you’re comfortable with it.” Her hand comes up between us, fingers splaying across my chest. “I think you’ve structured your entire life around control, and including me as an actual partner means giving up some of that control. Which terrifies you.”
She’s reading me too accurately, seeing through carefully maintained walls to the fear underneath. I should step back, create distance, approach this rationally.
Instead, I lean closer.
“You want to talk about terror?” My voice drops lower, more dangerous.
“You have no idea what terror is. Terror is watching surveillance footage of you being forced into a vehicle by men who specialize in torture. Terror is knowing every second that passes is another second you’re in pain because I failed to protect you adequately. ”
“I’m not asking you to stop protecting me.” Her fingers curl into my shirt, gripping the fabric. “I’m asking you to trust me enough to let me help protect myself. To give me the information I need to make informed decisions instead of keeping me ignorant for my own good.”
“Ignorance is safer.”
“Ignorance is what got me kidnapped.” Her eyes flash with frustration. “I didn’t understand the danger of attempting escape during that specific window. If you’d trusted me with that information, maybe I would have chosen differently.”
The logic is sound, but it doesn’t change the visceral fear that drives my need to control. “Or maybe you would have used that information to attempt escape anyway and gotten yourself killed.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Exactly.” I shift closer, close enough that our bodies are nearly flush. “I don’t know. Can’t predict. Can’t control what you’ll do with information once you have it. That uncertainty is dangerous in ways you clearly don’t appreciate.”
“So you’d rather keep me in the dark forever?” Her breathing has quickened, though whether from anger or our proximity, I can’t tell. “Treat me like a liability instead of an asset?”
“You’re not a liability.” The words come out rougher than intended. “You’re—”
“What?” She pushes slightly against my chest, but the movement is halfhearted.
“Mine.”
“You’re awfully confident about that.”
“I am.” I lean closer, my mouth near her ear.
Her breath catches at the implication. “You’re trying to distract me from the actual argument.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
Her pulse is racing visibly in her throat, and her hand is still fisted in my shirt. “We’re not done discussing this.”
“We’re not done,” I agree, letting my hand slide from her jaw down the side of her neck. “We can table it for now.”
“Why would we table it?” She stops when my fingers find her pulse point, pressing lightly. “Pavel.”
“Yes?” I trace the rapid flutter with deliberate slowness. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that, uh…” Her words falter when I lean in, my mouth hovering just above the spot my fingers are touching. “That you’re being manipulative.”
“And?” I don’t kiss her throat, just let her feel my breath against sensitive skin.
“It’s not going to work.” But she tilts her head back slightly, giving me better access despite the protest.
“No?” I move fractionally closer, not quite making contact. “You seem fairly affected right now.”
“I’m angry at you.” Her voice lacks conviction.
“I know.” My free hand finds her hip again, fingers spreading across the curve possessively.
She makes a small sound that’s definitely not anger.
“We’re still arguing,” I agree against her skin. “That doesn’t change the fact that I want to bend you over this desk right now. Want to remind you exactly why you chose to stay despite disagreeing with how I handle protection.”
“That’s not resolving anything.”
“No, but it would feel good.” I pull back to look at her properly. “Wouldn’t it?”
Her eyes are dark with want that mirrors my own, her breathing rapid and shallow. “Yes.”
The honest admission makes heat spike through me. I could have her right now—she’s already responding, already leaning into my touch, already showing every sign of wanting exactly what I’m offering.
Something holds me back.
“Tell me what you need,” I say quietly. “Partnership means asking instead of taking.”
She blinks, clearly surprised by the question. “What?”
“You want me to treat you as an equal. To include you in decisions.” My thumb traces her hip bone through the fabric of her jeans. “So decide. Tell me what happens next.”
She struggles visibly with the sudden shift in dynamic. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I lean in again but stop just short of kissing her. “You know exactly what you want. You’re just afraid to say it.”
She swallows hard. “I want you to stop using sex as a distraction from actual problems.”
The words hit harder than expected. Not because they’re untrue, but because they’re devastatingly accurate.
“You’re right,” I admit, forcing myself to step back despite every instinct screaming to close the distance again. “I am using attraction as a distraction.”
She stares at me, clearly not expecting the concession. “Oh.”
“So we’ll table the argument and the sex.” I move back to my side of the desk, creating actual distance between us. “For now. This conversation isn’t finished, Serena. We’re going to revisit the transparency issue when we’re both calm enough to discuss it rationally.”
“Okay.” She straightens her clothing, though nothing is actually disheveled. “When?”
“Tonight. After dinner.” I pick up the tablet I abandoned, forcing my attention back to work despite the way my body is still thrumming with unfulfilled want. “We’ll establish boundaries around information sharing. Figure out what you need to know versus what creates unnecessary risk.”
“That’s…” She pauses. “That’s actually reasonable.”
“I’m capable of reason.” I glance up at her. “When properly motivated.”
She studies me for a long moment, something softening in her expression. “Thank you.”