Chapter 22
Alexei
Her words hang in the air between us, as sharp and bright as broken window frames. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”
The defiance in her voice and the challenge in her eyes should infuriate me. I should gag her, tie her up, and lock her in the bathroom until she learns her place. I have all the tools. All the power. But instead, there’s an unfamiliar stirring in my chest.
Relief.
She’s back. The woman from the alley with flames in her eyes.
The woman who climbed down a fire escape rather than wait for what she thought was her execution.
The woman who hurled a lamp at my head when I mentioned her sister.
Not the hollow shell who paced my home in silence or the shattered thing who drank from cupped hands in lieu of accepting anything I offered.
I study this woman who refuses to be cowed. Her borrowed clothes hang loose on her frame, my t-shirt swallowing her torso, the drawstring of my sweatpants pulled taut around her waist. Her hair is tangled, and her feet are bare.
She looks small. Vulnerable. And yet, she stands before me with her chin tilted up, deliberately chewing with her mouth open so she can spray crumbs all over the floor.
I could silence her. Order her to shut up. Use force if necessary.
Old Alexei would.
The man I was before prison, before MJ’s death, would have crushed her spirit just because he could. Because weakness was meant to be exploited, not protected.
But I find I don’t want to silence her or extinguish her recently rekindled light. For some crazy fucking reason I can’t explain, I welcome her defiance. I’d rather have that than the empty shell who haunted my loft like a ghost yesterday. At least this version of her is alive and fights back.
“If you’re just getting started, you’re going to need energy.” I gesture toward the spread of food I had delivered. A feast fit for royalty, not a prisoner. Not that I’d call her that out loud. “Toast won’t cut it.”
She takes another deliberate bite, eyes never leaving mine as she chews. A small act of rebellion. A declaration of war.
The muscles around my mouth twitch with an unfamiliar impulse.
When was the last time I actually smiled? A real smile. A genuine expression of amusement. Pleasure.
I can’t remember.
I open my mouth, ready to threaten and bait. To argue. Whatever it takes to keep that fire aimed at me. But the words hover on the tip of my tongue.
The harsh industrial buzz of my intercom cuts through the charged silence between us. My head snaps toward the security monitor mounted beside my workstation. The sight that greets me ices my veins.
Fuck.
In a dark tailored suit, Nikolai Ilyin—Kolya to most of us—looms with his hands clasped behind his back, his face expressionless, and light gleaming from his shaved head.
One of Roman’s most loyal enforcers, the perpetually still and imposing Kolya is a force to be reckoned with.
Beside him, Vitaly shifts his weight while running a hand through his curly brown hair.
In the lead position, Roman Kozlov surveys my door with the arrogance of a man who can buy anything. My uncle’s short dark brown hair is streaked with gray at the temples. Though he’s younger than my father by several years, I couldn’t imagine my father being Pakhan in his place.
“What is it?” Aurora’s voice is small. The defiance drains from her face as she registers my reaction along with the rapid shift in the atmosphere.
I hit the button to allow them entry. Making them wait will only worsen things. “Get into the bedroom. Don’t make a sound.”
For once, she doesn’t argue. Maybe restraining her taught her a lesson after all. She scoops up the cat and disappears.
The elevator doors grind open.
Roman emerges first, his movements deliberately unhurried. Power doesn’t need to rush.
Behind him, Vitaly’s face is a thundercloud of barely contained fury and judgment. Kolya brings up the rear, shaking his head as he registers the broken window, the food on the table, and the woman’s shoes by the couch.
Idiot. The unspoken word hangs in the air between us.
I’ve been careless. Reckless. Sloppy. And they’re here to show me what happens when I fuck up. No one gets fired from the Bratva for bad work performance. There’s only one way out.
Roman soaks in the scene around him wordlessly.
His silence is more effective than any shouted reprimand.
He circles the space with measured strides, taking inventory of my sins.
His hand trails over the back of the sofa where Aurora sat last night.
He taps the counter with its extravagant display of food.
He picks up a grape, examines it, then pops it into his mouth with casual entitlement.
Everything is his.
My loft. My loyalty. My life.
I’ve never questioned this hierarchy before. Never even wanted to.
Until now.
“Is she here?” Vitaly breaks the silence, his accusatory voice dripping with disgust. He already knows the answer.
I ignore him. My half-brother isn’t the real threat. My uncle is.
Roman stops at the wall of windows, his attention snared by the one Aurora escaped through that I haven’t had the chance to properly repair. He traces a single finger over the jagged, broken weld on the casement frame, then pivots back toward the counter laden with food.
His steel black eyes, when they meet mine, are cold as ice. “Oh, she’s here.”
No point in denying that truth. The evidence surrounds us.
Roman releases a heavy sigh. “The violence was unsanctioned, Alexei.” His quiet voice is all the more dangerous. “Explain.”
For a fleeting second, I consider fabricating some reason that has nothing to do with MJ and my quest to understand the truth about his death.
But that would be pointless. Roman can smell a lie like a shark smells blood.
“Benny was MJ’s cellmate in prison.” I risk a glance up. “I had questions.”
“We’ve been through this. I want you to abandon this hunt for MJ’s ‘murderer.’” His fingers sketch quotation marks in the air around that last word. “Let it be. You’re killing your father with this crusade.”
The mention of my father lands like a physical blow. Since MJ’s death, grief has changed him. That’s partially what drove me to seek answers. Dad’s religious and worries for my brother’s soul. And now Roman is using that against me. Using my guilt, my love for my father, as another tool of control.
“And this,” Roman gestures to the broken window, “looks careless. Reckless.” His eyes bore into mine, each word precise and cutting. “Like the old Alexei.”
The thing I’ve tried for six years not to be. The impulsive, unrestrained version of myself that got MJ killed. That put my brother in a position to take the fall for me and go to prison in my place.
“Where is the witness, nephew?” His voice remains soft.
I stay silent. What can I say? That she’s more than a witness? That she’s become an entity I can’t define or control yet refuse to surrender?
“Alexei.” My name on his lips is a warning, the disappointment in his eyes worse than fury. “Don’t force me to handle this.”
I still fail to summon a reply.
Roman nods to Vitaly. The slight incline of his head prompts my half-brother to move toward the guest bedroom.
I’ve seen what’s about to happen play out many times. Vitaly will enter the room. Aurora will gasp or scream. He’ll raise his gun with that little half-smile he gets when he’s about to kill someone.
One clean shot to the head.
The thought guts me, leaving me cold and hollow.
Not her.
Not her impossible, rebellious light.
I see that future with perfect, awful clarity. A world without her defiance or stubbornness. Without her courage. A black hole would open in my chest if she died.
I can’t lose her.
Raw, animalistic panic claws at my insides and threatens to shred me apart. I can’t let Vitaly reach that door. Roman can’t steal her from me before I’ve even figured out what she means.
“She’s not a witness.”
Vitaly stops mid-stride and peers over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.
Roman’s gaze doesn’t veer away from mine, his reaction unreadable.
Kolya remains motionless by the elevator, his stillness as threatening as a pointed gun.
“Then. What. Is. She?” Roman enunciates each word.
The shift inside me is instant.
Walls crumble. Six years of careful control, measured responses, and calculated decisions all fall away. Reckless, rampant, impulsive Alexei comes roaring back. The version of me that acts without thinking and follows instinct over reason.
The version that got MJ killed.
“She was only there because I was.” I mentally kick myself for what I’m about to say. “She’s my fiancée.”
Horror spreads through every cell in my body. Did I really just blurt that out loud?
A rare smile transforms Roman’s hard features. “Your fiancée.” The words drip with disbelief. “The cocktail waitress. In the maid costume. The one you met in an alley when you were ‘interrogating’ Benny.”
Of course someone’s already told him everything they know. “I didn’t meet her in the alley.”
“You didn’t?” Roman’s deceptively soft voice causes the back of my neck to tingle.
My gaze snaps to his. “No.”
“You met her before that?”
“I met her at Red Bird’s where she worked. We…hit it off, you could say.” Technically not a lie. “When I questioned Benny, Aurora was worried and followed us outside. He put a gun to her head, and I killed him for it. It was either her life or his. I had no choice.”
No lies. Nothing but the bald, broken, distorted truth.
He studies me without speaking, leaving me to sweat in the gathering silence. I watch as his sharp mind dissects my statements for truth and comes up short. “You tied her up in your car on the way home.”
Shit. How did I forget that detail? “Yes. She’s into kinky role play and wanted to test out an obsessed stalker scenario. I think she heard about it on social media.” I can’t believe the garbage spewing from my mouth.
Thankfully, Roman doesn’t ask for more details.
His forehead creases as he peers at the broken window again, then the food on the counter, then Vitaly, who’s still frozen halfway to the guest bedroom door.
His gaze slides to Kolya, and a silent communication passes between them.
Kolya points to the litter box next to the elevator.
Then to the kitchen where the food and water bowls are on the floor.
“That’s Pixie’s. My fiancée’s cat’s. Can’t leave her at the apartment when Aurora’s here most of the time. And after the Benny incident, I didn’t want her there alone either.”
What the fuck am I doing?
Vitaly strolls over to the counter and holds up a couple of papers with a small beige envelope stapled to them. “Got the vet bill here. His name’s on it. So is Pixie’s. Female orange tabby. There’s even meds.”
“One pill every twelve hours, crushed up and sprinkled on her food.” I start to relax just a little bit. Everyone knows I don’t have a pet.
Roman studies me for a long, brutal moment. He knows it’s not the full truth.
I know he knows.
But denying my sudden claim now would mean signing her death warrant. Though, continuing with this farse also means tying myself to her in ways I can’t begin to calculate.
Roman gives a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Vitaly turns away from the bedroom, his face twisted with disgust. Even with the paperwork, he doesn’t believe me for a second. But he won’t contradict our uncle. No one does.
“Well, that’s wonderful news.” Roman’s eyes gleam with a silent challenge.
“The family must meet her properly. Officially. Your father and Irina will want to celebrate. They deserve some good cheer.” He pulls out his phone in a casual but deliberate gesture.
“I’ll call them myself if you want. Let them know you’re finally settling down. ”
He’s not asking permission. He’s seizing control of the narrative. Reshaping my impulsive lie into one that serves his purposes. Whatever those might be.
“Please do. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear it from you. Then he’ll know you approve as well.” If I can pull this off, Aurora and I both get to live. “I gave her my mother’s engagement ring. He should know that too.” Or at least, I will. As soon as I can. The ring is currently in my safe.
“He’ll be pleased.” Roman scrolls through his contacts. “Maison de la Voile at noon, five days from now. You’ll both be there so you can introduce her to your family properly. I’ll let your stepmother and Valeria know that they can help Aurora pick out a dress.”
Five days to prepare Aurora, persuade her to play along, and create a believable backstory. Five days to transform an abducted witness into a convincing fiancée.
“Perfect. Aurora will be thrilled.” Or horrified.
“Excellent.” He slips his phone back into his pocket and marches toward the elevator.
Vitaly follows, shooting me a look of disgust mingled with curiosity as he passes. Kolya trails behind, his face giving away nothing as usual.
The audience is over.
At the elevator doors, Roman addresses me one last time. “And Alexei? Fix your fucking window.”
The doors slide closed and erase the three men from view.
I linger in the center of my loft, motionless, lungs frozen, muscles tense. Listening. Waiting for the sound of the elevator reaching the ground floor. For the certainty that they’re truly gone.
When it finally comes, I exhale, air hissing between my teeth.
What have I done?