Chapter 15
AXEL
The Volkovs left three men dead on our side. Eight of theirs scattered across the estate grounds like broken toys. It's not a victory, just survival with a body count.
"They knew our blind spots," Viktor says, pointing at the eastern perimeter footage. "See? They came in exactly where our cameras don't overlap. Right through this gap here, and this one."
"Inside information," I mutter, watching the timestamp replay of masked figures slipping through our defenses like ghosts.
"Has to be. No way they mapped this on their own." He switches feeds, pulling up the south entrance. "Someone gave them blueprints. Detailed ones."
"Not our men. They're loyal." I lean back in the chair, feeling every bruise from tonight's fight. "Volkovs have been sniffing around for months. Probably paid off someone in the city planning office. Got the estate layouts that way."
"Testing us," Sergei adds from the doorway, finally off the phone. "Seeing if prison made you soft. If you're still the man who ran this city before you went in."
"And what do they think now?"
He grins, gold teeth catching the light. "That you're not soft at all. That they fucked up coming here."
The door opens. Luca enters, looking as exhausted as I feel. His shirt's untucked, tie gone, the careful facade he wears for the world completely stripped away.
"We need to talk," he says.
Viktor and Sergei take the hint immediately, filing out and closing the door behind them with a soft click that sounds too loud in the sudden quiet.
"Your security held," I say before he can speak, before he can ask the questions I see forming. "Barely, but it held."
"Because of your men." Luca pours himself whiskey even though it's 3 AM and we should both be trying to sleep. "Viktor's coordination, Sergei's response time. Your training. Without them, we'd be dead."
"We got lucky."
"We got prepared." He takes a long drink, adam's apple bobbing. "Aurora. Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Shaken, but physically fine."
"You got her to the safe room. I saw the footage." His eyes are searching mine, looking for something I can't give him. "You covered her with your own body, Axel. Put yourself between her and the bullets. Risked your life."
Because she's carrying my child. Because the thought of losing her makes me want to burn the world down.
"She's your daughter," I say instead, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "Of course I protected her."
"Still." He sets down his glass with a heavy thunk. "Thank you. For keeping her safe. For—" He stops, swallows hard. "For treating her like she matters."
The gratitude feels like a knife sliding between my ribs.
"Don't thank me," I say quietly, the words rough in my throat.
"Why not?"
"Because—" I stop myself. Can't finish that sentence. Can't tell him the truth that would destroy twenty years of brotherhood. "Just don't."
Luca studies me for a long moment, his gaze heavy and searching. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it.
"The engagement," he says finally. "You still want to end it?"
"Yes."
"And you still won't tell me why."
"Leo's not right for her. That's all you need to know."
"That's not a reason, Axel. That's an opinion." He leans forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped. "What happened? What changed between you proposing this marriage and now wanting to destroy it?"
Everything. Everything changed because I found out she's the woman I can't stop thinking about.
"He's not the man I thought he was when I suggested this arrangement."
"Explain that to me. Make me understand."
I can't. Not without revealing things that'll blow up both our lives, that'll turn a brother into an enemy.
"Trust me," I say finally, meeting his eyes. "Please. Just trust that I know what I'm talking about. That I wouldn't ask this if it wasn't necessary."
Luca's quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say.
"Fine," he says eventually. "Keep your secrets. But Axel? Whatever's going on, it needs to resolve soon. This limbo we're all living in, it's killing Aurora. She deserves to know what's happening with her own life. She deserves better than being kept in the dark while we argue about her future."
He's right. She does deserve better.
But I have no idea how to give her that without burning everything to the ground.
I'm in my room an hour later, trying to sleep and failing spectacularly. Every time I close my eyes, I see that Volkov soldier's hands on Aurora, see her face pale with terror, see a thousand ways tonight could have gone wrong.
A soft knock interrupts my spiral.
Hesitant. Careful. Not the demanding knock of Viktor or the heavy thud of Sergei.
I know who it is before I open the door.
Aurora's standing there in pajama pants and a tank top, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She's holding a first aid kit, the white box stark against her dark clothes.
"Hi," she says quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Hi."
"You have blood on your face." She gestures at the scratches the Volkov soldier left when he was clawing at me, trying to break free. "And probably other places. I thought—" She stops, bites her lip. "Can I come in?"
I should say no. Should send her back to her room before someone sees her standing at my door in the middle of the night, before questions get asked that neither of us can answer.
Instead, I step aside.
She enters quickly, glancing down the hallway first to make sure it's empty. I close the door behind her, lock it out of habit.
We stand there in awkward silence, the air between us thick with everything we can't say.
"Sit," she finally says, pointing at the bed. "Let me clean those scratches."
I sit on the edge of the mattress. She sets the kit beside me, opens it with careful fingers. Pulls out antiseptic wipes and gauze, arranging them with the precision of someone who needs a task to focus on.
"This might sting," she warns, meeting my eyes briefly before looking away again.
Then her fingers are on my face, gentle and so careful it makes my chest ache. She wipes away the dried blood with slow, methodical movements. I force myself not to react, not to lean into her touch like a man dying of thirst.
Which I am.
"You were terrifying tonight," she says softly, her voice barely audible. "The way you fought. The way you moved. I've never seen anything like that."
"I'm sorry you had to see it."
"Don't be." She moves to the scratches on my cheek, dabbing antiseptic with a cotton ball. I hiss at the sting, and she murmurs an apology. "You were protecting me. There's nothing to be sorry for."
"You shouldn't have to see me like that. Like a monster."
"You're not a monster." Her hand pauses, and she looks at me directly for the first time since entering. "You killed three men tonight getting me to safety."
"I would've killed thirty if I had to."
She studies my face, searching for something. "Why?"
Because you're mine. Because losing you would destroy me. Because I can't imagine a world without you in it.
"Because you're important," I say instead, the words inadequate but all I can give her right now.
"To the alliance."
"To me."
She goes back to cleaning the scratches, but her hands are shaking now, betraying the calm facade she's trying to maintain. "Lift your shirt. I need to check for other injuries."
I pull the ruined, blood-stained shirt over my head, tossing it aside. She sucks in a sharp breath when she sees the damage.
"Axel…"
"It's not as bad as it looks."
But it is. Bruises are already forming across my ribs in dark purple blooms from where I took a hit during the fight.
There's a shallow cut on my shoulder from flying debris, still oozing slightly.
Nothing life-threatening, nothing that won't heal, but enough to make her face go pale in the dim light.
"You're hurt," she breathes, her fingers hovering over the bruises without quite touching, like she's afraid of causing more pain.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Her hands finally land on my skin, feather-light, mapping the damage. "You could have been killed tonight. Any one of those bullets—"
"But they didn't. I wasn't."
"Because you got lucky."
"Because I'm good at what I do. I've been doing it for twenty-five years." I catch her wrist gently, feeling her pulse racing under my fingers. "Aurora. I'm okay. I'm here. We both are."
She looks at me with those dark eyes, and I see it all written there, the fear she's been holding back since the attack. The terror from tonight layered over the trauma of her mother's murder. The weight of being eight years old and watching someone you love die.
"I thought… when that man grabbed me, I thought he was going to—" Her voice breaks on the words.
"I know."
"You went crazy. I watched you beat him to death and you didn't even hesitate. You just…" She shakes her head. "I've never seen anyone move like that."
"He touched you. He hurt you." My grip on her wrist tightens slightly, remembering the rage that had consumed me. "No one gets to do that and live."
"Why?" Her voice cracks. "Why do you care so much?"
Because I'm falling for you. Because you've gotten under my skin and I can't get you out.
But I can't say that. Not yet. Not when everything's balanced on a knife's edge.
So instead of speaking, I show her.
I pull her closer, between my legs, and wrap my arms around her waist. Press my face into her chest, into her stomach where our baby is growing, hidden beneath skin and muscle and the clothes that conceal the truth from everyone else.
She goes rigid, her whole body tensing. "Axel."
"Please." The word comes out rough, almost broken. "Just, let me stay like this. Just for a minute. Please."
I feel her hesitate, feel the war happening inside her. Then her hand comes to my hair, her fingers threading through it with a gentleness that makes my throat tight.
I groan.