Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
LEO
Motherfucking Paris traffic is going to be the death of me. It’s almost one in the morning, yet the area around the Champs-élysées is jam-packed. I blame the tourists, they all buy into this “city of love” bullshit, especially at night.
My only saving grace is the bike. Like a true Parisian, I drive like an asshole, weaving in and out of traffic to get to my destination faster. When I finally pull up behind Alyona’s flat, Matis is waiting for me, leaning against the hood of his car.
“You made it here in record time,” he comments dryly, glancing at his watch.
“A private jet helps.” I stow my helmet on the bike’s back seat and cut to the chase. “What do you know?”
Matis flicks his cigarette away, springing off the hood of his car. He’s not bratva. He’s actually an ex-cop, but all that matters to me is his loyalty, ability to follow orders, and connections. Which is why Gianni tipped him off about Aly.
He shrugs carelessly in that nonchalant French way of his. “An intruder got into her flat, someone who was trying to abduct her … there was a tussle, she killed him, but she’s not saying much more than that.” He pauses, already lighting another cigarette.
The breath catches in my throat. “Abduct her!”
“It would seem so.” Matis shrugs again, making me itch to throttle him. He’s way too relaxed for this situation. “One more thing. The guy’s covered in tattoos—Russian prison tats for that matter. Gianni’s men are dealing with the body, but he’ll send pictures and anything else he finds.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Russian prison tattoos were popular among bratva members in the 1990s and 2000s, indicating the number of years they had served, their crimes, and their rank within the organization.
So this wasn’t a random break-in. She was targeted. My blood runs cold. “Text me the moment you have anything,” I bark over my shoulder.
I might be the last person Aly ever wants to see again, but she doesn’t have a choice. I’ll deal with her anger—I have for years—but I’m not allowing her to face this threat alone. Hell will freeze over first.
I saved her life once though it cost me everything. And if need be, I’ll do it again.
My knock reverberates throughout the hallway but there’s no answer. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and consider crashing down the door. No one else lives in this building, I made sure of that, but I figure it’ll get our reunion off to a bad start.
It’s not like we haven’t seen each other at all these past seven years.
Our families are closely connected, we grew up together.
In the years since we broke up, run-ins couldn’t be helped.
Weddings, funerals, any big family event.
She usually avoids me like the plague, even if I can’t tear my eyes off her.
I knock again, harder this time. Finally, footsteps approach, and the door swings open. Alyona stands rooted to the spot, staring at me as if I’m her worst nightmare come to life.
And maybe I am.
But that doesn’t stop me from soaking in her very presence.
All I can hear is the thunderous pulsing of blood in my ears.
Even after a shit sandwich of a night, she still possesses the same devastating beauty I’ve damn near memorized.
Long, silky black hair, still damp after a shower, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and full, sensuous lips—although, at the moment, those lips form a disapproving pout.
Her stare is cold enough to freeze my balls. If she’s surprised to see me, she doesn’t show it, the only thing that’s clear is her unhappiness. If only I could find her as distasteful as she finds me. Because all I see is perfection.
She clutches her fuzzy robe tightly around her body, as if it’s armor against my presence. “What are you doing here?” she snaps, her words laced with acid.
I flash her a smile which only deepens her frown.
“Rumor has it you could use some help.” I don’t bother waiting for an invitation into her flat—I know it won’t come.
I push my way past her, and as I do, I’m enveloped by warm vanilla and jasmine.
It’s a scent wrapped up in so much memory it makes my bones ache.
“You heard wrong. I’m fine. I’ve sorted it all out myself, so you can leave.” She holds the door open and gestures in the direction she wants me to go.
“I’m not going anywhere, Aly. Like it or not, I’m here to stay.”
Her cheeks flush, irritation flickering in her eyes as she slams the door behind me with more force than necessary. I know she’s tough, but beneath her bravado, she’s shaken up. Who wouldn’t be?
“Let’s not do this, okay?” she pleads. “As you can see, I’m fine. There was a break-in, but I handled it. You don’t have to pretend to care—”
“I’m not pretending, Aly. Someone came here tonight to abduct you and I need to know why.”
Even though she’s trying to put on a brave face, I notice how her shoulders sag with exhaustion, and every protective instinct within me surges.
I want to scoop her up and shield her from everything bad in this world.
Even if that’s impossible. Even though I couldn’t protect her from my own flesh and blood.
Without saying a word, she stalks into her kitchen, grabs a bottle of red wine, and fills a stemmed glass right up to the top.
She gulps down half the contents in three seconds flat.
She doesn’t offer me a drink or a seat, but at least she’s not screaming bloody murder for me to get out.
Yet. There’s still plenty of time for that.
My eyes sweep the apartment; there’s not a book or a knickknack out of place. It’s spotless. Gianni’s team did an impeccable cleanup job, but I’m sure the memories of what took place here still linger.
"How do you know what happened?" She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn’t involve the Kozlovs for a reason. I’m not interested in their help, and I'm definitely not interested in yours."
I advance on her, the space between us shrinks until we stand inches apart.
Her eyes meet mine, unblinking. I am keenly aware of every detail of her face, every flicker of expression that crosses her features—the delicate arch of her brows, the lush fringe of her lashes, and the gray flecks that dance in her irises.
“It’s too late, I’m involved.” Aly needs to know that I won’t take a chance.
Not when it comes to her safety. She has every reason in the world to hate me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to back off.
“Either tell me what happened here tonight, or I’ll find out from someone else.
But either way, I’m not letting this go. ”
She crosses her arms and scowls at me. “Why do you care? I’m nothing to you. You made that very clear a long time ago.”
The undercurrent of vulnerability in her voice causes my stomach to tighten.
She’s not nothing to me, far from it, but how could I tell her the truth?
Instead, I offer her a half-truth. “Your brother’s not here to deal with this, so I will.
We both know Yulian would gut me like a fish if I don’t protect you with my life. Whether you want my protection or not.”
“Good,” she snaps, “I’d love for him to finish you off.” I nearly smile at that. I bet she would.
“This is not a game.” I level with her, running an aggravated hand through my hair. “I need to know everything that happened tonight.”
She slams back the rest of the wine and sits down on one of the dining room chairs.
I sit across from her. “There’s not much to tell.
I came home after a sizzling-hot date where he fucked my brains out and I came three times, and there was someone in my flat.
” She blinks up at me innocently, but I keep my expression flat.
“He was wearing a ski mask. I couldn’t see his face.
He wanted me to go somewhere with him, but I wasn’t willing.
He had a gun, but I had a knife. And only one of us is standing here alive, so … ” She shrugs.
Atta girl. Always knew she had it in her.
My phone buzzes with a text from Matis. Opening up the message, I find pictures of a bloody naked body, his body a patchwork of stars, churches, spiderwebs, and playing cards.
All intricate designs that hold symbolic meanings within the Russian criminal underworld.
I slip the phone into my back pocket. The pictures aren’t pretty, and she’s been through enough tonight.
“What did this guy say? What did he want from you?”
“Fuck, Leo, how am I supposed to know what he wanted? My killer shoe collection? Who knows? And now this conversation is over. You can leave. I killed one man tonight, I don’t mind raising the body count.” She releases a ragged breath, exhaustion weighing down her features.
My phone pings with another text.
Matis: He had an injectable sedative cocktail and restraints on him. Everything points to abduction. Not a random attack.
My hands white-knuckle the dining room table so hard I’m sure it will splinter. Aly doesn’t live in our world, she escaped it long ago and never looked back. I made sure of it. So why her? Is it about Aly’s connection to our family, or is there another angle at play?
“What’s wrong?” she asks, voice trembling. “Why are you looking at your phone like that?”
“You’re not safe here.” I don’t sugarcoat the truth; it won’t do her any good. “Until we know what’s going on, you can’t stay here.”
“Forget that. I’m not upending my life. Can’t you just assign security to me?”
I shake my head. “That’s not enough. You need to come with me.”
“No way in hell am I going with you anywhere.” She’s up and out of her seat, heading to her bedroom, presumably to lock herself away, but I can’t allow her to do that.