Chapter 8 Aleksander
ALEKSANDER
Leaving Bella is harder than I want to admit. She’s finally dozing, curled up in the seat, her breathing just starting to slow. But I have to move. There’s too much left to do before we land, and too many eyes already on me.
I slip out, pulling the suite door quietly shut behind me, and head toward the galley at the back where I know Nikolai is keeping watch. He sees me coming and straightens, looking every inch the bored business traveler. No one gives him a second glance.
“Any luck?” I ask quietly, keeping my voice low.
He shakes his head, glancing down at his phone. “He picked up, but he’s stalling. Says he needs more time to get near the servers without raising suspicion.”
I check my watch. Less than two hours until we’re wheels-down. My jaw tightens. “We don’t have more time. The pilot’s already reported the death. The police will be waiting the second we open the doors. If they find me or Bella on board, it’ll be a mess. I need a plan B.”
Nikolai’s expression hardens; the old soldier shows through. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. You get Bella ready to go. I’ll handle the rest.”
I nod, heart pounding, my mind racing through every possible scenario—emergency landings, customs, too many cameras. “Be careful,” I tell him, because I can’t say what I’m really thinking: If this goes bad, it’s all on me.
He gives a small, humorless smile. “Always am, boss.”
He slips away down the aisle, already blending into the crowd. I linger just a second longer, trying to quiet the churn in my chest. The air in the cabin feels thin and close, heavy with expectation.
I head back toward Bella, my body taut with anticipation, the stakes higher than ever.
I slip back into the suite quietly, easing the door shut behind me. The cabin is dim, washed in low ambient light, the steady hum of the engines wrapping everything in a strange calm.
Bella is restless, shifting beneath the blanket, legs moving slowly like she’s chasing something she can’t quite reach. Her lips part, a soft sound escaping her throat. Not fear. Not panic.
A moan.
I stop short, heat hitting me low and hard. For a second I just stand there, watching, trying to make sense of it. Her brow is smooth, lashes fluttering. She’s dreaming.
And whatever it is, it has her body betraying her.
I lower myself slowly, sitting back on my haunches beside her, elbows resting on my knees. I don’t touch her. I don’t wake her. I just watch as she arches slightly, breath catching, hips rolling in a way that makes my teeth clench.
Fuck.
I’m already hard, my body responding without permission, without reason. My mind goes places it shouldn’t, wondering what she’s seeing behind those closed eyes. Who she thinks is touching her. Or if she knows exactly who it is.
My gaze lingers on her chest, the soft swell of her breast under her top, and suddenly I’m not here, not in this suite, not on this cursed flight.
I’m back in that hotel room, four years ago, Bella gasping beneath me, her hair fanned across white sheets, her skin flushed and hot.
I slide her dress off her shoulders, the fabric gliding down to pool at her waist. Bella is sprawled out beneath me on fresh white sheets, her breath coming in shaky bursts. Her eyes meet mine, wide and hungry.
I lean in, taking her breast into my mouth, letting my tongue circle her nipple, tasting her skin.
She gasps, back arching, one hand tangling in my hair, the other grabbing at the sheets.
I suck slowly, then harder, letting her feel the edge of my teeth, the heat of my mouth.
She squirms under me, legs parting, pulling me in closer.
My hand glides over her body, tracing the line of her waist, then sliding down to her thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties. She moans, hips rolling up to meet my hand, her body already wet, already begging for more.
I switch to her other breast, giving it the same attention—my tongue teasing, my mouth greedy, loving the way she shudders and whispers my name.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes, voice barely a whisper.
I look up at her, the flush in her cheeks, the wildness in her eyes, and it’s like a fuse has been lit inside me. I move up to kiss her mouth, swallowing her gasp, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand as my fingers stroke lower, teasing her, finding her slick and ready.
She’s trembling, arching into me, legs wrapping around my hips, her body moving with mine. My cock throbs, hard and insistent, pressed against her thigh.
I kiss down her neck, biting softly, marking her, then whisper in her ear, “You’re so fucking beautiful, Isabella.”
She writhes, desperate, mouth finding mine again, moaning into the kiss as I slide my fingers inside her, slow and deep. She clings to me, panting, her body so open and honest, every movement begging for more, for everything.
Her tits are flushed and firm under my hands, her nipples hard from my mouth. I slide down her body, kissing my way over her stomach, feeling her tremble. I hook her panties aside and press my mouth to her pussy, tasting her—hot, slick, perfect.
She moans, hips lifting, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me closer.
I lick her slowly, letting my tongue circle her clit, then suck, hungry for every sound she makes.
My hands grip her thighs, holding her open, feeling her thighs shake as I eat her out, slurping, flicking, teasing her clit until she gasps and begs for more.
Her tits rise and fall, her body arching, helpless to the pleasure. I slip a finger inside her, curling it, feeling her clench around me as I keep my mouth on her, my cock so hard it aches.
When I can’t take any more, I kiss my way back up her body—kissing her tits, biting at her nipples as she shivers, desperate. I press the head of my cock to her entrance, rubbing her clit with my thumb as I push in, slow and deep, stretching her, filling her.
She cries out, grabbing at my shoulders, her tits pressed to my chest as I bury myself inside her, every inch. I start to move, thrusting deep, her pussy gripping my cock, her moans filling the room, sweet and raw and wild.
I fuck her slowly at first, savoring the feel of her, the heat and the slickness, the way her body takes everything I give her. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her nails digging into my back as I pick up the pace, grinding into her, both of us losing ourselves in the heat and the want.
She wraps her legs tight around my waist, urging me deeper, her breath coming out in shaky, needy gasps.
Every thrust pulls a new sound from her, her tits bouncing with the rhythm, her body greedy for every inch of my cock.
I watch her face as I move inside her, loving the way her eyes flutter shut, her mouth falling open in pleasure.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I growl, my voice rough in her ear. She grabs at my ass, pulling me harder, rolling her hips to meet every stroke. Her pussy clenches tight, milking me, her clit rubbing against me with every thrust.
I lean down, sucking her nipple into my mouth again, flicking it with my tongue while I keep thrusting, deep and slow, then faster, her body slick and hot beneath mine. Her hands roam everywhere—my shoulders, my back, my hair—never satisfied, always wanting more.
She moans, louder now, her nails leaving trails down my spine. “Aleksander—please, don’t stop. God, don’t stop.”
I pin her wrists above her head, grinding in, watching her arch and writhe, her tits pushed up for me to devour. My cock pounds into her, harder, faster, until she’s trembling under me, breathless, her moans spilling into the room.
I feel her tighten, her pussy pulsing around my cock as she cries out, coming hard, shaking beneath me. The sight and sound of her losing control tips me over the edge. I let go, driving deep, spilling inside her as the world narrows to nothing but heat and the taste of her name on my lips.
I slip out of her suite. The rest of the cabin is tense, everyone waiting for the next bit of bad news.
I settle into my own seat, but I can’t sit still.
I watch the TV screen in front of me for a while, the little plane icon dropping fast toward Boston.
My mind is running through every possible scenario, calculating exits, watching the faces of the crew.
Every muscle in my body is tight. I force myself to wait until the last possible moment.
I glance over and see that Bella is awake again. She’s in her seat, pale and rigid, arms folded over herself, trying to look small. Her daughter is still curled up, somehow sleeping through the tension thrumming in the cabin.
I try to stay put, to wait for the wheels to hit the tarmac, but I can’t. My knee bounces. My hands clench and unclench. Every instinct screams at me to move.
As soon as I hear the landing gear drop, I’m up. I stride down the aisle, ignoring the questioning looks, and stop at her seat.
She looks up, fear etched in every line of her face. “Aleksander, what are you doing?”
I don’t waste a second. “You need to come with me. Now.” My tone brooks no argument.
She glances at her daughter, then back at me, searching for some reassurance. “What’s happening? Are we in trouble?”
I crouch, keeping my voice low and urgent. “We don’t have time. I’ll explain everything, but you need to trust me. Get your things. Wake her up.”
She hesitates for half a second, but there’s too much fear in her eyes to argue. She gathers her bag, rouses her daughter, and I keep one hand at her back, pushing through the slow tide of passengers.
She’s trembling. “Aleksander, please—”
I look over, meeting her eyes. “Just stay with me. No matter what. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t let go of my hand.”
Her fingers tighten on mine, knuckles white.
As we reach the front, Nikolai is already there, all calm confidence, talking quietly with a ground staffer in a neon vest.
“This way, please,” the staffer says, almost too politely, as if we’re just another set of VIPs needing special treatment.
We follow him off the plane and down a side stairwell, bypassing the crowd funneling into the main terminal. The corridor is narrow and cold, lined with faded signs and locked doors. Bella clings tighter to her daughter, her other hand holding mine.
I can feel her fear, the tension thrumming through her fingers, but I squeeze back.
We’re led into a small, brightly lit room tucked behind a frosted glass door—private immigration.
The officer behind the desk barely glances up, but I see the quick flick of recognition between him and the staffer.
Passports slide across the counter. Stamps thud down, one after another, and he hands everything back with a quiet, “Welcome to Boston.”
There’s a moment, a breath held, before we’re moving again. I thank the officer, my voice flat and even, then turn to Bella. “Almost done.”
She nods, her face pale but composed. Her daughter yawns and squeezes Bella’s hand, asking in a small voice, “Where are we?”
“Just a little detour, sweetheart,” Bella whispers, brushing a kiss over her forehead.
We exit through another door, emerging in a quieter part of the arrivals hall.
Nikolai is already ahead, eyes scanning, every inch the professional.
The ground staffer waves us forward—out a service door, down a short ramp, into the cool night air where a black sedan waits by the curb, engine idling.
Nikolai opens the rear door, and Bella slides in with her daughter.
I slip in next to them, glancing back at the terminal lights—brighter, busier, and already fading behind tinted glass.
Nikolai joins the driver up front and the car pulls away, quiet and smooth, merging into the flow of Boston traffic.
Inside, Bella is trembling, her fingers still locked with mine. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as her daughter rests her head in her lap.
The city passes in a blur. The tension lingers, thick and heavy, but for the first time since we landed, I let myself believe we might be a step ahead.
And I don’t let go of her for a second.
Of course, they’re going to single us out once they get the footage.
I know it the moment the car merges onto the highway and the terminal lights fall away behind us.
Somewhere, in a control room that smells like burnt coffee and recycled air, a bored tech is going to rewind the lounge cameras.
They’ll see me and Kirov. Too close. Too tense.
They’ll freeze-frame the moment our shoulders brush, the way he leaned in, the way I didn’t back down.
They’ll think it means something.
By the time they start asking the right questions, though, my lawyer will already be moving.
He always does. He’ll have the timelines mapped down to the minute, boarding scans pulled, seat numbers confirmed.
He’ll remind them that I was in first class when Kirov died, that a cabin full of witnesses saw me nowhere near him.
He’ll point out that arguments aren’t crimes, that history isn’t evidence, that suspicion isn’t proof.
Ironclad. That’s his word. He likes to say it with a smile.
I stare out the window, jaw tight, watching the city blur past. None of that changes the fact that Bella is sitting beside me, wrapped up in all of this without understanding even half of it.
Her head is bowed, one hand absently stroking her daughter’s hair, the other still tangled with mine like she’s afraid if she lets go, something worse will happen.
This is the part my lawyer doesn’t account for.
The collateral damage.
I feel the familiar weight settle in my chest, the one that comes when I know I’ve crossed another line I can’t uncross. I can survive the cops. I can survive the questions. I can survive Kirov’s ghost coming back to haunt me in interrogation rooms and court filings.
What I don’t know is whether Bella can.
I glance down at her, at the crease between her brows, the way she’s trying so hard to stay calm for her child. She looks up, catching my gaze, eyes searching mine for answers I still haven’t given.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say quietly. I don’t know if I’m convincing her or myself.
She nods, but there’s doubt there. She’s not stupid. She knows I’m dangerous. She just doesn’t know how dangerous yet—or how far I’m willing to go to keep her out of the fallout.
The car speeds through the night, and I let my fingers tighten around hers, a silent promise.
It’s not the cops that cause trouble, it’s the people in my world. And now I’ve dragged Bella right into it.