Chapter Twenty-Five
Aleksei
Diana’s fingers brush my shoulder as she stands behind my desk chair.
The familiar scent of my sister’s perfume — the same one our mother wore — fills my office. Neither of us speaks. What is there to say about Olga’s sudden departure?
“ Sashenka ,” she whispers, using our mother’s pet name for me. “We’ll figure this out.”
I grunt, shrugging off her touch. The leather of my chair creaks as I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the desk. “Bobik needs stability. Structure.”
“He has that with you.”
“She was…” The words scrape my throat. “She was his stability. His…” The term ‘mother’ sticks in my mouth.
Diana moves to perch on the edge of my desk, her linen skirt rustling. “Have you noticed the changes? How quiet he’s become?”
My jaw clenches. Of course I’ve noticed. The way he picks at his food now. How his enthusiastic science explanations trail off mid-sentence. The dark circles under his eyes matching Olga’s.
“ Blyad .” I rub my beard, the familiar gesture grounding me. “He can’t be alone. He can’t grow up without a mother like we did.”
Diana’s sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve said too much. We never discuss our mother’s disappearance. Never acknowledge that raw wound we share.
“You’re not Papa ,” she says firmly. “You won’t let Bobik face this alone.”
The comparison to our father hits hard. I push back from the desk, needing space. Movement. The window offers a view of the Los Angeles skyline, but all I see is Bobik’s face reflected in the glass.
“I’m doing what I can.” I rub the back of my neck.
“And it’s a good start,” Diana says. “You’ve worked wonders with his new rooms.”
The construction crew worked nights, keeping Bobik’s presence hidden even from my own staff.
I specified each detail — the intricate security systems, the soundproofed walls, every possible type of medical equipment.
And things to keep him from feeling so isolated.
A library. A science lab. Everything he needs. Everything to keep him safe.
And still, it doesn’t feel like enough.
How could any of it possibly replace his mother?
Yesterday we stood at her graveside, his narrow shoulders shaking with his sobs as the casket sank into the earth.
Diana and I flanked him, trying to console him.
But what can anyone say to a child that will make them understand the loss of the most important person in their world?
Diana and I know that better than anyone.
I heave a sigh, rubbing my temples. The security feeds flicker on my monitors. Three angles of Bobik’s empty room; I check them obsessively since moving him here, an old habit from watching over Diana when we were children.
Those night watches bring back memories I’d rather forget — huddling with Diana in our closet, listening to Papa’s drunken rages. The sound of breaking glass. Mama’s silence the next morning.
I roll my shoulders against the tension. The Left Wing represents everything I couldn’t have then — safety, security, control. No one will ever hurt my son the way our father hurt us. No one will make him feel powerless.
“Aleksei…”
My head snaps up as I realize Diana is watching me. “ Mne zhal’. Sorry,” I mutter.
“You know you’re going to have to do something about this,” she says.
“I’m already doing everything I can,” I snap.
“Are you finding him another mother?”
I narrow my eyes on her. “What the fuck are you talking about, Diana?”
“You can’t look after him alone. The boy needs a woman in his life.”
“You’ll be that woman,” I say bluntly. “Your suites are below his. He loves you.”
“I can’t take on that responsibility alone, brat . My business keeps me occupied. He needs someone who can be around for him.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“He won’t and you know that,” she says firmly, then adds, “You need a wife.”
“ Blyad! Don’t start that now, Dee, I’m not in the mood.”
“But Sofia—”
“Sofia?” I bark out a harsh laugh. “Are you fucking kidding? The woman has the maternal instincts of a piranha.”
“You haven’t given her a chance,” she insists. “And all this talk of a break-up—”
“It’s not just talk, woman. I will meet with her father and tell him the engagement is off. If it hadn’t been for everything that’s happened with Bobik and Olga, I would have done it already.”
“But you don’t need to,” she says. “She’s still ready to go ahead. The holiday you gave her has smoothed her feathers and—”
“I didn’t give her a holiday. I sent her to the Bahamas to get her out of my life so I could figure things out without her fucking bullshit.”
“The Bahamas sends a very different kind of message, brat ,” she disagrees.
“What did you want me to do? Lock her up? It was the easiest solution at the time. I wasn’t going to waste energy trying to convince her to stay away. I needed to take care of my son.”
“Well, she’s back now.” She purses her lips.
“I don’t care. I’m done with her.”
“Don’t do it,” she presses. “Please, Aleksei. We need this. You need this.”
“I don’t fucking need anything.”
“The Bratva needs it.” She sets her jaw.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Diana’s perfectly manicured nails tap against my desk as she outlines her betrayal. “The invitations went out last week. Three hundred guests, including every major Bratva family on the West Coast.”
My fingers curl into fists. “ Chto? What the fuck did you do?”
“I did what was necessary.” She straightens her spine, meeting my glare. “The other families are getting restless. They question your commitment without a proper marriage alliance.”
“You had no right—”
“I had every right as your sister and advisor.” Her voice carries the steel she learned from our mother. “The Novikov connection legitimizes your position. Their old money washing our new. You know this.”
Blood pounds in my temples. She’s crossed a line, but the political implications are undeniable. Canceling now would insult not just the Novikovs, but every family planning to attend. It would signal weakness, invite challenges.
Ublyudok!
“Sofia’s father has already announced the date to his associates,” Diana continues, twisting the knife. “He’s leveraged significant resources on this union.”
“Pizdets!” I slam my palm against the desk. “You manipulative suka .”
“Call me what you want, but you know I’m right.” She stands, smoothing her skirt. “The invitations say next week. Everything is arranged.”
I rise to tower over her, rage radiating from every muscle. But she doesn’t flinch — she never has. We both know she’s outmaneuvered me.
“I should exile you for this,” I growl.
“You won’t.” She touches my cheek, the gesture so like our mother’s it makes my chest ache. “Because you know I did this for you. For us. For Bobik.”
The mention of my son deflates my rage. She’s right — maintaining power means keeping him safe. And power in our world requires alliances, appearances, compromises.
“Get out,” I mutter, turning away. “Just… get out.”
Her heels click across the floor, pausing at the door. “The tailor comes tomorrow for your fitting. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with my fury.
One week. Seven fucking days until I’m shackled to Sofia Novikova.
My fist connects with the wall, pain shooting through my knuckles. Diana knows exactly what she’s done. The timing, the guest list, the political implications — she’s woven a web I can’t escape without destabilizing everything I’ve built.
Sergei Novikov’s smug face flashes in my mind. That old-money mudak has been pushing for this alliance for years, dangling his connections and legitimacy like bait. Now he’ll have his victory, his ice queen daughter installed in my home, in my life.
“Blyad!” I snarl.
Unbidden, an image of Stella surfaces. The memory of her soft skin under my hands makes my chest tight. Those moments with her felt more real than a decade of Sofia’s calculated advances. She’s everything Sofia lacks. Everything I can’t have.
“ Suka ,” I mutter, unsure if I’m cursing Diana, Sofia, or myself.
That connection is impossible now. Diana’s trap is complete — the invitations sent, the arrangements made, the political consequences of backing out too severe. I can’t risk the instability, not with Bobik depending on my protection.
The ghost of Stella’s touch haunts my skin as I contemplate my upcoming marriage. I may have fought my way through blood and bone to get to where I am, but suddenly I am powerless to control my own destiny.
The world I’ve carved for myself has become my prison.