Chapter 15
Kazimir
“She’s still sleeping,” Donna whispers as she serves me another cup of black coffee. “I apologize, Mr. Baranov. Would you like me to wake her up?”
I shake my head, trying to assess the situation objectively. Her absence irritates me more than it should. She’s not here, and I want her here. For some reason, it matters to me that we have breakfast together.
It’s not as if we sleep in the same room. She’s my fake fiancée, after all.
“Leave her,” I say, sipping the bitter liquid and feeling it burn down into my chest.
I deserve it after last night.
I’ve done worse to men before, much worse. A simple cut, a warning, knocking him unconscious. That was nothing compared to the things I’ve done in the past. As a teen, I did things no teenage boy should, trying to stay alive in Europe.
The difference is that I did it for her.
We arrived home in the early hours of the morning. At nine there is a shareholder meeting in the city; I need to be there. I needed to make sure she was back here and safe within these walls first, though. That’s not what I told my men or my driver.
The breakfast room is too quiet with the kind of silence that hums rather than rests comfortably. It feels thick with guilt. The staff can sense it and move around like ghosts; precise and unobtrusive. I stare at the reports in front of me, but I don’t take in any of the metrics.
The papers at the far end of the table are untouched, but I do not need to open them to know what they show. My name. Her face. The curve of her body pulled into mine. The kiss.
I wanted it to be convincing. I did not anticipate how much I would enjoy it.
The sound of boots on stone carries from the hall and into the room.
They are heavy and unrestrained, and my shoulders tense before my mind can fully register the threat.
I can tell that the staff feel it too. Their movements are slow and shaky.
A cup rattles softly as it is set down. Donna glances at another staff member with warning eyes.
The look on her face tells them to be ready for anything.
Either setting another place or all-out gunfire.
Liev storms into the room like he owns it, coat still on, hair disheveled, eyes burning with something feral and wild. In his hand is a magazine folded so tightly that the spine has cracked. He crosses the room in long strides and throws it onto the table hard enough that the silverware bounces.
It lands open to the photograph.
The one taken just after we left the casino.
My arm locked around Alyona’s waist, her mouth tilted up to mine, lips parted in a kiss that looks nothing like a performance.
You can see my tongue delving into her mouth, tasting and stealing the best parts of her.
It is intimate, possessive, unmistakable.
Liev’s voice is low when he speaks. It’s the kind of quiet that I’ve heard him use on other men, but never on me.
“You promised me.”
I set my cup down carefully and slowly. I have learned the value of restraint, even in the face of choking guilt.
“I promised you she would be safe,” I reply. “And she is.”
His hand slams on the table, knuckles white. “Do not lie to me in my daughter’s name.”
I rise to my feet; the chair scraping softly behind me, my height shifting the balance of the room. The staff leave without being told. They have seen this before, but never between us.
“She was threatened,” I say, my voice even, controlled. “Directly. Hinto does not bluff, and you know that because you’ve seen the reports on him. He marks. That photograph tells every man watching that Alyona Demsky is untouchable.”
“She is not your property,” Liev snaps. “She is not a message.”
“She became one the moment someone decided she was leverage. This was the plan, Liev, the very one you agreed to. They need to think she’s mine.”
I ignore that whisper of betrayal: She is mine.
He steps closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “You enjoyed it.”
The accusation lands harder than any physical blow.
Something dark ignites in my chest. It’s hot, possessive, and dangerous. I want to grab him, drag him across the table, and shout: “So what if I did?”
Instead, I tell him, “That was the point; make it look real.”
“Was it?” he challenges. “Because it looks like you forgot yourself. It looks like you forgot who she is.”
I close the space between us in a heartbeat.
The table crashes aside as I grab his coat and slam him back against the stone column near the window.
Glass shatters somewhere behind us, but he doesn’t flinch.
He never has. But he’s not stupid enough to come into my home with a weapon, and when it comes down to pure physical power, I have the upper hand. We both know it.
“She is under my protection,” I growl. “I will not apologize for doing what is necessary.”
His fist connects with my jaw. It’s clumsy, but fueled by fear and fury. I taste blood. The impact snaps my head to the side, and something in me finally breaks free.
I hit him back.
We collide like animals, fists and shoulders and old grievances exploding into motion.
He drives me into the wall, breath harsh, teeth bared, and I hook my arm around his neck, wrenching him down.
We grapple, years of loyalty and resentment tangling us together.
We both know exactly how to hurt each other, but hold back because there is something older and deeper between us that restrains us.
“You promised me,” he snarls, trying to break free. “You said you would not touch her.”
“I did not,” I snap. “And that restraint may be the death of me.”
We crash into a sideboard, wood splintering, dishes shattering across the floor. My forearm presses into his throat, not enough to crush, but enough to dominate. His breath hitches, eyes locked on mine.
For a moment, I see us as we were.
Two boys in Prague, half-starved and sharp-edged, surviving on instinct and stubbornness.
I remember the alley where we met, narrow and foul-smelling, my hand closing around my suddenly lighter coat.
I had dragged him back by the collar, furious and ready to teach him a lesson.
He’d been grinning even then, bright-eyed and reckless, fingers already testing the weight of my watch while I was threatening him.
We fought like feral dogs, with fists, knees, and curses, until we were both bleeding and laughing.
Backs against brick, sharing a cigarette stolen from a man who never saw us coming.
That was the day I decided he was mine. Brother, soldier, confidant.
Ride-or-die before either of us had words for it.
The memory cuts deep.
I release him abruptly and step back.
We stand there, chest to chest, breathing hard, the room wrecked around us. Liev drags a hand through his hair and lets out a rough laugh that cracks something open.
“Christ,” he mutters. “Just like Prague.”
I say nothing. My jaw throbs. I welcome the pain.
We finally sit, exhaustion settling over us like ash. The staff will clean the mess without comment. They always do.
Liev stares at the photograph again, his expression softening into something raw and afraid. “I left her once,” he says quietly. “I thought distance would keep her alive. Her grandfather made threats. Real ones. He said if I didn’t disappear, they would suffer.”
I know some of this, but we’ve never spoken of it. What I did know, I learned from men I paid to find out. I sit perfectly still, waiting to see where this takes him; where it takes us.
His voice breaks. “I chose to leave, and now she looks at me like I chose myself.”
The jealousy that flares is sharp and unwelcome. Not because he is wrong, but because he still has a claim I can never openly challenge.
“I will not let anyone take her,” I say. “Not Hinto. Not this life. But this, Liev,” I bite out, jamming a finger down onto the magazine, “this is what makes them think it’s real; this is what will keep her safe. Even if you don’t like it.”
“And you?” he asks. “Will you take her?”
The question hangs between us, dangerous and loaded.
“You know the kind of man I am,” I answer carefully. I wonder which version of me Liev, my best friend, has chosen to believe in over the decades: that I ruthlessly take whatever I want? Or at the end of the day, I’ll do what’s right, no matter who has to die?
He studies me for a long time, then nods once. “I trust you. But don’t lose her, Kaz; I already almost lost her once, and I won’t survive it again.”
Don’t lose her. I know what he means; don’t lose her to Hinto, don’t let her be killed. But something in my gut twists, something instinctual. It’s the snake that writhed to life the first time I set eyes on Alyona, and I wanted her.
When he leaves, everyone at the estate exhales.
I stand by the window, watching the light shift over the grounds; Alyona’s smile from the photograph is burned into my mind. I have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.
I am no longer pretending this is only strategy.
And if I have to choose between my brother and the woman who has already claimed me without trying, I know exactly which sin I will commit.