Chapter 18
Kazimir
The clock beside my bed glows in a dull red.
It’s just past four in the morning. It’s earlier than I need to be awake, but sleep escaped me long ago. In less than two hours I am expected in the briefing room, alert, ruthless, and unburdened. I’m expected to be ready to absorb numbers and threats, and the quiet violence of logistics.
Instead I lie flat on my back, one arm thrown over my head, staring into the dark as if it might offer absolution.
It does not.
My sheets still smell like her.
The realization lands with a slow, sick inevitability.
I exhale through my teeth, jaw tightening as the memory stirs against my will.
Her warmth. The weight of her trust. The way her voice softened when she said my name.
It wasn’t a challenge or a provocation, but something fragile and unguarded.
I should regret it the way I regret tactical errors or unnecessary bloodshed.
But regret does not erase how alive I felt.
That is the part that unnerves me most.
I have lived my life at a controlled remove, always aware of the danger of indulgence, always careful not to want too much.
Wanting makes men sloppy and makes them predictable.
Wanting gives enemies leverage. I learned that lesson young, with bruised ribs and empty pockets.
I learned it with a knife pressed to my throat by boys who smelled my hesitation before I ever spoke it aloud.
Alyona does not feel like hesitation.
She feels like gravity.
I shift onto my side and stare at the shadowed outline of the room, and the dark wood and stone that have always been enough for me. My hand tightens in the sheets as guilt curls through me again, sharper this time.
We both agreed in the middle of the night that it would be better for her to go back to her room. The staff wouldn’t notice that way and word wouldn’t get back to her father. Most likely.
I broke my own rule. I crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t. I should not have crossed that line with her; not with Liev’s daughter. Not with someone whose safety I am responsible for.
And yet.
The thought comes, unwelcome and undeniable.
I didn’t feel like a predator last night. Not when Alyona was so willingly giving herself to me. I felt like a man.
The distinction frightens me enough that I sit up abruptly. My feet hit the floor with a soft thud, and I drag a hand through my hair trying to ground myself in the simple physical reality of movement. I stand there breathing until the echo of her warmth recedes enough for me to function.
Obsession, I understand. Possession, I understand. Desire sharpened into control is something I have wielded before.
This feels different.
That thought follows me into the shower, into clean clothes, and into the cool predawn hallways of the house. I move through them like a ghost, but my mind circles a truth I don’t want to name.
By the time the sun has risen fully, I find her without meaning to.
She’s coming down the path from the guest wing toward the main house.
Her hair is pulled back, and her steps are brisk.
Her expression is set with the kind of determination that tells me she is braced for conflict.
I slow down automatically at the sight of her.
I come to a full stop, but I’m cataloging exits and angles out of habit.
Why the hell am I looking to escape from this woman, when I’ve faced men with entire empires, armies, blood on their hands?
Aly sees me at the same moment, and the air between us tightens.
Neither of us speaks at first.
There is color high on her cheekbones, and it’s a flush that has nothing to do with the Savannah heat.
Her eyes flicker over me, taking in my posture, my expression, and the distance between us.
I recognize the wariness there, and the readiness to fight rather than yield, but something in my chest twists.
I saw it there the day she stepped out of my jet.
It’s something that’s buried in me, too.
“You shouldn’t be walking the grounds alone,” I say finally. “Not after last night. That was too close.”
Her lips press together. “I’m not alone. This place is crawling with your men, isn’t it? And they’ll keep me here, like you asked?”
That lands, sharp and fair.
“They exist to keep you safe, Alyona.”
“That’s not true,” she snaps. Frustration cuts through the restraint she has clearly been trying to maintain. “Do you even hear yourself? They exist to keep me safe. You hired most of them long before you ever knew me, Kazimir. They’re criminals, they’re…”
Her eyes search over my shoulders, looking for the words to communicate just how damning this is.
“That didn’t seem to matter last night.” It comes out low and flat. It’s the voice of a Bratva leader, not the voice of the man she had beneath her last night. She knows it too. She glances at me quickly, then away.
“It was adrenaline, and I wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place if you hadn’t made me—”
“No,” I cut her off firmly. I take a step toward her on the gravel path; towering over her.
She’s beautiful and frustrating, and that feeling I had this morning is starting to sour.
“You forget that you don’t have a choice, Aly.
Even if you don’t want me,” the words come out cold and as sharp as ice despite the summer morning, “you were born into this. You are Liev’s daughter. ”
Her chin comes up, defiantly. It’s bolder than I’ve seen before. “Is that why you fucked me? Because I’m his daughter? You know my father thinks you’re his friend, but maybe you’re just as much of a sociopath as they say you are.”
The words hit a tender spot inside me. I stop short, studying her face, and the way her chin lifts as if daring me to contradict her. I see it then, the thing I missed before, it’s not fear, but something adjacent to it. Vulnerability. The humiliation of being reduced, managed, and protected.
This isn’t about last night. Not really.
“I am not trying to make you small,” I say, slower now.
“It feels like you are.”
The simplicity of it disarms me.
I remember that feeling with startling clarity. Being told where to stand, when to speak, and being reminded, constantly, of my replaceability. I remember hating it. I hated the way it stripped me down to something less than I knew myself to be.
Understanding settles in, reluctant, but real.
“I don’t want to be some kept woman on an estate,” she admits.
Something about that hurts, unexpectedly. I take a deep breath and tell her, “It won’t ever get that far. This isn’t real, Alyona.”
This isn’t real?
“But I…umm, your father…we’re afraid of losing you.”
She stills.
The admission is not something I planned to reveal, but once it's spoken, it cannot be retrieved. “Afraid of what happens if you are hurt because I failed to cage the danger in time. You’re his daughter, and he loves you. I’m responsible for you; for keeping you safe. But I won’t cage you.”
She studies me, and in that moment, we are strangely aligned, two people staring at the same problem from opposite sides of the blade.
“I don’t believe in marriage,” she says quietly.
Something in me eases, unexpected. “Neither do I.”
That earns a brief, surprised smile before she sobers again. “Then don’t turn this into one.”
I nod once, decisive. “I won’t. It will be over soon.”
The tension doesn’t vanish, but it does shift, becoming something workable rather than combustible. When she walks past me a moment later, she’s close enough that I can smell her. I let her go without reaching for her, and the restraint feels like both victory and loss.
That night, I make my move.
Dinner is informal, intentionally so, and she arrives wearing soft clothes, fabric clinging to her curves without artifice. A hint of skin shows at her waist when she sits, and the sight of it stirs something warm and steady.
I tell her about The Lennox.
At first, she doesn’t understand. “Yeah, of course I’ve heard about it. It’s the premiere spa in the southern states. People come from Europe to visit it, and the providers…”
Then realization dawns, and her expression breaks open into something bright and unguarded that steals the breath from my lungs.
“You did this,” she says. “For me.”
“Yes.”
Her gratitude is immediate, overwhelming, and when she reaches across the table without thinking, fingers brushing mine, the contact feels earned rather than stolen. The satisfaction that blooms in my chest is unfamiliar and unsettling, not rooted in ownership.
It’s support.
When she smiles at me, she’s genuinely happy. I understand for the first time that keeping someone safe does not mean I have to keep them still.