Chapter Two
Dmitri
Mireille is humming softly beside me as I drive, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She’s nervous. I can tell by the way she keeps touching the moon-shaped necklace I gifted her two days ago when she came over for dinner, her fingertips tracing the tiny diamond like it’s a talisman.
If she knew who I really was, she wouldn’t be sitting here. If she knew why I’d sought her out in the first place, she’d hate me.
But she doesn’t. Not yet.
And God help me, I can’t seem to let her go long enough to make things right.
“This place is beautiful,” she says as the gates of Alexei’s estate come into view. The mansion is lit softly from within, the long driveway lined with lamps that throw golden light across the ground. “You said your brother lives here?”
“Alexei, yes.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended.
“And he’s…older?”
I smile faintly. “Older, intimidating, and hard to read.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” she teases, glancing at me sideways.
I chuckle. “I’ve been told we’re similar.”
She studies me, searching my face the way she analyzes a chessboard, like she's looking for the pattern beneath the surface. “I want your brothers to like me,” she says after a moment.
“They will,” I say, and I mean it. “You don’t need to worry.”
She doesn’t realize that I’m the one who’s worried.
Because I want her to be accepted by my family, even though she’ll never truly belong to this world. Because she’s the one good thing in a life that’s built entirely on danger and secrecy.
When we pull up in front of the house, Sergei is waiting and opens the door before I can reach for the handle. His expression is neutral as always, his posture straight, the bratva tattoos along his neck disappearing beneath his collar.
“Boss is expecting you,” he says, stepping back. His gaze flicks to Mireille briefly, assessing but not interested. She shifts slightly closer to me, tensing uneasily.
“This is Sergei,” I tell her as we step inside. “He’s Alexei’s right hand. And sometimes assistant.”
She offers him a polite smile, but I feel the tension in her hand where it rests on my arm. “Nice to meet you.”
Sergei only nods before turning toward Alexei’s office. “Your brother’s in the parlor.”
I guide her through the hall, my palm resting lightly against her lower back. When we reach the parlor, Alexei rises from his chair.
“Brother,” he greets me, his voice even.
He’s dressed in a charcoal suit, the same cold precision in his movements that’s always been there.
When his gaze shifts to Mireille, something in his expression softens almost imperceptibly—a warmth he reserves for the people under his protection. “You must be Mireille.”
“Yes,” she says, smiling nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Alexei's wife, Anya, steps forward with a warm smile. “Dmitri’s told us so much about you. You’re just as pretty as he said.”
Mireille flushes. “Thank you. Your home is lovely.”
“Please, sit,” Anya says, ushering her toward the sofa. “Viktor, stop staring and pour the wine.”
Viktor grins and does as he’s told, letting our petite sister-in-law order him around in a way he doesn’t even allow Alexei.
It’s a testament to how much we’ve all come to adore her—she’s brought a lightness to this family that we didn’t know we were missing.
His dark hair falls into his eyes as he bends over a set of wine glasses.
“So this is the mysterious Mireille.” He hands her a glass and clinks his against mine.
“Good to finally meet the woman who’s kept our resident chess master so busy. ”
“Viktor,” I warn, half under my breath.
He smirks. “What? I’m being friendly.”
Mireille laughs nervously, glancing at me as if checking whether I’m annoyed. I’m not. Not exactly. But Viktor doesn’t know when to quit, and the last thing I want is for him to make her feel like an outsider.
As the evening unfolds, Anya carries most of the conversation, asking Mireille about school, her family, and the things she likes to do.
Alexei listens quietly, weighing her every word.
Watching. He’s always been someone who sees too much—like he can look right through a person to what they’re hiding underneath.
It’s what makes him a good pakhan. It’s also what makes me nervous tonight.
Mireille answers honestly, though I can tell she’s trying hard to make a good impression. Her voice softens when she talks about her father, the FBI special agent who inspired her to study criminal justice.
I feel Alexei’s eyes flick toward me for the briefest second when she mentions her father. His expression doesn’t change, but I know what he’s thinking. I know what we all are.
Anya’s soft laugh breaks me out of my thoughts. I look up to see her smiling amusedly at her husband, like they're sharing some private joke. She leans into him, her hand deliberately brushing against Alexei’s, and he holds her gaze, the hardness in his expression falling away for a full second.
I watch them, something strange twisting in my chest. It's easy to see how in love they are with each other, the unspoken intimacy that they share. I always admired it. But now, more than ever, I find myself craving it.
“Do you have any other brothers?” Mireille asks, and I look up to see her staring at me with a curious smile.
Damn. She's so beautiful.
“Yes, one more,” Viktor answers before I can. “Mikhail. The youngest. “He’s twenty-eight—lives in California, runs a record label.”
“A record label?” Mireille’s eyebrows rise. “That’s impressive.”
I nod. “He’s done well for himself. His company has an office here in the city, too, so we see him fairly often. He just couldn’t make it tonight.”
“He prefers to forge his own path,” Alexei adds, and there’s respect rather than judgment in his tone. “We all find our place in different ways.”
Viktor raises his glass. “To Mikhail—the only one of us smart enough to spend his days surrounded by musicians instead of spreadsheets.”
We all chuckle, and I catch Mireille relaxing into her seat. This is what I wanted—for her to see the warmth beneath the intimidating exterior, to understand that we’re still a family.
Anya rolls her eyes affectionately. “Ignore him, Mireille. He thinks he’s funnier than he is.”
“I am exactly as funny as I think I am,” Viktor protests, hand over his heart.
Mireille laughs then, a real, lighthearted sound that cuts through the heaviness in the air. I feel something in my chest ease at the sight of her smiling.
Dinner carries on with laughter and conversation, Anya telling stories about the opera house, Viktor teasing me about how “domesticated” I’ve become.
Even Alexei seems to soften, listening more than speaking, his gaze occasionally flicking toward me with something that might be understanding—or might be a warning. With Alexei, it’s hard to tell.
When dessert is served, Anya and Mireille drift toward the sitting area with their coffee and pastries, their voices dropping to an easy, feminine murmur. I can tell Mireille likes my brother’s wife, and that’s a relief. Anya has a way of making people feel at home, even in a house full of ghosts.
A few minutes later, as Viktor refills everyone’s glasses, Alexei stands. “Dmitri. Viktor. A moment.”
Mireille looks up, her eyes catching mine. She raises her brows as if to ask if everything is okay. I give her a reassuring smile, signaling to her that I’ll be right back.
She nods, though I can tell she’s curious.
We follow Alexei down the hall to his office. He moves to his desk, pours himself a drink, and doesn’t offer us any. That’s never a good sign.
“Well?” he says finally, turning toward me. “You’ve been seeing Turner’s daughter for weeks. What have you learned?”
The question hits harder than it should.
I keep my tone even. “Not much. Mireille doesn’t talk about her father’s work. He’s private, careful.”
Viktor leans against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re slipping, brother. Usually by now you’d have passwords, schedules, blood type.”
I glare at him, but he only shrugs, smirking.
Alexei studies me, eyes narrowing slightly. “And you still haven’t met Turner himself?”
“Not yet,” I hesitate, then add, “She’s mentioned introducing me to her parents. I’ve been putting it off.”
“Putting it off,” Alexei repeats flatly. “Why?”
Because once I meet Bill Turner, this becomes real. Because I’ll have to look the man in the eye even after seducing his daughter for information. Because every day I spend with Mireille, the lie becomes harder to maintain.
“I’m being careful,” I say instead. “Turner’s smart. If I push too fast, he’ll get suspicious.””
“Or maybe,” Viktor says lazily, “you just don’t want to.”
A heavy silence settles in the room.
Alexei sets his glass down with a quiet clink. “Are your reasons for being with her still the same, Dmitri?”
I meet his eyes. “Of course they are.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve grown…distracted.”
“She’s a means to an end.” The words leave a bitter aftertaste on my tongue, but I keep my expression neutral.
Alexei holds my gaze for a long moment, the kind of stare that feels like it’s peeling back every layer of skin and seeing what’s underneath.
Then he exhales slowly, turning away. “Fine. But don’t forget what you’re doing, and why.
Agent Turner’s the one holding the axe over this family. We can’t afford sentiment.”
“I understand.”
Viktor smirks. “You sure? Because she’s pretty enough to make anyone forget the rules.”
I ignore him, but my pulse gives me away.
Alexei’s tone drops. “We don't have room for mistakes, Dmitri.”
I nod once, swallowing down the guilt. “There won’t be a problem.”
He studies me a beat longer, then gestures toward the door. “See that there isn’t.”