Chapter 32 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
The highway stretches endlessly ahead, gray asphalt cutting through snow-covered landscape that all looks the same after the first hundred miles.
Danil drives with the steady competence of a man who's spent half his life behind the wheel, his eyes constantly checking mirrors, scanning for threats that probably aren't there but might be.
I sit in the passenger seat, my mind already back in the city even though we're still hours away. Two days of driving. Two days to plan my return, to calculate who's loyal and who needs to be reminded why betrayal is a fatal mistake.
In the backseat, Lena hasn't spoken in three hours.
I catch her reflection in the side mirror.
She's staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold the pieces together.
The morning light catches in her blonde hair, turning it gold, and even furious and terrified, she's gorgeous.
The curve of her neck, the way her sweater clings to full breasts that I've had in my mouth, the memory of how those long legs felt wrapped around my waist.
My cock stirs, and I force myself to look away. Not the time. Not when I'm trying to think strategically instead of with my dick.
"You should eat something," Danil says quietly, nodding toward the bag of food we picked up at the last gas station.
"Not hungry."
"You need to keep your strength up." He glances at me, then back at the road. "It's going to be a long few days when we get back."
He's right. The moment word spreads that I'm alive, every ambitious captain and rival family will be watching to see if I'm still the man I was. Any sign of weakness, any hesitation, and they'll move.
"What's the temperature been like?" I ask, keeping my voice low enough that Lena won't hear clearly from the back.
"Tense." Danil's eyes constantly move, looking at the road, any cars we pass, and the sides of the road. Always on the lookout for any trouble. "Ronnie's been holding things together. He's been asking where I've been, but not in a suspicious way. He's worried."
I nod slowly. Ronnie's sharp, always has been. One of my best captains, loyal as they come. The kind of man who keeps the operation running smooth even when everything's falling apart.
"Ronnie I can trust, "I said. "He's been with me long enough to know when to ask and when to stay quiet. "What about Ivan?"
Danil's jaw tightens. "That's where it gets complicated. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wants to know where you are, when you're coming back, whether you're even coming back. He's been talking to some of the younger guys, testing their loyalty."
My hands clench. Ivan. Of course. "How many?"
"Hard to say. But Ronnie's noticed it. He's been keeping them close, reminding them where their real loyalty should be. But Ivan's ambitious, Aleksandr. He's been waiting for an opening, and your absence looks like one to him."
"And the others?"
"Ronnie's got most of them. But Ivan's got his people. When you show up, there's going to be a reckoning."
In my world, absence doesn't create loyalty. It creates opportunity.
The miles pass in silence after that. We switch off driving every few hours, and I watch Lena sleep in the rearview mirror during my shifts behind the wheel. She curls into herself, knees drawn up, and even in sleep she looks guarded.
By the time afternoon hits on the second day, the city skyline appears on the horizon, concrete and steel rising up like gravestones marking my territory. My empire. The place where I'm either king or corpse.
"Twenty minutes to the safe house," Danil says.
I nod, already feeling the shift happening inside me. The man from the cabin, the one who made her breakfast and held her while she slept, that man is dying. Has to die. Because he's a weakness I can't afford.
Lena wakes as we exit the highway. She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and her sweater rides up enough that I catch a glimpse of smooth skin at her waist. My hands have mapped every inch of that body. I know exactly how she tastes.
"Where are we?" Her voice is rough with sleep. Sexy.
"Almost there," I say without turning around.
"Where's there?"
"Safe house outside the city."
The safe house is in a quiet neighborhood, nothing flashy. Just a two-story place with a garage and high fences. Danil pulls in and the door closes automatically behind us.
"Upstairs," I tell Lena as we get out. "Second door on the right."
She looks at me, those blue eyes searching my face for something. For Sasha, the man I was in the cabin.
But he's gone. He has to be.
She walks past me without a word, her shoulder brushing mine, and I catch her scent. Even after two days in a car, she smells good. Like soap and something uniquely her that makes my dick twitch.
I head upstairs, my body already shifting into the role I need to play. The boss. The man who built an empire on fear and blood and smart decisions.
The bathroom is clean and functional. I strip off the flannel and jeans, clothes that belong to someone else, and step into the shower. Hot water pounds against muscles still sore from the fight, from the bullet wound that's mostly healed, from two days cramped in a car.
I scrub away the cabin. The mountains. The fantasy that I could be anything other than what I am.
When I step out, I stare at my reflection and barely recognize the man who laughed with Lena over burnt pancakes.
Good. That man was a liability.
In the bedroom, Danil has laid everything out for me.
A custom-tailored dark blue suit with a white shirt, pressed and crisp.
Italian leather shoes. He must have packed a bag for me and kept it in the trunk since these are my clothes from my closet.
I dress slowly, methodically, each piece of clothing another layer of armor.
The tie goes on last. I knot it with practiced ease, then shrug into the suit jacket. The fabric molds to my shoulders, emphasizing the breadth of my chest, the power in my build. I look like money. Like danger. Like a man who could end you with a phone call.
The man I am in reality.
I'm fastening my cufflinks when I sense her. Lena stands in the doorway, and the look on her face is something between horror and grief.
"You look different," she says quietly.
"I look like myself." I adjust the cuffs, not meeting her eyes yet.
"No." Her voice cracks. "You look like him. The man who wanted me dead."
Something twists in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I turn to face her fully, and her eyes track over me.
She's wearing a clean pair of jeans that hug her ass and those long legs and a sweater, her typical apparel. I'll have to see about getting her some more fashionable clothes later.
"We need to establish some rules," I say, my voice flat. Professional. The voice I use with soldiers and rivals. "You stay where I put you. You don't leave without my permission. You speak to no one about Montana, about the cabin, about anything that happened there. Understood?"
Her chin lifts, that stubborn fire I've come to know sparking in her eyes. "And if I refuse?"
"This isn't a negotiation, Lena."
"Everything is a negotiation." She steps into the room, arms crossed under her breasts, pushing them up in a way that makes my mouth go dry. "You can't just lock me away and expect me to be grateful."
"I can do whatever the fuck I want." The words come out harder than I intend, but I don't soften them. Can't. "You seem to be forgetting that there's still a price on your head. That every hour you're exposed, you're in danger."
"From you."
"From everyone." I close the distance between us in three strides.
She doesn't back down, doesn't flinch, just stares up at me with those dark blue eyes that see too much.
"The moment word gets out that I'm alive, people are going to start asking questions.
And if anyone connects you to me before I can officially call off the hit, you're dead. "