Chapter 38 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
Istare at the city through my office window, watching morning light paint the skyline in shades of gold and gray. For the past two days, I've been busy reorganizing and getting caught up on business that happened while I've been gone.
Danil sits across from me, his massive frame making my leather chair look like doll furniture. He's nursing his third coffee of the morning, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he slept about as well as I did.
"We need to flush them out," I say, turning from the window. "Whoever paid Yuri is still out there, waiting to see if I'm really back or if this is temporary."
"Agreed." Danil sets down his mug. "But how? We can't exactly send out a questionnaire asking who tried to kill you."
"No." I move to my desk, pulling out a leather-bound notebook. "But we can create an opportunity for them to reveal themselves."
His eyebrows rise. "I'm listening."
"A party." The idea crystallized sometime around three this morning when sleep refused to come. "A welcome home celebration. Invite everyone. Captains, soldiers, their wives and girlfriends. Make it mandatory attendance."
Danil's expression shifts from confusion to understanding. "You want to watch them. See who's nervous, who's too comfortable, who avoids eye contact."
"Exactly." I lean back against the desk, crossing my arms. "No one will turn down an invitation from the Pakhan. And in a social setting, with alcohol flowing and guards down, people get sloppy. They say things they shouldn't. Make connections they think are subtle."
"It's risky." But I can see him working through the angles. "Bringing everyone together in one place. If someone wants to finish what Yuri started, you're giving them a target-rich environment."
"Let them try." The words come out cold and lethal. "I'd rather face my enemies head-on than keep looking over my shoulder."
Danil grins, the expression transforming his scarred face. "There's the Pakhan I know. When do you want to do this?"
"Next week. Saturday night. That gives us time to prepare security, vet the guest list, and set up surveillance." I pull out my phone, already making notes. "I want cameras everywhere. Audio recording in every room. And I want our most trusted men watching for anything unusual."
"What about Lena?" The question makes me pause. "She'll be expected to attend as your fiancée. That puts her in the line of fire."
My jaw tightens. The thought of Lena exposed to potential threats makes something primal roar to life in my chest. But keeping her locked away while I host a party would raise questions I can't afford.
"She'll be there." I meet his eyes. "But she stays close to me. Always. And I want two of our best on her at all times when I can't be."
"Done." He stands, stretching with an audible crack. "I'll start making arrangements. This is going to be expensive."
"I don't care about the cost." I move back to the window. "I care about finding out who dares to put a hit on me."
After Danil leaves, I head to the private dining room. It's become routine over the past two mornings. Lena joins me for breakfast, and we eat in careful silence, both of us pretending this is normal.
She's already seated when I arrive, her blonde hair catching the morning light.
She's wearing one of the new outfits from our shopping trip, dark jeans that hug her curves and a soft sweater that makes her eyes look even darker.
My gaze travels down her body before I can stop myself, noting the way the sweater clings to her full breasts.
"Morning," I say, taking the seat across from her.
"Morning." Her voice is quiet, and when I look closer, I notice how pale she is. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and she's pushing food around her plate instead of eating.
"You're not eating." I gesture to her untouched eggs and toast.
"Not very hungry." She takes a sip of water, and I notice the slight tremor in her hand.
Concern tightens my chest. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Fine." But she won't meet my eyes. "Just tired."
We eat in silence, or rather, I eat while she continues to rearrange her breakfast. I watch her over the rim of my coffee cup, cataloging the small signs of distress.
The slight sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool room.
The way her fingers grip the edge of the table like she needs the anchor.
"Lena." I set down my fork. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about." She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I just need some air. Excuse me."
She's gone before I can respond, practically running from the room. I stare at her abandoned plate, unease settling in my gut like a stone.
The afternoon finds me in my office, reviewing financial reports that should have my full attention but don't. My mind keeps circling back to Lena. To the way she looked this morning. To the fact that she refused lunch when the staff tried to bring her a tray.
Something is wrong.
I grab a plate from the kitchen, loading it with lunch leftovers, some roast beef, roasted carrots, mashed potatoes, and fruit.
I knock once before entering. She's curled up on the window seat, staring out at the grounds, and she doesn't turn when I come in.
"I brought you food." I set the tray on the small table near her. "You need to eat something."
"I told you, I'm not hungry." But her eyes drift to the tray, and I watch her face go from pale to green.
She bolts for the bathroom.
I follow, finding her on her knees in front of the toilet, retching violently. Without thinking, I kneel beside her, gathering her hair back from her face. She's shaking, her whole body trembling with the effort.
When she finally stops, she slumps back against the wall, her eyes closed. I grab a washcloth, run it under cold water, and press it to her forehead.
"Thank you," she whispers.
My heart pounds against my ribs. The possibility that's been lurking in the back of my mind since this morning crystallizes into something I can't ignore.
She could be pregnant.
The thought sends electricity through my entire body, part terror, part something that feels dangerously close to hope. A child. My child. Growing inside her.
I wait for her to tell me. To confirm what my instincts are screaming. But instead, she opens her eyes and says, "I think I have the flu."
The disappointment that crashes over me is so intense, it's almost physical. Which is insane. I should be relieved. A pregnancy would complicate everything, would make her even more of a target, and would tie us together in ways that go beyond whatever this thing between us is.
But I'm not relieved. I'm disappointed.
"The flu," I repeat, keeping my voice neutral.
"Yeah." She takes the washcloth from me, pressing it to her cheeks. "There's something going around, probably. I'll be fine in a few days."
"Right." I stand, offering her my hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet. She sways slightly, and my arm goes around her waist automatically. "You should rest."
"I'm fine." But she doesn't pull away from my touch. "Really."
I guide her back to the bed, and she sits on the edge, looking small and vulnerable. I should leave, should give her space to rest. Instead, I sit beside her.
"I need to tell you something," I say. "About next week."
She turns to look at me, and this close, I can see the flecks of lighter blue in her dark eyes and smell the faint scent of her shampoo.
"What about next week?" she asks.
"I'm hosting a party. A welcome home celebration." I watch her face carefully. "Everyone will be there. Captains, soldiers, their families. It's mandatory attendance."
Her eyebrows rise. "A party. You're throwing yourself a party?"
"It's strategic." I explain the plan, watching understanding dawn in her eyes. "I need to see who's nervous. Who's hiding something. A social setting will make people careless."
"That's actually smart." She tilts her head, studying me. "Devious, but smart."
"I need your help." The words come out before I fully think them through. "With organizing it. Planning the details, managing the social aspects."
Surprise flashes across her face, followed by something that looks like happiness. Real happiness, the first I've seen since we left Montana. "You want me to help plan your party?"
"Our party," I correct. "You're my fiancée, remember? It would be expected."
The happiness dims slightly at the reminder of our arrangement, but it doesn't disappear entirely. "What would I need to do?"
"Work with the event planner. Choose the menu, the decorations, and the music. Make sure everything looks perfect."
I stand, needing distance before I do something stupid like pull her into my arms. "Think about it. Let me know tomorrow."
I'm almost to the door when she speaks. "Aleksandr?"
I turn back. She's still sitting on the bed, her blonde hair mussed, her sweater slightly askew, and she's so beautiful it makes my chest tighten.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For checking on me."
"You're welcome." I reach for the door handle. "Rest. I'll have the staff bring you some ginger ale and crackers later. Those might stay down better."
I'm about to open the door when a sharp knock sounds from the other side just before the door opens and Danil appears.
"Boss," he says, his voice low and urgent. "We have a development."