Chapter 8 Dimitri
DIMITRI
Idon't sleep.
The night stretches before me like an endless road, and I spend it in my study, surrounded by the trappings of power that suddenly feel hollow.
My phone rings constantly. My laptop screen glows with encrypted messages from informants across the city.
Alexei comes and goes, bringing reports, taking orders, his face growing more haggard with each passing hour.
But through it all, I can't stop thinking about her.
The taste of Alina's lips haunts me. The way she gasped when I kissed her, the way her hands fisted in my shirt instead of pushing me away, the heat of her body pressed against mine.
I've kissed dozens of women in my forty-two years, but none of them have stayed with me like this.
None of them have made me feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall.
I pour myself another vodka and stare at the security monitors showing her bedroom door. She's in there, alone, making a decision that will change both our lives. Part of me wants to go to her, to convince her with more than words. But I force myself to stay here, to give her the space she needs.
Even if it's killing me.
"Dimitri." Alexei's voice cuts through my thoughts. He stands in the doorway, his tablet in hand, and I can tell from his expression that the news isn't good. "We have a problem."
"Another one?" I drain my glass and set it down harder than necessary. "What now?"
He crosses to my desk and pulls up a news feed on his tablet. Three Bratva families have issued public statements in the last hour, all of them calling for my head, demanding I release Alina immediately or face consequences.
"It's coordinated," Alexi says, his voice grim.
I study the statements, reading between the lines. "They're testing me," I say, pushing the tablet back toward Alexei. "Seeing if I'll fold under pressure."
"Will you?"
I meet his eyes. Alexei has been with me for years. He's seen me at my worst, my most ruthless. He knows what I'm capable of. But right now, I see doubt in his face. He's wondering if Alina has made me weak.
"No." I stand and move to the window, looking out at the darkening sky. Dawn is still hours away. "I've been playing this game longer than any of them. They think I'm vulnerable because of Sergei's death, because of the church attack. They're wrong."
"And the girl?"
"She stays," I say firmly. "Under my protection. As my wife."
I turn away from the window. "What matters is keeping her safe and maintaining our position. The marriage accomplishes both."
The hours crawl by. I make calls, send messages, and coordinate with my network of soldiers and informants. We're piecing together the church attack, following leads, but it's slow work. Whoever orchestrated it covered their tracks well.
By the time dawn breaks over the city, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I'm exhausted but wired. I've consumed too much vodka and too much coffee, and my mind is racing with possibilities and contingencies.
I need to see her.
I leave Alexei in the study with orders to continue the investigation and make my way upstairs. The house is quiet, my men at their posts and everything secure. For now. But I feel exposed in a way I haven't in years, like I'm walking into enemy territory without armor.
I pause outside Alina's door, my hand raised to knock. What if she says no? What if she's decided to take her chances on her own, to refuse my protection and my proposal? The thought sends a spike of something uncomfortably close to panic through my chest.
I knock.
"Come in." Her voice is steady, giving nothing away.
I open the door and step inside. The room is bathed in early morning light, and Alina stands by the window, looking out at the gardens below.
She's still wearing the borrowed clothes from yesterday, the gray sweater and black jeans that fit her too well.
Her red hair is pulled back in a messy bun, exposing the elegant line of her neck.
She doesn't turn when I enter, but I see her shoulders tense.
"Did you sleep?" I ask, closing the door behind me.
"No." She finally turns to face me, and I'm struck again by how beautiful she is. Even exhausted, even terrified, she's stunning. "Did you?"
"No."
We stare at each other across the room, and the tension between us is thick enough to cut. I want to cross to her, to pull her into my arms, to kiss her until she forgets every reason this is a terrible idea. But I force myself to stay where I am.
"Have you made your decision?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
Alina wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that makes something in my chest tighten. "I'll marry you."
Relief floods through me, so intense it's almost painful. But before I can respond, she continues.
"On one condition."
Of course there's a condition. This is Alina, after all. She doesn't surrender easily.
"Name it," I say.
She takes a deep breath, and I see her gathering her courage. "When this is over, when the threat has passed and things are stable again, you have to let me go. You have to give me my freedom."
The request hits me like a punch to the gut. She's agreeing to marry me, to bind herself to me legally and traditionally, but she's already planning her escape. Already counting the days until she can leave.
I should lie. I should tell her yes, of course, whatever she wants. I should say the words that will make her agree without hesitation. But when I look into those green eyes, when I see the hope and fear warring in her expression, I find I can't do it.
"I can't promise that." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "The world we live in doesn't work that way, Alina. Once you're my wife, once you bear my name, you're part of this life. There's no walking away from it."
I expect anger. I expect her to throw my honesty back in my face, to refuse the marriage, to demand I take her home right now. But instead, she just nods slowly, as if she expected this answer all along.
"I know," she says quietly. "I just needed to hear you say it. Needed to know you wouldn't lie to me."
Something shifts between us in that moment. An understanding, maybe. Or an acknowledgment of the impossible situation we're both trapped in.
"I won't lie to you," I tell her, taking a step closer. "Not about this. Not about us. You deserve at least that much honesty."
She studies my face, searching for something. Truth, maybe. Or proof that I'm the monster everyone says I am. I let her look, keeping my expression open.
"I'm ready," she finally says, her voice steady despite the fear I can see in her eyes. "Let's do this."
The relief that washes over me is so intense I have to lock my knees to keep from swaying. She's agreeing. She's choosing this, choosing me, even knowing what it means.
"I'll make the arrangements," I say, pulling out my phone. "We can do it this morning. Private ceremony with just a few witnesses. I know a priest who owes me favors."
Alina nods, but I see her hands trembling slightly. She's terrified, and she's trying so hard not to show it. The urge to comfort her, to promise her everything will be okay, is almost overwhelming.
"Alina." I cross the room to her, unable to maintain the distance any longer. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I know I'm not who you would have chosen. But I swear to you, I will protect you. I will keep you safe.
"I'm sorry it’s come to this and that your life, as you knew it, is over. But I'm also not sorry, because if I hadn't taken you from that church, you'd be dead right now. Or worse."
"Worse than being married to you?" There's a hint of bitter humor in her voice.
"Much worse." I reach up and cup her face, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "There are men in this world who would use you, break you, destroy everything that makes you who you are. I'm not one of them."
"How do I know that?"
"You don't." I lean closer, until our faces are inches apart. "You'll have to trust me. Or at least trust that I have too much invested in keeping you alive and whole to damage you."
She laughs, a short, sharp sound. "That's not exactly romantic."
"I'm not a romantic man, Alina. I'm a realist. But I can promise you this. As my wife, you'll be the most protected woman in this city. No one will dare touch you. No one will dare threaten you. And anyone who tries will answer to me."
I see something flicker in her eyes. Maybe the beginning of trust. Or at least acceptance.
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay."