Chapter 47 Alina
ALINA
Iwake to an eerie silence that immediately sets my nerves on edge. The estate is never this quiet. Even in the early morning hours, there's always the distant sound of guards changing shifts, the hum of security systems, the occasional footstep in the hallway.
This silence feels different. Oppressive.
I reach across the bed, but Dimitri's side is cold. He's been gone for hours. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, still flat but carrying the precious secret of our child.
I throw back the covers and pad to the window, pulling aside the heavy curtain. What I see makes my blood run cold.
Armed guards patrol the grounds in pairs, at least three times the usual number. New security cameras have been installed on every corner of the property. The main gate has been reinforced with additional barriers, and I can see the glint of weapons everywhere I look.
The estate has become a fortress overnight.
Fury rises in my chest, hot and immediate.
I yank on a robe and storm out of the bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the marble floors as I make my way downstairs.
I find Dimitri in his study, surrounded by monitors showing every angle of the property.
He's on the phone, speaking in rapid Russian, his voice hard and commanding.
He looks up when I enter, and I see the exhaustion in his green eyes. He hasn't slept.
"I'll call you back," he says into the phone, then sets it down carefully on his desk.
"What is this?" I gesture toward the windows, toward the armed compound our home has become. "What have you done?"
"What I had to do." His voice is calm, but I can hear the steel beneath it. "You're not leaving the property, Alina. Not until this is over."
"Excuse me?" The word comes out sharper than I intend. "You're making me a prisoner?"
"I'm keeping you safe." He stands, moving around the desk toward me. "Ivan Volkov put a price on your head. Half a million dollars. Do you understand what that means? Every desperate criminal in the city is looking for an opportunity."
"So your solution is to lock me up?" I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the anger pulse through me. "To turn our home into a jail?"
"My solution is to keep you alive." His jaw tightens, and I see something flicker in his eyes. Something that looks like fear. "You and our baby."
The mention of the baby softens me slightly, but I refuse to back down. "We can't live like this, Dimitri. We can't hide forever."
"I'm not asking you to hide forever." He reaches for me, but I step back. "Just until I can neutralize the threat."
"And how long will that take? Weeks? Months?" I shake my head, feeling tears of frustration prick at my eyes. "I won't be a prisoner in my own home. I won't let Ivan Volkov control my life through fear."
"Alina." His voice drops, becomes almost pleading. "Please. I can't lose you."
The raw emotion in those words stops me cold. I look at him, really look at him, and see past the powerful Bratva boss to the man beneath. The man who's terrified of losing the family he's only just found.
"I can't lose you," he repeats, quieter now. "I can't lose our baby. If something happened to you because I didn't do enough, didn't protect you well enough…" He trails off, running a hand through his dark hair. The silver at his temples catches the morning light. "I wouldn't survive it."
My anger drains away, replaced by a different kind of determination. I close the distance between us and take his hands in mine. "Then we end this. We don't hide, we don't wait for Ivan to make his move. We take control of the situation."
He frowns, his green eyes searching my face. "What are you suggesting?"
"A public appearance." The idea crystallizes as I speak. "A charity gala. Something high-profile with witnesses, with press, with all the neutral families in attendance. We force Ivan to either make his move in front of everyone or back down."
"That's insane." Dimitri pulls his hands from mine, turning away. "You want to paint a target on yourself?"
"The target is already there." I move to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at me. "But right now, Ivan controls the narrative. He's made me look weak, made us look like we're running scared. A gala changes that. It shows strength. It shows we're not afraid."
"You should be afraid." His voice is rough. "I'm afraid."
"I know." I cup his face in my hands, feeling the scratch of his beard against my palms. "But we can't let fear win. We need to show the other families that the Morozov name still means something. That we're not going anywhere."
Before he can respond, there's a knock at the door. He looks between us, reading the tension in the room.
"Am I interrupting?" he asks.
"Alina wants to host a charity gala," Dimitri says flatly. "She wants to make herself a public target."
I shoot him an irritated look before turning to Alexei. "I want to show Ivan Volkov that we're not hiding. That we're not afraid of his threats."
To my surprise, Alexei nods slowly. "It's not a bad idea."
"You can't be serious." Dimitri stares at his closest advisor.
"Think about it," Alexei says, moving further into the room. "Right now, Ivan looks strong. He's made threats, and we've responded by locking down. It makes us look weak, defensive. A gala flips the script. It's a power play."
"It's a death wish," Dimitri counters.
"It's calculated risk," I interject. "We control the venue, the guest list, the security. We invite the neutral families, legitimate businesspeople, politicians. Ivan would have to be insane to make a move with that many witnesses."
"He is insane," Dimitri growls. "That's the problem."
"Then we'll be ready for him." I step closer to Dimitri, placing my hand over his heart. I can feel it pounding beneath my palm. "But we do this on our terms, not his."
Dimitri looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. The need to protect me versus the strategic advantage of the plan.
Dimitri is silent for several heartbeats. Then he exhales slowly and looks at me. "If we do this, we do it my way. Maximum security. Every entrance monitored. Every guest screened. And you don't leave my sight for a single second."
Relief floods through me. "Agreed."
"And if I see even a hint of danger, we're gone. No arguments."
"No arguments," I promise.
He pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest. I can feel the tension in his body, the fear he's trying to control. "You're going to be the death of me, woman," he murmurs into my hair.
"No," I whisper back. "I'm going to be the life of you."
The next week passes in a blur of planning. Dimitri throws himself into organizing the event with the same intensity he brings to everything. He personally vets every vendor, every staff member, every detail. Alexei coordinates with the security team, mapping out sight lines and escape routes.
I focus on the guest list and the message we want to send.
I reach out to the neutral families personally, speaking to the wives and daughters, building connections that transcend the traditional male-dominated power structure.
I contact legitimate businesspeople who've worked with the Morozov family, politicians who owe Dimitri favors, and even a few carefully selected members of the press.
The gala will benefit a children's charity, something that can't be criticized. It will be elegant, sophisticated, and impossible to ignore.
During this time, something shifts between Dimitri and me. We steal moments throughout the day, passionate encounters in his study when the planning becomes too intense, his hands urgent on my body as he reminds himself that I'm alive and safe.
In the mornings, we lie in bed longer than we should, his hand resting on my stomach as we talk about the future. About the baby. About the kind of life we want to build.
"I want our child to be strong," he says one morning, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin. "But not hard. Not like I had to be."
"They'll be strong because they'll be loved," I tell him, covering his hand with mine. "That's a different kind of strength."
He kisses me then, slow and deep, and I lose myself in the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine. These moments of peace feel stolen, precious, and I hold onto them fiercely.
Katya visits twice during the week, excited about the gala and oblivious to the danger surrounding it.
She's thriving at her new school, making friends, talking about her art classes with an enthusiasm that makes my heart ache with love for her.
Dimitri has assigned two guards to watch her discreetly, something she doesn't know about and I'm grateful for.
The night before the gala, I'm in our bedroom going over the final seating arrangements when there's a knock at the door. One of the guards enters, his face carefully neutral.
"Mrs. Morozov, a package was delivered for you at the gate."
Something in his tone makes my stomach clench. "What kind of package?"
"It's been screened for explosives and biological threats. It's safe to open." He holds out a small box wrapped in plain brown paper.
I take it with trembling hands. Dimitri appears in the doorway, alerted by some sixth sense that something is wrong. He crosses the room in three strides.
"What is it?"
"A package." My voice sounds distant to my own ears.
He takes it from me, examining it carefully before slowly removing the wrapping. Inside is a simple cardboard box. He opens it, and I see his entire body go rigid.
"Dimitri?" I move closer, and he tries to block me, but I'm faster. I look into the box and my blood turns to ice.
It's a photograph of Katya. She's walking across the campus of her school, her backpack slung over one shoulder, completely unaware that someone is watching her. The photo is crisp, clear, taken from a distance with a telephoto lens.
Beneath the photograph is a note written in neat block letters, Pretty girl. Would be a shame if something happened to her.