Chapter 50 Dimitri
DIMITRI
The impact hits us like a freight train.
One second, we're pulling away from the hotel, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. The next, metal screams against metal as another vehicle slams into our side. Our armored SUV spins, tires shrieking against asphalt, and my body moves on pure instinct.
I throw myself over Alina, covering her completely as the world tilts sideways. Her gasp is muffled against my chest, her fingers clutching at my jacket. The SUV rocks violently, but our driver maintains control. The vehicle straightens, engine roaring as he accelerates.
Then the gunfire starts.
The distinctive crack of automatic weapons fills the air. Bullets ping off the reinforced glass like deadly rain, spider-web cracks blooming across the windows but not penetrating. Thank God for the armor plating I insisted on for all my vehicles.
"Stay down," I growl against Alina's hair, keeping my body between her and the windows. My hand finds her stomach instinctively, protective, making sure our child is shielded. She's trembling beneath me, but she doesn't scream. My brave, fierce wife.
Through the chaos, I hear my security team responding.
The two SUVs that were following us screech to a halt, and my men pour out, returning fire with disciplined precision.
I trained them well. They create a protective corridor, their bodies and vehicles forming a barrier between us and the attackers.
"Go, go, go!" I shout to the driver, and he doesn't need to be told twice.
The SUV surges forward, weaving through traffic as more gunfire erupts behind us. I risk a glance through the rear window and count at least four vehicles, maybe five. This isn't some opportunistic hit. This is coordinated, planned, professional.
Ivan Volkov's work.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. The bastard couldn't accept his public humiliation at the gala, couldn't let Alina's words stand unchallenged. So he's resorted to this ambush in the middle of the city, with civilians everywhere. Sloppy. Desperate.
Which makes him more dangerous than ever.
"Dimitri," Alina's voice is muffled against my chest, shaky but controlled. "I'm okay. You can let me breathe now."
I ease back slightly, just enough to see her face. Her green eyes are wide, pupils dilated with adrenaline, but she's not panicking. There's fear there, yes, but also anger.
"Are you hurt?" I demand, my hands running over her arms, her shoulders, checking for injuries even though I know the bullets didn't penetrate.
"No. I'm fine.”
More gunfire echoes behind us, but it's growing distant. The driver takes a sharp turn, then another, his driving smooth despite the speed. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, knows every alley and shortcut. Within minutes, we've lost any potential tail.
My phone buzzes. Alexei.
"Status," I bark into it.
"We’ve got two captured alive. The rest scattered when they realized they'd failed." His voice is steady, professional, but I can hear the underlying fury. An attack on me is an attack on all of us.
"Good. Bring the prisoners to the estate. I want to know everything they know."
"Already on it, Boss."
I end the call and pull Alina closer, breathing in her scent. My heart is still racing, adrenaline flooding my system, but having her safe in my arms grounds me. Centers me.
"It was Ivan," she says quietly. Not a question.
"Yes."
"He's not going to stop, is he?"
I want to lie to her, to tell her everything will be fine, that I'll protect her from all of this. But Alina deserves the truth. She's proven time and again that she can handle it.
"No. Not until one of us is dead."
She's silent for a moment, her hand finding mine and lacing our fingers together. I press a kiss to her forehead, then her lips, tasting her fear and her determination in equal measure.
The rest of the drive passes in tense silence as we take a circuitous route, making sure we're not followed, before finally pulling through the gates of our estate. The security team has already been alerted. Armed men patrol the perimeter, and I can see the glint of sniper scopes on the roof.
The moment we're inside, I have Alina in my arms, carrying her despite her protests.
"Dimitri, I can walk—"
"Humor me."
I help Alina change into soft pajamas, my hands gentle on her skin. She's still shaking slightly, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving exhaustion in its wake.
"Come here," I murmur, pulling her into bed with me.
She curls against my chest, her head tucked under my chin, and I wrap my arms around her. For a long moment, we just hold each other, breathing in sync, grateful to be alive.
"I was so scared," she whispers. "Not for me, but for the baby. For you."
"I know. Me too." I press a kiss to her hair. "But we're okay. We're all okay."
Her hand slides up my chest, fingers tracing the line of my jaw. When I look down at her, there's something fierce and hungry in her eyes. Not fear anymore, but need. The need to feel alive, to reaffirm our connection, to push back against the darkness that tried to claim us.
I understand completely.
I kiss her slowly, deeply, pouring everything I feel into it. Love, fear, relief, determination. She responds with equal intensity, her body pressing against mine.
I undress her carefully, reverently, revealing pale skin and soft curves. Her breasts are fuller now with pregnancy, her nipples darker. I trace the small swell of her stomach with my fingertips, awed by the life growing there.
She reaches for my shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling fingers. I help her, shrugging out of my clothes until we're both naked. The lamplight casts golden shadows across her skin.
My hands map her body, relearning every curve and hollow. I cup her breasts gently, thumbs circling her nipples until she arches into my touch. Her hands explore my chest, tracing the eight-pointed star tattoo over my heart, the dragon on my neck.
"I love you," she whispers. "I love you so much."
"I love you," I respond in Russian. Words I never thought I'd say to anyone.
I kiss down her throat, her collarbone, taking my time. When I reach her breasts, I lavish attention on each one, sucking gently, careful not to be too rough. She gasps, her fingers threading through my hair.
"Dimitri, please."
"Patience, lyubov moya." My love.
I continue my exploration, kissing down her ribs, her stomach. I pause at the small swell where our child grows, pressing a tender kiss there. Alina's hand covers mine, and we stay like that for a moment, connected.
Then I move lower, spreading her thighs gently. She's already wet, ready for me. I stroke her with my fingers first, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her head falls back, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
"So responsive," I murmur. "So perfect."
I replace my fingers with my mouth, tasting her. She cries out, her hips lifting. I hold her steady, taking my time, building her pleasure slowly. When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her body trembling.
I kiss my way back up her body, settling between her thighs. She reaches between us, guiding me to her entrance. "I need to feel you."
I push inside slowly, carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She's tight and hot around me, perfect. When I'm fully seated, we both pause, just breathing together.
She wraps her legs around my hips. "Move, Dimitri."
I do, setting a slow, deep rhythm and bracing myself on my forearms, keeping my weight off her stomach. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled. I watch her face, memorizing every expression, every gasp and moan. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in.
"I've got you," I murmur. "Always."
"Always," she echoes.
The pleasure builds slowly between us, a steady climb rather than a frantic race. I angle my hips, finding that spot inside her that makes her gasp. Her inner walls flutter around me.
"That's it," I encourage. "Let go, Alina. I've got you."
She comes with a soft cry, her body clenching around me. The sensation pushes me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck, groaning her name as I spill inside her.
We stay connected for long moments after, neither of us wanting to break the intimacy. Finally, I ease out carefully and pull her against my side. She curls into me, her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine.
She falls asleep in my arms, her breathing deep and even. But I can't sleep. My mind is racing, planning, calculating. Ivan made a mistake tonight. He showed his hand, revealed his desperation. Now I know exactly how dangerous he is.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I ease away from Alina carefully, not wanting to wake her, and pull on pants before opening the door.
Alexei stands there, his face grim. I step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind me. "What did the prisoners say?"
"Plenty. Ivan's losing support, even within his own alliance.
The families don't like his methods, don't like how public he's making everything.
Tonight's hit was a last-ditch effort to salvage his reputation.
If he'd succeeded in killing Alina, he could have blamed you for not protecting your wife, made you look weak. "
"But he failed."
"He failed." Alexei's expression darkens. "Which makes him more dangerous now. A cornered animal is unpredictable."
I nod slowly, my mind already working through the implications. Ivan can't back down now without losing face completely. He'll have to escalate, to make another move. The question is what and when.
"Double the security on Katya," I order. "And have someone watch Alina's mother, just in case Ivan tries to use her as leverage."
"Already done." Alexei hesitates, then pulls an envelope from his jacket. "There's something else. This was delivered an hour ago. Courier wouldn't say who sent it."
I take the envelope, feeling the weight of expensive paper. Inside is a single card, embossed with the traditional Bratva seal. My blood runs cold as I read the formal Russian script.
"What is it?" Alexei asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
I look up at him, feeling the weight of centuries of tradition pressing down on me. "Ivan has called for a tribunal. A formal challenge to my leadership."