Chapter 22 Alexei
Alexei
Everything I knew about priorities just went out the window.
I stand in my study staring at intelligence reports that feel meaningless. Territory disputes, shipping contracts, revenue streams… none of it matters anymore. Not when Mila is carrying my child.
The documents run together as I think about what Dr. Orlov confirmed last night. Such a small amount of time to reshape my understanding of what matters. I set the papers down and rub my temples where a headache is building as the weight of everything that needs to change presses down on me.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Dmitri’s name flashes on the screen, and I know that when my brother calls this early, it’s never good news.
“What’s up?”
“Word on the street is that you got Leonid Andreev’s daughter pregnant and haven’t told me yet.”
I clench my jaw and feel the muscles in my neck go rigid. Of course, he knows. Nothing stays secret in our world for long, especially not something this important. Information travels faster than common sense in criminal organizations.
“How did you find out?”
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, dreading the network of contacts and observations that led him to this conclusion.
“Boris mentioned Dr. Orlov made a house call to your location. Medical visits usually mean one of two things in our world: Someone got shot or someone got pregnant. Since there was no blood, I made an educated guess.”
Smart bastard. Sometimes, I forget how observant my brother can be when he wants to focus on something other than his new wife. Years of running this organization have trained him to notice patterns and draw conclusions that most people would miss.
“She’s six weeks along,” I confess with a sigh.
The admission feels strange coming from my mouth, like saying the words makes it more real than Dr. Orlov’s examination did. More permanent than the shocked look on Mila’s face when I suggested we get married.
“Jesus Christ, Alexei. Do you have any idea what this means for the family? For our alliance negotiations? For your future with her?”
The rapid-fire questions flare irritation in my chest. Dmitri’s mind went to political implications. Not once did he ask how I feel about becoming a father or whether this is something I wanted.
“It means I’m going to be a father.”
“You’re thinking with your chest, not your head. This is political, not personal. Your attachment makes you a target.”
He pauses. “You need to be prepared for that.”
I resume pacing, wearing a path in the carpet between my desk and the wall. Each step feels like a small release of pressure.
“When’s the last time you made a decision that didn’t factor in her safety first?”
The question detonates between us because we both know the answer. Every choice I’ve made since the restaurant incident has prioritized Mila’s protection over broader family interests. Every resource allocation, security protocol, and strategic decision.
“That’s what I thought,” Dmitri continues when I don’t respond. “You’re no longer thinking like a leader. You’re thinking like a man in love, and that makes both families vulnerable if you don’t at least acknowledge it and pivot.”
The word “love” twists something in my gut. He’s right, even though neither of us has said it out loud. What I feel for Mila has moved far beyond physical attraction. It’s become something that influences every aspect of how I approach leadership.
“Both families benefit from this alliance,” I point out.
“Both families benefit from rational leadership, not from decisions made to protect one person at the expense of everyone else.”
“I’m not sacrificing anyone.”
But even as I say it, I know that’s not true. I am sacrificing objectivity, strategic flexibility, and the ability to make decisions based on organizational benefit rather than personal attachment.
My phone beeps before I can respond, cutting through our argument with an electronic intrusion that feels almost welcome. Boris is on the other end, calling with what I assume is the intelligence update I requested earlier.
“We’ll finish this later,” I tell Dmitri before answering the other call.
“Intelligence reports are ready,” Boris says. “Multiple families have learned about the pregnancy through their networks.”
The temperature in the room drops several degrees despite the climate control. This is faster than I anticipated.
“How?”
I sink into my chair and reach for a pen, needing something to do with my hands while processing what this means for every security protocol we’ve established.
“Medical records. Surveillance of Dr. Orlov’s movements. Electronic intercepts of our communications. Information like this doesn’t stay contained.”
Of course, it doesn’t. Privacy is an illusion in criminal organizations, where information equals power and leverage equals survival.
“Which families?”
He starts listing them as I take notes, writing down names and drawing connections between organizations that normally compete. The fact that they’re sharing intelligence suggests coordination that goes beyond normal business relationships.
“Their response?”
“Coordinated planning sessions. Resource sharing. They’re treating this as an opportunity to exploit what they perceive as your weakness.”
The word “weakness” makes me jam my pen harder against the paper, nearly tearing through to the desk beneath. These bastards think my feelings for Mila make me vulnerable to manipulation and control.
“They think attacking Dmitri’s wife would guarantee their destruction,” Boris continues. “But your relationship with Mila is different. You’re not married yet. She’s not family. They believe they can target her to send a message without signing their own death warrants.”
The casual way he describes their logic makes rage build in my chest. These families think they can determine acceptable levels of violence against the woman carrying my child.
“They’re wrong.” My voice comes out flat and cold, carrying the kind of finality that usually ends conversations permanently. But Boris continues as if he didn’t hear the threat.
“They don’t know that yet. From their perspective, this looks like a casual relationship that got complicated by an unplanned pregnancy. They’re underestimating what she means to you.”
“What’s their timeline?”
I lean forward across my desk, focusing on operational details rather than my budding fury. Planning helps channel anger into something productive rather than letting it consume rational thought.
“Unknown, but communications suggest they’re accelerating plans. References to ‘windows of opportunity’ and ‘striking while targets are vulnerable.’ There’s more.” Boris’ voice takes on a grimmer tone. “Novikov sent a message an hour ago. A video file. You need to see it.”
“Send it.”
My phone pings with an encrypted message. I open the video attachment, and Maxim Novikov’s face fills the screen. He’s sitting in a luxury office, but the background is deliberately obscured.
“Alexei Kozlov.” His voice carries mock formality. “Your romantic entanglement with the Andreev girl has created an interesting opportunity that serves my business interests quite well.”
His cold smile gets wider as he adds, “Your alliance with Leonid Andreev blocks my access to territories that should be mine. The Andreev docks and their shipping routes. The import contracts that have been fattening their coffers when they should be feeding mine.”
I squeeze the phone.
“But emotional attachments make men… vulnerable to persuasion. When Miss Andreeva disappears, her father will blame you for failing to protect her. The alliance will crumble. Leonid will be left isolated and desperate, forced to seek new partnerships. And I will be there to offer the protection he can provide.”
He pauses to take a sip from a glass of what looks like expensive vodka.
“Of course, she could be returned safely once Leonid understands that partnering with the Kozlovs brings nothing but danger to his family. Once he agrees to more… profitable arrangements with organizations that can keep his loved ones safe.”
“Your choice is simple, Alexei. End this alliance voluntarily, or watch your personal feelings destroy it anyway. Either way, I gain access to the Andreev territories.
“Send me everything you have on their coordination efforts,” I bark out. “I’m ending this.”
“Already compiled. But Alexei? The threats are intensifying faster than we can track them. Multiple independent contractors have been approached about potential contracts.”
After Boris hangs up, I sit in my study processing what I just learned. They’re coordinating against us. They think targeting Mila is a safe way to demonstrate that emotional attachments make leaders vulnerable.
I stare at the notes I took during the conversation, seeing patterns and connections that paint a picture of coordinated action from multiple directions. This isn’t random opportunism; this is strategic planning designed to exploit what they perceive as my greatest vulnerability.
Dmitri was right about one thing. My priorities have changed. The pregnancy has made Mila’s safety more important than any business consideration, territorial dispute, or revenue stream our family has ever pursued.
But he was wrong about that making me weak.
I stand and walk to the secure filing cabinet where I keep contacts for resources that exist outside normal business channels. Men who specialize in problems that require permanent solutions.
My hands are steady as I pull out files I haven’t touched in years. Phone numbers for operators who ask no questions and leave no traces.
I return to my desk and make calls. Each conversation is brief and in a coded language that communicates intent without creating evidence. Arrangements for meetings that will happen in secure locations away from normal surveillance networks.
The first call connects me with a former military contractor who now handles private security for situations that require extreme discretion.
The second reaches a logistics coordinator who can move people and equipment without attracting government attention.
The third contact specializes in intelligence-gathering that goes beyond what normal private investigators can provide.
By the time I finish the calls, my desk is covered with notes and contact information for resources I never thought I’d need. Each piece of paper represents a capability to respond to threats in ways that go far beyond defensive measures.
I lean back in my chair and study what I’ve assembled. The scope of what I’m contemplating should give me pause. Should make me consider alternatives that don’t involve destroying everyone who threatens my family.
But every time I think about Mila sleeping downstairs, our child growing inside her, and the future we could build if I can keep them both safe, the alternatives feel inadequate.
These families think they can use my feelings against me. Think they can exploit my attachment to force compromises and concessions.
They’re about to learn that threatening my family doesn’t make me weak or vulnerable or willing to negotiate.
It makes me willing to destroy everything else to protect them.