Chapter 36 Alexei
Alexei
I check the beef stroganoff one more time before turning down the heat.
“Are you sure about this?” Mila asks from the doorway. She’s changed into a soft sweater that shows the gentle curve of her growing belly, and the sight makes my heart flutter. “Entertaining your brother and his wife when you’ve barely slept in days seems like a lot.”
I’ve been back and forth between the estate and Moscow for three days, coordinating with Dmitri and coming up with plans for when Novikov makes his move.
We both know it’s coming. The only question is how many people we’ll lose in the process.
“It’s what I need.” I stir the sauce—my grandmother’s recipe. “You’re part of this family now. Really part of it. I want you to feel that.”
She walks over and wraps her arms around my waist from behind. The simple contact grounds me after days of tactical planning and threat assessment.
“Besides,” I add, “when’s the last time any of us just sat around a table and acted like normal people?”
“Do any of us qualify as normal people?”
“Fair point.” I chuckle.
The doorbell rings at seven. Dmitri’s punctuality hasn’t changed since childhood, even when he’s bringing his wife to dinner instead of showing up for weapons training.
I find them on the front steps. Dmitri looks like he hasn’t slept, with dark circles and a sharp-edged alertness that comes from never letting his guard down. Katya is beside him, her platinum blonde hair pulled back and her ice-blue eyes taking in everything around the estate entrance.
I greet them with a nod. “Thanks for coming. I know the timing is… well, thanks.”
Mila appears beside me, and I watch the women assess each other. Katya’s trained eye takes in everything—Mila’s posture, her confidence, and the subtle way she stands slightly behind me.
“Mila,” I gesture toward my sister-in-law, “this is Katya.”
“It’s wonderful to see you again.” Mila extends her hand. “Alexei talks about you so much. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”
Katya shakes it with a firm grip, studying Mila’s face. “All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly about how you can kill a man with a salad fork.”
Katya’s mouth quirks upward. “Only a proper metal one. Plastic is not as effective.”
Dmitri shakes his head and snorts, probably because he knows damn well the woman could kill someone with a plastic spoon if she had to.
We move into the dining room, where I’ve set the table with actual China instead of the everyday dishes.
“Grandmother’s wedding set,” I explain. “Seemed appropriate.”
Dmitri raises an eyebrow. The formal place settings are clearly overkill. His mind is elsewhere, probably running through all the ways Novikov could hit us right now while we’re playing house.
“This smells incredible,” Katya comments as I serve the stroganoff. “Where did you learn to cook, and why haven’t you taught your brother?”
“Necessity. Our father believed in self-sufficiency. Dmitri has always been fine with microwave meals.”
“Self-sufficiency,” Dmitri mutters, checking his phone for the third time since they arrived. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.”
“Everything alright?” I ask.
“Boris is monitoring the perimeter. No issues.”
Katya gives him a look that says, “Not tonight,” and he reluctantly puts the phone away.
Mila pours wine for Dmitri and Katya, then settles into her chair with a glass of sparkling water. The conversation starts carefully, with everyone feeling out the boundaries.
“So, Mila,” Katya begins, “what’s your background? Alexei mentioned you’re in graduate school.”
“International business law,” Mila says. “Or I was. My academic career took a bit of a hit when everything happened that day on campus. The university wasn’t thrilled about the publicity.”
The silence that follows is profound as my brother gives me a pointed look.
“Well,” Katya clucks her tongue, “that’s unfortunate.”
“It is what it is. I’m working on getting reinstated, but in the meantime, Alexei has helped me connect with some colleagues who might be willing to supervise my thesis independently.”
I nod in confirmation. “She’s too smart to let bureaucratic cowardice end her education. We’ll find a way.”
“That’s fascinating,” Katya assures her, sounding genuinely interested rather than offended. “What’s your conclusion?”
“That the real vulnerability isn’t violence or territorial disputes,” Mila explains. “It’s forensic accounting and cooperation from international law enforcement.”
Dmitri looks up from his wine with wide eyes. “Explain.”
“Most criminal enterprises fail because they can’t maintain legitimate business operations convincingly enough to withstand financial scrutiny. The successful ones—like yours and my father’s—have sophisticated legal structures that make prosecution nearly impossible.”
“Nearly?” Katya asks.
“There are always gaps. Patterns that emerge over time. But it requires resources and coordination that most agencies don’t have.”
“Interesting perspective from someone who’s never been involved in actual operations,” Dmitri muses.
The comment has an edge to it, and Mila straightens in her chair.
“You’re right.” She doesn’t miss a beat. “My father kept me on the outskirts of our family’s operations, so yes, I’m an outsider analyzing from academic distance. Sometimes, that provides clarity that insiders can’t see.”
“What kind of clarity?” Katya asks.
“For instance, your husband’s organization is remarkably stable compared to others I’ve studied. Most criminal enterprises have internal power struggles that law enforcement can exploit. Yours doesn’t.”
“Why do you think that is?” I’m curious about her analysis.
“Strong leadership. Clear hierarchy. And—” she glances between Dmitri and me “—genuine loyalty between the people in charge.”
The lines on my brother’s face smooth at that observation.
“Plus,” Mila continues, “you’ve maintained legitimate business operations that turn a profit. Most organizations use legal fronts as cover. Yours generate real revenue.”
“Someone’s done her homework,” Katya observes.
“I’m thorough. It’s why I chose your family as a case study.”
“Chose us?” Dmitri asks.
“Even before I knew Alexei, your organization was the most interesting from an academic perspective. My father spoke of the infamous Kozlov often.”
The irony of that statement settles in the room for a beat before Katya asks, “So what happens to your research now that you’re personally involved?”
Mila shrugs. “I finish it. The analysis is still valid, even if my perspective has changed.”
“Changed how?” I ask.
Mila considers her words carefully. “Understanding the human cost. Academic research focuses on structures and strategies, but it forgets that real people make these decisions. People with families and feelings and complicated motivations.”
“Complicated is definitely one way to put it,” Katya muses.
Some of the awkwardness fades as the wine flows and the conversation continues. Katya asks about Mila’s academic work, and Mila questions Katya about adjusting to civilian life after government service.
“The hardest part isn’t learning new routines,” Katya explains, “It’s learning to trust my choices instead of following orders.
Especially small choices like what to wear or eat.
How to spend a free afternoon. In the FSB, someone else made those decisions, or they didn’t matter because survival took priority. ”
Mila purses her lips and replies, “That sounds isolating.”
“It was. But effective for the mission.”
“What’s it like now? Having choices?”
Katya glances at Dmitri, who’s been listening with keen interest. “Terrifying and wonderful. I can spend an afternoon reading if I want to. No one times my activities or analyzes my behavior patterns.”
“Well,” Dmitri says dryly, “I might occasionally analyze your behavior patterns.”
Katya giggles and pokes my brother’s shoulder. “You’re my husband, not my handler.”
The way she says husband makes something warm settle in my chest. This is what I wanted—Mila seeing that our world isn’t just violence and business. There are real relationships.
“What about you?” Katya asks Mila. “Any adjustment struggles to our world? I know you come from a Bratva family, too, but this one in particular can be… challenging.”
Mila considers the question while sipping her water. “The security cameras are everywhere. Papa didn’t have that. I’ll catch myself waving at one and remember that someone’s watching me brush my teeth.”
“You get used to it,” Katya assures her.
“Do you really?”
“No,” Katya admits. “But you learn to ignore it. Like background noise.”
“Or you start performing for them,” I add. “Mila’s taken to giving little commentary tracks while she gets ready in the morning.”
“I do not.”
“Yesterday, you explained your skincare routine to camera three.”
Mila’s face goes red again. “I was being informative.”
“For whom?” Dmitri asks, amused despite himself.
“Whoever was unfortunate enough to be on surveillance duty.”
The conversation flows as we clear the dinner plates. I bring out dessert—store-bought cake because I’m not completely domestic—and open another bottle of wine.
“This is nice,” Mila tells the table. “Meeting you properly. Understanding more about Alexei’s family.”
“What did you expect?” Katya asks.
“I wasn’t sure. Maybe more intimidating or more formal.”
“We can be both, when necessary,” Dmitri corrects.
“But not tonight,” I add. “Tonight, we’re just having dinner.”
By the time we finish dessert, it’s clear that Dmitri and Katya have had enough wine to make driving inadvisable. Not drunk, but relaxed enough that attempting Moscow traffic would be stupid, and the last thing we need right now is the head of our family behind bars with a DUI.
“You’re staying,” I announce. “No arguments.”
“We should call the sitter.” Katya pulls out her phone. “Let her know we won’t be back tonight.”
“We have some spare clothes you can sleep in,” I add.
While Katya makes arrangements for their little one, Mila helps me load the dishwasher. The domestic routine feels surreal after everything we’ve been through.
“This was good,” she tells me. “I can see why you wanted it.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s not what I expected. She’s so… normal.”
I study her face. “What did you expect?”
“From a former FSB agent who married into a Bratva family? I don’t know. Someone harder. More like the stories about government agents.”
“She is hard when she needs to be. But she’s also just a woman who fell in love with my brother.”
Dmitri reappears then, declaring, “Everything’s sorted. The sitter has no problem staying the night.”
We migrate to the living room, where the conversation continues over brandy for those still drinking. The topics range from family stories to Mila’s research to Katya’s ongoing adjustment to civilian life.
As the evening winds down, I realize this is what I wanted. Not just dinner, but this feeling of family. People who choose to be together rather than people thrown together by circumstance.
“We should do this more often,” Katya suggests as we head downstairs to the bedrooms.
“Once things settle down,” I agree.
“Will they settle down?” Mila asks.
Dmitri and I exchange a look. We both know what’s coming with Novikov. Peace is temporary in our world.
“It always does,” Dmitri replies.
“And then, it gets unsettled again,” I add.
“Such optimists,” Mila grumbles, but she’s smiling.
We say goodnight at the bottom of the stairs. Dmitri and Katya disappear into the guest room while Mila and I head to our bedroom.
“Thank you for tonight,” she tells me as we get ready for bed. “And for wanting me to feel like family.”
“You are family. Just because it’s not legal yet doesn’t change that.”
She kisses me softly before climbing into bed. As I turn off the lights, I hear quiet conversation from the guest room and the settled sounds of people who feel safe and comfortable.
Tomorrow, we’ll go back to security briefings and threat assessments, preparing for whatever Novikov throws at us. But tonight, my house feels like a home filled with people I’d protect with my life.