Chapter 46
ALEKSANDR
I was waiting outside of the campus sports complex when Eva emerged.
I knew immediately that she’d had a breakthrough.
She moved differently—exhausted, yes, dark circles under her eyes speaking to too many sleepless nights, but there was a brightness in her eyes that spoke of discovery rather than defeat.
She saw me and stopped, surprised. I’d texted her an hour ago that I’d pick her up, though perhaps she hadn’t believed I’d actually show.
True to their word, the bratva had put information at my disposal, and I’d been spending my days pouring over their betting records, looking for patterns that tied back to Jed Carter.
I opened the car door without a word. She slid in, bringing the scent of winter air and that fucking orange and vanilla shampoo that haunted me.
We drove in silence for several blocks. I didn’t push, didn’t ask, just waited. She’d talk when she was ready, and I’d discovered recently that waiting for Eva to come to me willingly was infinitely more rewarding than demanding anything from her.
“He tried to throw another game,” she said finally, her voice quiet but certain. “Last week—the football game against Boston.”
I kept my eyes on the road, my hands steady on the wheel even as my mind started racing through implications. “Who told you?”
“Danny Juma. He’s a senior defensive end.
Tristan talked him into sitting down with me.
” I could see her reflection in the glass as she stared out the window, thinking.
“The defensive coordinator told him to ease up on a key player in the fourth quarter and let it slip that it was at Carter’s request. Danny didn’t think anything of it until afterward, when he realized he’d been set up to look like he’d blown the coverage. ”
My jaw clenched. Sounded just like Jed Carter to ruin someone’s reputation while serving his own purposes.
“Here’s the thing, though,” Eva continued, and now, she turned to look at me, her eyes sharp. “The betting markets went insane in the two days before that game. Someone placed massive bets on Syracuse to cover the spread, and the odds shifted dramatically.”
I could feel where she was going with this, could see the puzzle pieces fitting together in her mind.
“The only reason to throw a game is betting. That’s why Carter had me steal the plays in the series against the Hawks,” she said slowly, working through it as she spoke. “Danny said we were favored by ten points, and Syracuse covered by two. Anyone betting on Syracuse would have—”
“Made hundreds of thousands,” I finished, “depending on how much they wagered.”
“Exactly.” She twisted in her seat so she could face me, animated.
“I don’t think Carter’s placing bets himself.
Or rather, he probably is, but I bet there’s more money in advising other people how to bet than throwing the games in his favor.
They place the bets, they profit, and Carter gets, what? A cut? Favors? Protection?”
Exhaustion crept back into her expression now that the adrenaline of discovery was fading. Her fragility made my chest ache with the need to wrap her up and keep her safe from everything that was coming.
We pulled into my building’s garage, and I killed the engine. Eva didn’t move immediately, just sat there staring at her hands in her lap.
“Come upstairs,” I said quietly. “Please.”
She looked at me, vulnerability flickering across her face. “Okay.”
My apartment was warm when we entered, the heat a sharp contrast to the bitter cold outside. Eva shed her coat, and I hung it carefully beside mine, aching for it to have a permanent place.
She paced through my living room, restless and anxious, clearly still working through everything she’d learned.
I’d built my entire life on control—first in the bratva, where control meant survival, then in coaching, where control meant winning, and then in my relationship with Eva, where I’d punished her for daring to act on her own.
Still I wanted it, craved it, and every fiber of my being insisted that my value, my worth, my purpose was in protecting the people I loved by controlling their circumstances, even their desires.
Eva didn’t need that from me.
She stopped pacing and turned to look at me where I’d remained standing by the door. My face must have shown what I was thinking, because her expression softened.
“Alek?”
I shook my head then pushed off from the wall. “You’re doing well, baby girl. Keep going.”
The endearment slipped out naturally, and I saw the way it affected her—the slight softening of her shoulders, the way her breathing evened out just a hair.
That was what she needed from me, I realized, more than anything else—my steadiness and my certainty that she was capable of handling what she’d taken on.
Fuck.
I could give her that. I could be that for her, even if it meant swallowing down every instinct that insisted I should be doing more. “Come here, baby girl.”
Eva came to me, her brow furrowed.
“I’d like you to make me a macchiato,” I said.
Her eyes widened, and then her breath caught.
“Alek?”
“Sir,” I corrected, gently cupping her cheek. “Would you do that for me, please?”
Her tongue poked out between her lips, and she licked them. Some of the frantic energy bled out of her as she processed what I was asking for—the ritual, the structure, a concrete task that would give her mind something to focus on besides her fear.
“Yeah,” she breathed. “I can do that.”
I leaned against the counter and watched her work.
She found the espresso beans in the cupboard then measured them into the grinder.
The sound of grinding beans filled the kitchen, familiar and domestic and achingly intimate, given our history.
She pulled milk from the fridge and heated it with the frother, each step of the process bleeding the tension out of her.
“Such a good girl for me,” I murmured as she tamped the grounds with exactly the right pressure.
She glanced at me over her shoulder, and the vulnerability in her expression made my chest ache. She wanted my approval and my praise during this simple ritual while everything else in her life was chaos and danger.
I could give her what she needed, what she’d always needed from me—a safe place to willingly surrender control so that she could be a force of nature in the rest of her life.
With steady hands, she pulled the shot and poured the milk, creating the perfect ratio of espresso to steamed milk that made a proper macchiato. When she turned to bring it to me, I saw the question in her eyes.
I nodded toward the floor.
She knelt without hesitation, and my chest cracked open.
I had to close my eyes for a second and breathe through the weight of her trust, offered up again after I'd broken it so thoroughly.
She shouldn't trust me with this, not after I'd weaponized her submission to take revenge against her father then derided her for protecting him.
Yet, here she was, kneeling at my feet, the cup held steady in her hands, even though I could see the slight tremor in her wrists.
This beautiful woman was exhausted and terrified, still fighting, still investigating, still putting herself at risk to protect her father. Here, now, kneeling at my feet with a cup of coffee held up as an offering, she could let all that go for just a moment.
I wanted her. My body responded to the sight of her kneeling, to the submission in every line of her body, to the trust in her eyes. I could take her to bed right now. She’d let me. She needed the release.
That wasn’t what this was about. It couldn’t be.
She needed steadiness, not my desire. She needed me to hold space where she could break, not take something for myself.
I took the cup from her hands and sipped it before setting it on the counter behind me, sliding my fingers into her curls.
“You did well today, baby girl,” I said quietly, and I wasn’t talking about the coffee.
Her eyes closed, and she leaned into my touch like a woman starved.
“You’re so fucking brave,” I continued, my voice low and steady, combing my fingers through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. “So strong. So capable.”
She made a small sound, not quite a sob, and I felt the trembling start in her shoulders. Her fingers curled into my thighs, gripping tight. She’d been holding herself together for days, for weeks, and now, finally, she was allowing herself to fall apart, just a little.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, my hand gentle in her hair. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
The trembling intensified, her whole body shaking with the release of adrenaline and fear and exhaustion. I knelt in front of her, gathered her into my arms, and let her collapse against my chest.
She needed an anchor, solid and steady, someone who would be here when she came home from the battle, who would hold her while she processed what she’d learned and what it might cost her, who believed in her strength even when she was too exhausted to believe in it herself.
The understanding settled into my bones with grief and relief in equal measure. This was what dominance actually meant with Eva, the certainty that I would be here, steady and solid, no matter what path she walked.
She took one shuddering breath, and another, then another, as I held her tightly. My own hands shook, trembling with the fear of losing her, the possibility that I could fuck this up again. I pressed my face into her hair and tightened my arms against her waist.
“Thank you,” she whispered against my chest. I didn’t ask what for, just held her tighter, my hand stroking through her hair, my body a bulwark between her and the world for as long as she needed me to be.