Chapter 10 - Alexey #2
I return home late one evening, and the penthouse lights dimmed to their usual low glow. The day has been long as I have been finalizing the latest financial cuts on Fadir’s remaining fronts, coordinating with Andrei on the supplier leaks, and ensuring every loose thread remains tightly managed.
I had other business matters to tend to as well, all of which added more stress than I was able to handle at the moment. I worked in the downtown office today, and my mind kept wavering as I finally realized what was bothering me.
Anja's absence.
My shoulders carry the familiar weight of calculated precision, but the moment I step into the living room, that weight shifts.
Anja has fallen asleep on the sofa, making me smile that she attempted tp wait up for me.
She lies curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting loosely over her stomach. Her hair spills across the black leather cushion like spilled ink, a few strands catching the faint light from the single lamp across the room.
The oversized t-shirt she favors for comfort has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of smooth skin at her waist. Her breathing is slow and even, the kind of deep sleep that only comes after exhaustion has finally won.
Her cellphone rests on the low table beside the sofa, screen off but face-up.
I stop in the middle of the room, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator is the only sound. My gaze lingers on the phone. It has been ringing more frequently lately from unknown numbers and private callers, I assume. It’s the kind of pattern that raises questions.
I have noticed her ignoring calls, the way her shoulders tighten when the phone buzzes, the quick deflection when I glance at her.
Is it Fadir? Has he found a new way to reach her, to manipulate her, to plant seeds of doubt? Or worse, is Anja playing me? Feeding me just enough intel while keeping her own secrets, her own loyalties?
The suspicion coils low in my gut, sharp and unwelcome. I have spent years reading people, dissecting motives, predicting moves before they happen. Trust is a tool, never absolute. And yet the thought of Anja deceiving me feels… wrong. Painful in a way I refuse to examine too closely.
I take a step forward. Then another. Halfway across the room, I pause, eyes fixed on the phone.
It would be simple. A quick glance at the call log.
A check of recent messages. I could justify it as protecting the operation, ensuring there are no hidden vulnerabilities Fadir could exploit.
My hand twitches at my side. I am already bending slightly, reaching toward the table, when…
Anja stirs.
Her eyes snap open, blurry and hazy with sleep. She blinks once, twice, then focuses on me. For a split second, confusion crosses her face, followed by a soft, surprised smile that makes something tight in my chest loosen.
“Alexey?” Her voice is husky from sleep. “You’re back.”
I straighten immediately, the phone forgotten on the table. The suspicion drains away as quickly as it rose, replaced by something warmer and far more dangerous. She looks soft and unguarded like this. No polished smile for the cameras, or any sharp edges from the day’s strategy sessions.
Just Anja, tired and trusting enough to fall asleep in my living room.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, voice lower than intended.
I cross the remaining distance and crouch beside the sofa, close enough to see the faint circles under her eyes.
“You should be in bed.” “I was waiting for you. The latest supplier report came in while you were out. I wanted to go over it with you,” she stretches slightly, wincing as she sits up.
Her gaze drifts to the phone on the table, then back to me.
There is a flicker of something. Hesitation? Guilt?
“Did everything go okay tonight?” But she masks it with a small smile.
I study her for a moment longer than necessary.
The suspicion tries to rise again, but I push it down.
She has given me no reason to doubt her loyalty.
Not once. The unknown calls could be anything from collection agencies to Bratva enforcers, or old fears to remnants of the life she fled.
I refuse to become the man who violates her privacy out of paranoia.
“Everything is proceeding as planned,” I reply, keeping my tone even. I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger just a second too long. “You look exhausted. Come on. Bed.”
She doesn’t argue. Instead, she takes the hand I offer and lets me pull her to her feet.
For a moment, we stand close, her body brushing against mine, the faint scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her skin making the air feel thicker.
I want to ask about the calls. I want to demand answers, to eliminate any possible threat.
But I don’t.
Instead, I walk her to her suite door, my hand resting lightly at the small of her back. The same professional touch I use in public, yet somehow different here in the quiet of the penthouse.
At her door, she pauses, looking up at me with her sparkling eyes that see too much.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “For letting me help. For… everything.”
I nod once, the words I want to say staying locked behind my teeth. “Sleep. We’ll review the report in the morning.”
She disappears into her suite with a quiet click of the door.
I stand in the hallway for a long moment, staring at the polished wood. The suspicion has faded, but the questions remain. The phone on the table. The unknown numbers. The way she deflects when they come.
I turn toward my own suite, forcing my mind back to tomorrow’s moves against Fadir.
But as I close my door behind me, I cannot shake the quiet truth that the more time I spend with Anja Kuzmin, the harder it becomes to remember why that line is ever necessary.