Chapter Four - Dimitri
I watch her sleep.
Sunlight creeps through the windows I forgot to close, painting gold across her bare shoulders, the curve of her hip beneath expensive sheets. Her hair fans across the pillow, chestnut strands catching light, and her breathing is slow and even.
Peaceful.
She has no idea what I’ve done. What being here, in my bed, wearing the marks I left on her skin, will cost her.
I should have stopped this weeks ago. Should never have sent that first text, never have taken her to the races, never have brought her back here and touched her like I had the right. Every choice I’ve made since that warehouse event has been the wrong one, and I’ve made them anyway.
Because I wanted to.
She looked at me like I was a man instead of a monster, and I was selfish enough to let myself believe it.
I ease out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her.
My body aches with unfulfilled need—stopping last night took every ounce of control I possess—but I don’t regret it.
If I’d taken her completely, there would be no walking away.
No clean break. I would have bound her to me in ways neither of us could undo.
This way, she’s still salvageable.
I dress in the half-light, watching her the entire time. Memorizing the slope of her shoulder, the soft part of her lips, the way her fingers curl against the pillow. Storing details I have no right to keep.
The note I leave is brief. Cruel, even. Cruelty is kinder than hope.
The driver will take you home. This can’t happen again.
I stare at the words for a long moment before forcing myself to leave them there and walk out.
Felix is waiting in my office when I arrive at seven.
Of course he is.
“You went home with someone last night,” he says without preamble.
“I’m aware.”
“The girl?”
I don’t answer. Don’t need to. Felix’s expression tells me he already knows. “Damien wants to see you. This afternoon.”
My jaw tightens. “About?”
“He didn’t say. Someone mentioned your… distraction… during the Volkov negotiations on Friday. If word reached Damien—”
“It’s handled.”
“Is it?” Felix’s pale eyes are too sharp, too knowing. “From where I’m standing, you’ve spent the last three weeks circling an intern who has no protection, no connections, and no understanding of what you are. That’s not handling it, Dimitri. That’s courting disaster.”
“I said it’s handled.”
“Then handle it.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with the weight of what I already know. Felix is right. Damien is right. The Bratva doesn’t tolerate weakness, and I’ve shown nothing but weakness since the moment Janice Woods walked into that warehouse.
Wanting her is a liability. Keeping her is impossible. So, the only option left is severance.
***
The meeting with Damien is exactly as brutal as I expect.
My brother sits behind his desk like a judge passing sentence, all ice and calculation. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“You’ve been careless.”
“No, I haven’t. I’m the same as always.”
“Not to me.” Damien’s fingers drum once against the desk. “You’ve been seen with a young woman. Oleg says she’s been asking questions about our projects. Felix says you’ve been manufacturing opportunities to see her.”
“I haven’t.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. “I don’t care if you want to fuck her, Dimitri. I care that you’re doing it in ways that draw attention. In ways that make you predictable. In ways that give our enemies leverage.”
My hands curl into fists beneath the desk. “No one knows about her.”
“Everyone knows about her. The only question is whether they’ll use her against you or simply eliminate the distraction themselves.” Damien leans forward. “End it today. Cleanly. Or I will end it for you, and you won’t like my methods.”
The threat is clear. Absolute.
I stand. “Consider it done.”
“See that it is.”
I make it three blocks from Damien’s office before I have to stop, bracing against the side of a building, forcing air into lungs that don’t want to expand. Panic claws at my throat—not fear for myself, but for her.
If the Bratva sees Janice as leverage, they won’t hesitate. They’ll take her, use her, break her down into component parts designed to make me comply. And when they’re done, when I’ve given them everything they want, they’ll kill her anyway.
Just to prove they can.
The only way to protect her is to cut her loose completely. Make her irrelevant. Make her invisible.
Make her hate me enough that she never looks back.
I call my secretary from the car.
“I need you to make a call to Carmichael Consulting. The intern they placed at our new site—Janice Woods. I want her internship terminated. Effective immediately.”
“Sir?” Marina’s voice carries surprise. She’s worked for me long enough to know I don’t involve myself in personnel decisions at that level. “May I ask the reason?”
“Performance issues and lack of professionalism. Use whatever language keeps it clean and doesn’t open us to liability.”
“Of course. Should I—”
“Handle it today. No delays.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and stare out at the city sliding past. Somewhere out there, Janice is probably still in my bed, or maybe in the car on her way home, replaying last night and trying to make sense of the note I left.
By tonight, she’ll have her answer.
The decision feels final the moment the words leave my mouth. Irrevocable.
It doesn’t feel like mercy. It feels like amputation—necessary, brutal, leaving phantom pain in places that shouldn’t exist.
I tell myself this is protection. That I’m saving her from a world that would destroy her. That cutting her loose now, before she’s in too deep, is the kindest thing I can do.
I almost believe it.
***
She calls that evening, before she’s even had the chance to be fired.
I’m in a meeting with contractors when my phone buzzes. I should let it go to voicemail. Should delete it unheard and block the number.
I step out into the hallway and answer.
“Dimitri?” Her voice is small, uncertain, nothing like the confidence she’d shown when challenging me about gentrification or asking why I cared. “It’s Janice. I need to talk to you.”
“We have nothing to discuss.”
Silence. I can hear her breathing, shallow and quick.
“You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“I had business to attend to.”
“That’s not true. I thought we—” She stops. When she speaks again, her voice cracks. “Was I that bad? I thought you enjoyed yourself.”
“You thought wrong.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want. It doesn’t change anything.”
“Then tell me why.” Her voice rises, anger bleeding through hurt. “Tell me why you’re doing this. If it meant nothing, if I meant nothing, then just say it.”
“You want the truth?” I let ice creep into my voice, the same tone I use when negotiating with men I plan to destroy. “You were a distraction. Entertaining for a while, but ultimately inconsequential. I have actual responsibilities, actual commitments. You were never going to be part of that.”
The silence stretches so long I think she’s hung up.
Then: “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“Yes, you do. That’s why you’re still on the phone. That’s why you didn’t just let it go to voicemail.”
She’s right, and I hate her for it. Hate that even now, she sees through me.
“Don’t contact me again, Janice. Move on. Find someone your own age, someone who can give you whatever future you think you want. This—whatever you thought this was—it’s over.”
“Dimitri!”
I end the call before she can finish.
My hand is shaking when I lower the phone. I stare at it for a long moment, then block the number and return to the meeting.
The contractors are still arguing about timelines and budgets. I sign off on everything without reading it, barely hearing their words over the roaring in my ears.
When I get home that night, the penthouse feels emptier than it ever has. I pour a drink I don’t finish and stand at the windows overlooking the city, trying not to think about the way she’d looked at me that night. Trusting. Open. Wanting me despite every reason not to.
I pulled the trigger. Ended it cleanly, just like Damien ordered.
So why does it feel like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life?
My phone buzzes. For one irrational second, hope flares—maybe she found another number, maybe she’s calling back—
It’s a text from Felix.
It’s done?
Yes.
Good. Damien will be satisfied.
I don’t respond. Don’t tell him that satisfaction feels like ash in my mouth, that every instinct I have is screaming at me to fix this, to go to her, to explain this whole mess.
Explain what, though? That I’m exactly what she accused me of being? That the world I move through would chew her up and spit out pieces? That wanting her made her a target, and the only way to protect her was to become the villain she probably already thinks I am?
I finish the drink this time. Then another.
By the third, I’ve almost convinced myself I did the right thing.
Almost.
The silence feels heavier than any threat I’ve ever faced. Emptier than any victory I’ve won. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispers that I’ve just thrown away the only real thing I’ve ever had.
I ignore it. I have to.
In my world, there are no second chances. No happy endings. No futures that include nineteen-year-old girls with too much curiosity and not enough fear.
There’s only survival, and I’ve just ensured hers.