Chapter 4 Zakhar #2
But it's already too late. I can feel the crack in my composure, the fracture spreading like ice breaking under weight.
"Three weeks," Alexei repeats, and there's something in his voice that makes me turn to look at him. Something pleased. Anticipatory. "Did she like the ring I picked?"
I go very still. The way I do before violence.
"You picked the ring?" The words come out flat. Dangerous.
Alexei grins, unrepentant. "Maksim asked for help. I know what women like. Spent half a day at éclat finding the perfect one. Cushion cut. Platinum. Delicate but substantial." He leans back, still grinning. "Sexy. Like her. So? Did she like it?"
The information lands like shrapnel.
I stare at my twin brother and realize the situation is even more dangerous than I calculated.
Alexei is invested. Not just interested. Invested. He spent half a day choosing jewelry for a woman who's marrying Maksim, and now he's sitting here asking if she liked it like it matters, like her opinion carries weight beyond strategic value.
And beneath the tactical concern, something uglier twists through my chest: jealousy that he was included and I wasn't, possessiveness over a woman I have no claim to.
"Keep your head straight," I say, voice low and hard. "Victoria is marrying Maksim. Not you."
Alexei's grin sharpens into something more challenging. "We've shared before. Why not now?"
The casual way he says it makes my jaw clench.
Yes. We've shared women. When the situation allowed, when everyone involved understood the parameters. Quick. Transactional. Uncomplicated.
I've never minded the arrangement. Sometimes preferred it—the intimacy of sharing pleasure with my brother, the trust required, the understanding that connection doesn't have to mean exclusivity or complication.
But this is different.
This is Maksim's wife. The woman who's supposed to legitimize our operations, open doors to circles that currently view us as criminals.
This is the woman who makes my pulse race just thinking about her.
"She's not like the others," I say.
"No," Alexei agrees, and his voice drops into something more serious, more honest. "She's better. Sexy and smart and fierce. The way she handled us in Arthur's office?" He shakes his head, admiration clear in his expression. "That's my kind of woman. Tell me you disagree."
I can't.
That's the problem. I open my mouth to argue, to establish boundaries, to remind him—remind both of us—that this situation requires discipline.
Nothing comes out.
Because he's right. Victoria is different. And I can't disagree without lying, and I don't lie to my twin.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with implications neither of us wants to name.
Before I can formulate a response that doesn't reveal too much, Maksim cuts in.
"This situation is different." His voice carries the weight of command, the particular tone that reminds us who holds authority here. "We can't afford scandals. Legitimacy doesn't work with even a whiff of impropriety."
Maksim picks up his vodka again, studies the clear liquid. "Besides, I doubt she'd agree. She's only in this for the money. That's not a woman looking for romance."
The words should be reassuring. Should remind me that this is business, that Victoria Ainsley is a transaction, that whatever I'm feeling is irrelevant compared to the strategic value she brings.
Instead, the thought of her being purely mercenary makes something uncomfortable and unwelcome settle in my chest.
Maksim finishes his vodka, sets the glass down with finality.
"Now that that’s settled," He slides out of the booth, straightens his suit jacket.
The golden light from the brass fixtures catches the platinum of his watch, turning it molten.
"Zakhar, keep digging into Eryan Nis. Alexei, monitor the Albanians. "
Alexei and I follow suit, standing in unison. Years of moving as one organism, anticipating each other's motions without conscious thought.
"One more thing." Maksim's voice is casual. Too casual. Like he's mentioning an afterthought instead of dropping a grenade into the conversation. "Victoria doesn't want her father to give her away at the wedding."
He looks at Alexei. Holds his gaze for one beat too long.
Understanding passes between them. Silent. Absolute.
Alexei's grin turns unhinged, wild around the edges. "I'm on it."
The implication is clear. What Maksim is asking without asking. What Alexei is agreeing to without stating it outright.
"Don't get carried away," I say, voice hard, because someone has to maintain boundaries. "We're talking about the Pakhan's father-in-law. Soon to be a distinguished member of Chicago's elite society."
Alexei's grin doesn't fade. If anything, it sharpens. "I know exactly what we're talking about, brother. Trust me."
That's the problem. I do trust him. With my life, with my secrets, with everything that matters.
But I also know what he's capable of when that particular light enters his eyes. The line between controlled violence and chaos is thinner for Alexei than it is for the rest of us.
We move toward the exit as a unit, footsteps synchronized on the polished wood floors. The restaurant hums with quiet conversation, the clink of crystal, and muted jazz music.
Outside, Chicago's afternoon heat hits like a wall. The air smells like exhaust and summer, the city breathing around us in its perpetual state of motion and noise.
Maksim heads toward his car. Alexei peels off in another direction, already pulling out his phone, that unhinged grin still playing at the corners of his mouth.
I stand on the sidewalk and let myself acknowledge what I've been trying to ignore since Victoria Ainsley walked into Arthur's office dripping pool water and defiance.
Control is my weapon. Discipline is my shield. For thirty-seven years, I've relied on both to survive, to protect the people I love, to build an empire from the wreckage of our childhood.
But Victoria represents a tactical problem I can't solve: proximity I can't avoid, attraction I can't eliminate, want that feels like a weakness in a world where weakness gets you killed.
And in three weeks, she'll be living under our roof.
I pull out my phone, pull up the file I've already started on Eryan Nis. Focus on what I can control. On threats I can quantify and neutralize.
But even as I scroll through the information, running probabilities and scenarios, one truth cuts through all the discipline and tactical assessment:
Victoria Ainsley is already a threat to everything we've built.
And I have no idea how to defend against her.