Chapter 28 VICTORIA
VICTORIA
I sit cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on my thighs, staring at spreadsheets that refuse to make sense.
Soft lamplight casts shadows across the screen. The quiet hum of the laptop's fan is the only sound in the room. Outside, night has settled over Chicago, and the house feels too big and too empty.
I'm supposed to be researching potential targets for Eryan Nis.
Operations can't run on good intentions and depleted reserves.
I need to identify a shipment worth hitting, a warehouse vulnerable enough to breach, something that will net us the resources to keep helping women who have nowhere else to turn.
But I can't focus.
My fingers tap restlessly against the keys without typing anything useful. My mind keeps drifting to the three men who've consumed my thoughts for the past three days in ways that have nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with want.
They've been impossible to pin down. Always in motion. Always on phones, speaking in code I'm not meant to understand. Meetings that start early and run late. Conversations that stop the moment I enter a room.
Something happened. Significant enough that they've closed ranks and shut me out.
Although I hardly saw them for the last three days, they were attentive, always letting me know they were thinking of me through phone calls, messages, small gifts that appeared on my nightstand like tokens of affection.
When I asked Maksim what was going on, he gave me that look. The one that says he's already decided what I need to know and what I don't. "The less you're involved, the safer you are," he said, voice brooking no argument.
I wanted to argue anyway. Wanted to point out that I'm not some delicate thing that needs protecting from reality.
But I also have my own secrets. My own operations I can't explain. So I swallowed the frustration and let it go.
Still, being kept in the dark makes me restless. Suspicious. The not knowing gnaws at me worse than any truth could.
And underneath the suspicion, underneath the operational concerns and strategic thinking, there's honesty I've been trying not to acknowledge.
I miss them.
I miss Maksim's controlled intensity. I miss Alexei's chaos and warmth. I miss Zakhar's steady presence.
Three days of brief encounters and distracted goodbyes has left me aching. Lonely in a way I haven't been since this arrangement started.
Which is dangerous. I can't afford to need them. Can't afford to let this become more than the contract we signed.
Except it already is more. Has been for weeks. And lying to myself about it doesn't change the truth.
Then there's a knock at my door.
"Come in," I say automatically.
The door opens.
Alexei stands in the doorway, and the sight of him makes my pulse accelerate.
I fumble with the laptop. Close it too quickly. Set it aside on the nightstand with movements that probably look as guilty as I feel.
"This is a surprise," I manage.
He leans against the doorframe, and I can see the exhaustion in every line of his body. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it for hours. The usual wild energy banked to embers.
"Good surprise or bad surprise?" he asks, but there's no humor in his voice. Just tiredness and need barely contained.
"Very good surprise." I smile, trying to convey how much I mean it. "Come in. Please."
He enters, closing the door behind him. Crosses the room in a few long strides. When he reaches the bed, he doesn't hesitate. Just leans down and kisses me.
The kiss is passionate. Desperate. Like he's been starving for this and finally found sustenance.
I kiss him back with equal hunger, my hands finding his face, his hair, pulling him closer. Tasting exhaustion and want and relief in equal measure.
When we break apart, we're both gasping.
"I missed you," I say, the admission easier than I expected. "You've all been working too hard. Gone too long. I barely see any of you anymore."
"I know." He collapses onto the bed beside me with zero grace, face planting into the mattress with a groan. "I've hardly slept. I'm so fucking tired, kotyonok."
The vulnerability in the admission cracks open pressure in my chest. Alexei, who's all energy and motion and reckless vitality, brought low by whatever crisis has consumed the past three days.
I shift closer. Press my hands to his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in every muscle. Start massaging his neck with firm, careful pressure.
He makes a sound that's halfway between groan and moan. "That's amazing. Don't stop."
I work my thumbs into the knots along his spine. Slide my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle circles. Feel him melting under my touch, the tension gradually releasing as exhaustion wins out over whatever's been driving him.
"You're perfect," he murmurs into the mattress. "Fucking perfect."
After several minutes, when his breathing has evened out and his muscles have softened, he turns over. Pulls me on top of him in one smooth motion, settling me across his hips with my knees on either side.
His hands find my waist. His eyes, tired but intense, lock onto mine.
"You're amazing," he says, voice rough with emotion that has nothing to do with exhaustion. "The best thing that's ever happened to me. To all of us."
My lungs forget how to work. This feels different from his usual flirtation. More serious. More real.
"I know this started as a financial agreement," he continues, thumbs stroking small circles on my hips through my clothes. "But for me, it's evolved past that."
His eyes search mine. Vulnerable in a way I've never seen him.
"What about you?" The question hangs between us, weighted with hope and fear in equal measure.
The honest answer terrifies me.
That I'm in too deep to find my way back out.
But he's looking at me with such raw honesty that I can't lie. Can't hide behind deflection or humor or strategic distance.
"Yes," I whisper, the word barely audible. "For me too."
Relief transforms his expression. Joy. A smile that makes him beautiful despite the exhaustion.
He pulls me down and kisses me with a tenderness that makes tears prick my eyes. Slow. Deep. Communicating everything we're not saying out loud.
I sink into it. Let myself feel the full weight of what we're acknowledging. Let the fear and the hope and the desperate wanting crash over me without trying to control any of it.
His hands slide under my shirt. Find bare skin. The touch is electric, sending arousal spiraling through me.
I kiss him harder. Rock my hips against his, feeling him hard beneath me. Needing this. Needing him. Needing the connection that proves this is real and not just wishful thinking in my desperation.
His hands move higher, sliding up my ribs toward my breasts.
Then someone clears their throat.
We both freeze.
I turn my head toward the open door.
Zakhar stands in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his expression caught somewhere between uncertainty and hunger. His eyes move from me to Alexei and back again. His jaw tightens. His shoulders tense.
The silence stretches. Heavy. Charged with possibility and tension in equal measure.
None of us moves. None of us speaks.
We're suspended in this moment, all three of us caught in the gravity of what's happening and what could happen and the choice that needs to be made right now.
I could pull away. Could let propriety dictate what comes next.
Or I could choose this. Choose them. Choose to stop holding back and see where this actually leads.
I reach for the hem of my shirt. Pull it over my head in one smooth motion. Let it fall to the floor, leaving me in just my bra and pants, skin flushed and pulse hammering.
I meet Zakhar's eyes. Hold his gaze while everything inside me trembles with anticipation and defiance and want.
"Join us," I say.
An invitation.
His eyes darken. His breathing changes. His hand tightens on the doorframe.
Then he steps into the room and closes the door behind him.