Chapter 35
ALEXEI
This is what happiness feels like.
The thought hits me while I'm standing at the stove, scrambling eggs in butter that's just starting to brown at the edges.
The kitchen is warm. Sunlight streams through the windows, painting everything in shades of gold.
Coffee percolates in the machine behind me, filling the air with rich, dark aroma that makes my mouth water.
Toast sits warming in the oven, getting crispy the way Zakhar likes it.
Everything smells like comfort and home.
I'm cooking breakfast for the most important people in my life, and my chest feels too full for my ribs.
I've always been grateful for what I have.
For Zakhar, who kept me alive when my body tried to kill me more times than I can count.
Who learned to manage my diabetes when we were just kids with no resources and no help.
Who shared his food even when we were both starving because he knew I needed consistent meals more than he did.
For Maksim, who gave us purpose when we had nothing but survival. Who took two street kids and turned us into warriors. Who built an empire from ashes and let us build it beside him.
For my health, despite a condition that should have killed me on Moscow's frozen streets. For the insulin we can now afford without stealing. For the CGM and pump that keep me stable. For survival when so many others didn't make it.
But I can see now that we were missing a piece.
Victoria.
She's the thing that turned survival into actually living. That transformed our brotherhood from a fortress against the world into a home that could open up and let someone else in.
I glance over at Maksim, who's sitting at the kitchen island with his phone and a small cup of espresso. The morning light catches the silver in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. Normally, he starts his days with a frown etched between his brows. Tension visible in his shoulders.
But today, there's a lightness to him. His expression is almost relaxed as he scrolls through messages.
He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow in question. I just grin and turn back to the eggs. Let him wonder.
And Zakhar. My twin. My other half. The man who's been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders since we were kids and realized no one was coming to save us.
He's always on guard. Always watching. Always feeling responsible for everyone's safety and wellbeing. It's exhausting just to watch sometimes, the way he never lets himself rest. Never allows himself to believe things are okay. Never stops preparing for the next disaster.
But Victoria has changed that. She is someone to share the load with. Someone who's strong enough to carry her own weight and help carry his when needed. Someone who sees his vigilance not as paranoia but as the love language it actually is.
Speaking of Zakhar and Victoria.
They enter the kitchen together, and I can tell immediately they just showered. Together. The evidence is obvious and makes me smile.
Her hair is still damp, falling in dark waves over her shoulders. She's wearing comfortable clothes, leggings and an oversized sweater. Her face is bare of makeup, skin glowing and fresh.
His hair is slicked back, water still beading at his temples. He's in jeans and a t-shirt, more casual than he usually allows himself. More relaxed.
They both smell like soap and shower steam and each other. The scent of her vanilla and sandalwood perfume mixing with his clean, masculine smell. And underneath it all, the particular musk that means sex. Recent. Satisfying.
The sight makes warmth expand in my chest. Pride. Happiness. Contentment. This is my family. This is what we've built together.
"Breakfast is almost ready," I announce, grinning at them both. "Perfect timing."
Victoria moves to help me without being asked. Starts pulling plates from the cabinet with the ease of someone who's learned where everything is. Our hands brush as she takes the spatula from me to check the toast in the oven. The touch is casual. Familiar. But it still sends electricity up my arm.
Zakhar steals a kiss from her neck as he passes behind her. She leans into it instinctively, her eyes closing for just a second. Smiling that soft smile of hers.
Then she turns to me and I steal one from her lips. Quick. Sweet. Tasting like toothpaste and promise and her.
Maksim watches us from his seat at the island. When Victoria passes close enough to him, carrying the plates, he catches her wrist gently. Pulls her down for a proper kiss that makes her inhale sharply and her eyes darken.
We move around each other in the kitchen like a choreographed dance. Like we've been doing this for years. Zakhar grabbing juice from the fridge. Victoria setting the table. Me plating food while Maksim refills coffee cups with careful attention to everyone's preferences.
Small touches everywhere. Her hand on my lower back as she moves past. Zakhar's fingers trailing across her shoulders when he sets down the juice. Maksim's palm warm against her hip as he reaches around her for the sugar.
It's intimate without being sexual. Connected without being possessive. Just the natural touching of people who belong to each other.
"Look at us," I say, carrying the plates to the table with exaggerated care. "Domestic bliss. Who would have thought the terrifying leaders of the Severyn Bratva would be here making breakfast like normal people?"
"We're not normal," Zakhar points out, but there's humor threading through his usually serious voice.
"No," Victoria agrees, sliding into her chair with a grace that makes me want to pull her back out and kiss her breathless. "You're really not. "
"Says the woman who leads a vigilante organization," I counter, sitting beside her.
She laughs. The sound fills the kitchen like music.
We settle around the table. The morning light continues streaming through the windows, painting Victoria's hair with gold highlights.
The food is simple but good. Fluffy eggs with just enough salt.
Toast with butter melting into golden pools.
Fresh fruit. The coffee is strong and dark, exactly how we all like it.
I taste a bite of eggs. Perfect. Add a pinch more salt to my own portion out of habit. Pass the butter to Victoria when she reaches for it, our fingers tangling briefly in the transfer.
Watch Maksim doctor his coffee with the particular precision he brings to everything. Exactly one teaspoon of sugar. A splash of cream. Stirred exactly five times.
Zakhar eats methodically, the way he does everything. But there's a softness to his expression I rarely see. A contentment that makes him look younger. Less burdened.
This. This is what I wanted without knowing I wanted it.
This feeling of rightness. Of completeness. Of family
We're halfway through breakfast, talking about nothing important, when Maksim sets down his fork with the deliberate care that means he's about to shift the conversation to business.
I feel the atmosphere change immediately. From warm and comfortable to focused and tense.
"There are still things we need to discuss," he says, his voice taking on that particular tone he uses for strategy.
Victoria's hand pauses halfway to her mouth. Zakhar goes still. I set down my coffee cup and give Maksim my full attention.
"Your involvement with Eryan Nis operations," Maksim continues, looking directly at Victoria. "It's getting too dangerous for you to continue as you have been."
Victoria's fork clatters against her plate. Her spine goes rigid. The softness from moments ago vanishes.
"Excuse me?" Her voice is deceptively calm. But I can hear the steel underneath.
"You heard me." Maksim's voice stays even. Controlled. Which just makes it more dangerous. "Things need to change."
"You don't get to dictate how I run my organization."Victoria's eyes flash with defiance. Heat and challenge radiating from her in waves that make my body respond inappropriately for a breakfast conversation.
"I'm not dictating." Maksim leans forward slightly. "I'm stating facts. Someone is impersonating Eryan Nis. The situation is spiraling beyond your control."
They stare at each other across the table. The air between them charges with electricity. A battle of wills playing out in silence that's somehow louder than shouting.
I bite back a smile despite the seriousness of the topic.
This is going to be interesting. Living with these two dominant personalities.
Watching them butt heads while being unable to keep their hands off each other.
The constant clash of Maksim's need for control and Victoria's refusal to be controlled.
It's going to be entertaining as hell.
Zakhar clears his throat, breaking the staring contest. "Victoria. Surely you agree that if someone is using your name to commit violence you never authorized, you've lost control of at least part of the situation."
The logic penetrates where Maksim's command couldn't. Victoria's expression shifts from pure defiance to troubled consideration.
"I'll handle it," she says, but she sounds less certain now. Less absolute.
"That's my point." Maksim's voice gentles fractionally. Not by much, but enough to notice. "You don't have to handle it alone anymore."
He looks at Zakhar and me. We both nod immediately. United front.
"You have the full force of the Severyn Bratva behind you now," Maksim continues, his gaze returning to Victoria. "We want to support what you're building. As long as you're not putting yourself in unnecessary danger."
Victoria's eyes go bright. Emotional in a way I rarely see from her. She blinks rapidly, clearly not expecting this offer.
"You'd do that?" Her voice is small. Uncertain. Vulnerable in a way that makes me want to gather her into my arms. "Even knowing what we do? How we operate?"
"We're criminals, kotyonok," I remind her gently, reaching over to cover her hand with mine. "We're not exactly in a position to judge. But what you do? Helping women escape abuse and trafficking? Giving them resources and training and purpose? That's worth protecting. Worth expanding."
"I'll coordinate with Jelena," Victoria says, and I can hear the gratitude threading through her words. Emotion making her voice thicker. "Figure out how to integrate your resources without compromising operational security. How to make this work without putting either organization at risk."
The tension breaks like a storm clearing. The warmth returns, flooding back into the kitchen. We're settling back into the comfortable rhythm of breakfast when Maksim's phone buzzes against the table.
He frowns at the screen. The expression that means incoming problem. Answers with clipped efficiency.
"Let him in."
Two words. Then he hangs up.
Looks at us with an expression I've learned to read as incoming trouble. Big trouble. The kind that changes everything.
"Luan is here," he says flatly. "Wants to see us."
My good mood evaporates like steam. "That’s never a good thing."
"Luan Krasniqi?" Victoria asks, recognition clear in her voice. "The Albanian's son?"
I deflect before anyone can explain that Luan was the one who exposed her connection to Eryan Nis yesterday. That conversation can wait for another time. No need to complicate this morning more than it's already becoming.
"We'll handle it," I tell her, squeezing her hand once before releasing it. "Stay here. Finish breakfast. This shouldn't take long."
The three of us leave her in the kitchen and move through the house to the lobby. Our footsteps echo on marble floors. The warmth of the kitchen fades behind us, replaced by the cooler air of the formal spaces.
Luan is already waiting when we arrive. Standing in the center of the lobby with his hands in his pockets. His expression is carefully blank. Neutral in a way that makes every instinct I have scream warning.
When someone works that hard to show nothing, it means they're hiding something big.
We don't speak. Just head toward Maksim's office in tense silence.
Take up our usual positions. Maksim behind his desk, the power position. Zakhar and I flanking him, standing while Luan takes the chair across from Maksim. The arrangement deliberate. Practiced. A show of unity and strength.
"Two days in a row," Maksim says, voice carefully flat. "This must be important."
"My timeline accelerated." Luan reaches into his jacket pocket slowly. Pulls out an envelope. Hands it across the desk to Maksim with steady hands.
Maksim opens the envelope with precise movements. Pulls out what looks like tickets. Four of them. Heavy cardstock with elegant printing.
"Opening night of La Bohème," Luan says before Maksim can ask the obvious question. "Tonight. Lyric Opera House. Black tie event. Everyone who is anyone in Chicago will be there. Politicians. Business leaders. Society families. The cameras will be everywhere."
He pauses. Leans forward slightly in his chair. His voice drops lower. More intense.
"It is very important that you are all seen there. All of you. All night. Very visible. Very public. Very documented."
The emphasis on his last words drops into the room like a stone into still water. Cold. Heavy. Undeniable. Rippling outward with implications.
We all catch his meaning immediately.
Something's going down tonight. Big. The kind of operation that requires us to have an ironclad alibi. To be above suspicion. Surrounded by witnesses who can testify under oath that we were nowhere near wherever the real action happens.
"I understand," Maksim says quietly. His voice carries layers of meaning. Acceptance. Agreement. Acknowledgment of what's being asked without saying it explicitly.
Luan nods once. Sharp. Definitive. Stands from his chair and buttons his jacket with precise movements that speak of nerves he's working hard to conceal.
Heads for the door with purposeful strides.
"Good luck," Maksim says as Luan reaches for the handle.
Luan pauses. Looks back over his shoulder. His expression flickers for just a moment. Gratitude. Fear. Determination. A complex mix of emotions that humanizes him in a way I haven't seen before.
"Thank you," he says. Simple. Sincere. Then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
The three of us sit in heavy silence for a long moment. Processing. Considering implications. Running through scenarios of what might happen tonight and how it could affect us.
"Well," I finally say, breaking the quiet. "There goes our peaceful morning."