Chapter Six
Back in the present, a familiar voice drifted through the darkness once again.
"Is that really you, Natalia?" Alexei murmured, his voice low with quiet disbelief, gentler than she'd ever heard it.
The sound cut cleanly through the haze clouding her mind. Her fingers twitched almost imperceptibly against the blanket before she stilled them by force of habit.
Finally, he knew who she was. That realization should have sent alarm bells screaming through her head. It should have filled her with urgency and contingency plans. An exposed identity was a liability. It was dangerous, but the panic never came.
If anything, she found herself oddly unsurprised.
Of course he'd figured it out. Alexei Volkov wasn't merely another Bratva boss.
He was Pakhan of one of the most powerful organizations in the country.
He had investigators, hackers, accountants who could make people disappear on paper, and soldiers who could uncover secrets people had buried for decades.
Discovering the identity of the woman who had tried to assassinate him was almost inevitable. Sooner or later, he would have learned the truth. The assassin inside her stirred uneasily.
He's compromised your anonymity. Alexei knows your past, and all your weaknesses. Leave, kill him if necessary.
The voice was cold, conditioned into every instinct she possessed. Another voice, one she hadn't heard clearly in years, answered it. It's Alexei, he’s come back.
Not exactly, she thought, mind still in a haze. He hadn't returned that night, but he had come back for her eventually. Ten years late, to be exact.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to answer him, to tell him yes, it was really her. Some childish part of Natalia yearned to tell him she remembered the stolen pies, the gardens, the warmth of the summer sun before everything had burned.
She wanted to yell at him that she waited until someone else had opened that car door. Then she’d ask him why he'd never come back. The words crowded behind her lips. She forced every ounce of strength she had left into opening her mouth.
“Alexei,” she whispered, then nothing.
Her next words dissolved into little more than a broken breath. Her tongue felt impossibly heavy, and even lifting her eyelids seemed beyond her. Another crushing wave of exhaustion rolled through her, stealing what little strength she'd gathered.
It was deeper than ordinary fatigue. Her injured body simply refused to obey. She hated feeling helpless, unable to form a single word. Then something warm settled over her hand.
She tensed instinctively before realizing what it was.
His hand.
Alexei wrapped his fingers gently around hers. His palm dwarfed her own, rough with old calluses probably earned from years of weapons training and hard work. Yet, it was impossibly warm against her chilled skin. His grip wasn't restraining, but steady and reassuring.
For reasons she couldn't explain, that simple touch loosened something painfully tight inside her chest. She couldn't remember the last time another person had held her hand without wanting something in return.
He brushed his thumb lightly across her knuckles. "We'll talk more when you're better," he said quietly. "There's no rush."
The words settled over her like a blanket. For the first time in years, Natalia believed them. She didn't need to fight, at least not tonight. Neither did she need to plan her escape, or make sure she slept with a knife under her pillow.
Somewhere deep inside, the frightened thirteen-year-old girl who had once climbed into a Volkov car because she'd trusted a boy named Alexei finally unclenched her fists. Natalia let out the smallest sigh.
Then Natalia could feel his warm breath against her face. He kissed her, softly on the mouth. A strange emotion stirred in her belly. Hunger. She wanted more than a kiss, a touch. That should frighten her a little, and few things scared her, but it didn’t.
This was her Alexei, and knowing he was still there beside her, she surrendered to the exhaustion pulling at her consciousness. This time, when sleep claimed her, it was deep and dreamless.
****
Alexei found himself standing outside Natalia's bedroom again. He stopped in front of the closed door, one hand resting lightly against the polished oak. This was ridiculous, and he knew it.
An hour ago he'd checked on her. Two hours before that, he'd checked again.
He had personally changed the dressing on her shoulder that morning under the doctor's supervision.
Alexei had listened while the physician assured him her fever had finally broken, and watched her sleep peacefully before forcing himself to leave.
She was recovering, but she needed rest. Natalia certainly didn't need Alexei hovering outside her bedroom like an anxious husband. The thought nearly made him laugh.
Instead, he quietly turned the brass handle.
The hinges barely whispered as he eased the door open just enough to look inside.
Soft afternoon light spilled through the windows, bathing the room in warm gold.
The curtains stirred lazily with the breeze carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forest.
Natalia lay exactly where he'd left her, and she was sleeping peacefully this time.
The color had begun returning to her face, replacing the ghostly pallor she'd worn when he'd carried her back here after the shooting.
Her dark hair spread across the pillow in tangled waves, hiding part of her face.
She had curled onto her side, just like she always used to. His chest tightened unexpectedly. At thirteen, she'd slept exactly the same way whenever the Morozov and Volkov families gathered at either estate.
She would disappear onto whatever sofa or guest bed she happened to find after exhausting herself running around with him all day, knees tucked toward her chest, one hand curled beneath her cheek.
She'd always looked impossibly small, both then and now. There was one huge difference, though. Natalia wasn't thirteen anymore. She wasn't the stubborn little girl who stole baked treats from unsuspecting cooks and insisted she could outrun every bodyguard assigned to watch her.
She was a woman now, a very dangerous one who undoubtedly carried enough scars to fill several lifetimes. Alexei leaned one shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he quietly watched her breathe.
He moved his gaze to the faint bruises decorating her jaw, the bandage wrapped around her shoulder. Alexei studied the tiny crease between her brows that remained even in sleep, as though years of danger had taught her body never to truly relax.
Finally, he settled his gaze on her lips. Without thinking, his fingers rose to touch his own. His thumb brushed across his mouth. Memory struck with startling clarity. He thought of the kiss he’d stolen from her, how impossibly soft they were, how sweet she tasted.
He hadn't planned it. Hell, Alexei still couldn't explain why he'd done it. Perhaps because he'd thought he might lose her despite finally finding her again, or maybe some part of him had wanted to kiss her for ten years.
He tightened his jaw. "She tried to kill you." The voice in his head was calm and practical. Alexei looked back toward the sleeping woman.
"She saved me too," he murmured quietly.
Actions mattered, and people didn't willingly die for targets they simply intended to murder later. Natalia stirred, and Alexei froze. Damn it. Had he spoken too loudly?
She shifted beneath the blankets, brow furrowing as she made the faintest sound of discomfort. His muscles locked, and he hoped she didn’t wake. The doctor had been adamant. Sleep was the best medicine she could receive.
After several long seconds, Natalia merely rolled onto her other side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow. Her breathing steadied again. She was still asleep. Alexei released the breath he'd been holding.
"Good," he whispered.
Satisfied she hadn't awakened, he carefully backed out into the hallway. The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind him. He deliberately assigned Natalia the room adjoining his own, because one shared wall separated them.
If she cried out in pain, or if she attempted a reckless escape, he would hear it immediately. That decision had gone over about as well as throwing gasoline onto an open fire. Maksim had nearly exploded, and Dimitri had simply looked disappointed.
Neither reaction had surprised Alexei. He sensed someone behind him before they spoke.
"What is it?" Alexei asked without turning.
Footsteps matched his own as he started down the corridor. Dimitri fell into step beside him. Unlike Maksim, whose emotions arrived with all the subtlety of artillery fire, Dimitri approached disagreements quietly. That sometimes annoyed Alexei.
"You've been in there how many times today? Five? Six?” Dimitri asked.
Alexei shrugged. “Does it matter?”
"Brother,” Dimitri muttered.
Alexei already disliked that tone.
"You haven't seen this woman in over ten years,” Dimitri pointed out, although Alexei didn’t need reminding.
"I am aware,” he said.
"And somehow you've already become—” Dimitri searched for the appropriate word. "—attached."
Alexei didn't answer.
"Maksim and I are concerned,” Dimitri said.
Concerned was one way of putting it. Earlier that morning Maksim had slammed both hands onto Alexei's office desk hard enough to crack the wood.
"She could’ve killed you!”
"She's an assassin,” he had answered calmly.
Maksim gave him a murderous stare.
Alexei had reminded him that she'd also taken a bullet meant for him. The discussion had deteriorated rapidly after that. He still had the headache to prove it. Now Dimitri had apparently volunteered himself as the calmer negotiator. Unfortunately for him, Alexei wasn't any more receptive.
"You've read her file," Dimitri continued carefully.
"I have."
"You know what she's done,” Dimitri said. At his nod, Dimitri continued, “You know who trained her. Emil Kuznetsov has more than a hundred kills under his belt. He’s the most feared hitman in the underworld.”
"Yes, of course,” Alexei answered calmly.
"And yet—” Dimitri gestured helplessly toward Natalia's bedroom.
Alexei rubbed tiredly at his temple. The headache intensified. "I know exactly what you're trying to say."
"I'm not sure you do,” Dimitri said with a frown. “Listen."
They reached one of the large windows overlooking the estate grounds. Dimitri stopped walking, and Alexei met his brother's gaze.
"Do you see the little girl who stole pies with you, or do you see the woman who has spent the last decade killing for money?"
Alexei looked out across the forest. "I see both."
"That's the problem,” Dimitri muttered. “You know almost nothing about the woman standing before you now."
Alexei thought about that. He knew she'd become deadly, and she’d probably survived unimaginable things. However, Alexi also understood she'd risked much to save his life.
"She had opportunities to finish me,” Alexei pointed out.
"She also shot at you,” Dimitri said.
"She deliberately missed the killing shot,” Alexei reminded him.
His brother remained silent. Dimitri crossed his arms. “What if she’s playing you? Manipulating you in some way?”
Alexei almost smiled. "You think I'm that easy to manipulate?"
"No,” Dimitri finally said, smartly recognizing the warning in his voice.
"I'll take full responsibility for Natalia,” Alexei said.
Dimitri looked at him strangely.
"What?” Alexei demanded.
"I've never seen you look this,” his brother hesitated. "Soft."
Alexei laughed quietly. “Are you calling me soft?”
“Of course not, you’ve interrogated prisoners without blinking, stared down rival Pakhans twice your size," Dimitri said. "But the moment this stranger’s involved, you become a different person.”
"Natalia isn't some stranger,” Alexei said, unable to prevent the anger leaking out of his voice.
“Alexei, you must see reason. You don't know who she really is."
Alexei held his brother's gaze. "Then I'll find out."
A long silence followed. Eventually Dimitri sighed. "I can see this conversation is over."
"It is,” Alexei agreed.
"If she betrays you, you only have yourself to blame.”
“I told you. I’ll handle it,” Alexei said.
His brother finally let him be. Alexei remained standing alone. Something tugged at his instincts, a sensation he couldn't explain. He returned to Natalia’s bedroom and was relieved the door stood exactly where he'd left it.
It was closed, and everything appeared normal. Still, he opened the door and found the bed empty. For one impossible second, his mind refused to process what he was seeing.
The blankets lay thrown aside, and the pillow still bore the impression of her head. The window stood open. A cool breeze fluttered the curtains. Alexei crossed the room in three long strides.
There. Halfway through the window, Natalia balanced precariously on the stone ledge outside. One hand clutched the frame while the other protected her injured shoulder.
Her movements were painfully slow and unsteady, he noted. She had managed to get one leg over the ledge, while the second still remained inside. She looked ready to collapse.
Alexei stared at her in utter disbelief. "Natalia!”
She froze and very slowly looked back over her shoulder. Their eyes met. She had the guilty expression of a child caught stealing pastries from the kitchen. For one absurd heartbeat, Alexei nearly laughed, but he held himself back.
"What," he asked with dangerous calm, "do you think you're doing?"