Chapter Ten
The alley smelled of rain, blood, and old garbage.
Graffiti crawled across the brick walls in layers of faded colors, gang symbols overlapping political slogans and obscene artwork. Water dripped steadily from a rusted fire escape overhead, splashing into puddles stained black beneath the weak glow of a broken streetlamp.
A body lay crumpled near a dumpster, still fresh. Dimitri studied the scene from the mouth of the alley without making a sound. Sergei Orlov stood over the corpse with a pistol hanging loosely in one hand. The dead man had taken a bullet through the forehead. It was a clean execution.
The victim’s name was Anton Sokolov. One of Sergei’s lieutenants. According to Volkov intelligence, Sokolov had been skimming money from several operations and feeding information to competitors. A traitor.
Dimitri felt no sympathy for him. In their world, betrayal usually ended exactly like this. What interested him more was the fact that Sergei had come personally, and alone. Well, almost alone.
He shifted his gaze to the rooftops surrounding the alley. He knew Orlov guards were nearby, hidden and watching, but Sergei had ordered them to maintain distance while he handled the execution himself.
An arrogant decision, and ultimately, a fatal one. Dimitri silently stepped forward, the same way he’d approached targets dozens of times before. His expensive shoes barely made a sound against the wet pavement.
Sergei remained oblivious. The older man was too busy staring at the corpse, too busy enjoying the lesson he’d just taught. Typical. The man had always loved demonstrations of power.
Dimitri continued walking. Twenty feet, then fifteen, and ten. He was finally close enough now to see the gray threading through Sergei’s dark hair, and the blood spatter on Sergei’s cuff.
A few days ago, his brothers had argued against this repeatedly. The memory surfaced unexpectedly.
“You don’t need to do this yourself.” Alexei had been standing behind his desk, looking annoyed, which meant he was worried.
“We have soldiers for a reason,” Maksim had pointed out.
Dimitri remembered leaning back in his chair, but he was completely serious.
“No.”
Alexei had sighed.
“Dimitri.”
“This is personal.”
Neither brother had liked that answer, but Maksim and Alexei didn’t argue after hearing it, because they understood. The attack on the estate, the assassin in his bedroom, and the wrecked car.
Sofia unconscious on the pavement, the blood on her face, and the terror he’d felt when he thought he might lose her. Those images still surfaced every time he closed his eyes, and every single one led back to Sergei Orlov.
Dimitri was merely five feet away from the bastard now. Sergei finally sensed something, a slight shift in the air perhaps. The older man began turning, but it was too late.
Sergei widened his eyes when he recognized Dimitri. Surprise flashed across his face, then understanding, and finally actual fear.
Dimitri raised the suppressed pistol. The silencer looked almost elegant beneath the streetlamp. For a second neither man spoke. Rain dripped somewhere above them. The dead traitor remained sprawled between them.
Sergei flickered his gaze toward the weapon, then back to Dimitri.
“Dimitri,” Sergei said, trying to appear calm, to regain control maybe. Too bad it didn’t work.
“You’ve had a busy week,” Dimitri remarked.
Sergei tightened his jaw.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sergei said, lying effortlessly.
Dimitri almost admired the commitment.
“Of course,” Dimitri said.
Sergei moved his gaze subtly, calculating, searching for escape routes perhaps, or his guards. There was nothing. The alley suddenly felt very small and empty.
“You can’t kill me,” Sergei blurted.
The statement lacked conviction. Dimitri found that amusing.
“Why not?” Dimitri asked.
“You’ll start a war.”
A humorless smile touched Dimitri’s mouth.
“A war already started the moment you decided to assassinate my wife.”
The words landed exactly as intended. Sergei jerked his head. He understood immediately. His expression changed to one of regret. The old man must’ve finally realized that he’d miscalculated and pushed too far.
Dimitri thought of Sofia again. Her voice over the phone, the sound of gunfire, and the crash. Something cold settled inside him. The same feeling he’d experienced before eliminating particularly dangerous threats.
Absolute certainty filled Dimitri. This was the correct decision. Sergei must have seen it in his eyes, because the older man suddenly reached for his own weapon. His movement was quick, faster than most men his age, but still not fast enough.
The suppressed gun coughed once, a small sound. The bullet struck Sergei high in the chest. The older man staggered, shock crossing his face.
Dimitri fired again, and again. Three precise shots total. Sergei hit the pavement hard. The gun slipped from his fingers. Silence returned to the alley. For several seconds nobody moved. Then Dimitri lowered his weapon.
Finally this sordid business was finished. Sergei stared upward at the rain-dark sky, not breathing.
Dimitri felt no triumph or excitement, merely satisfaction. The kind that came from completing an unpleasant task that had nevertheless needed doing. He holstered the pistol, turned and walked away. Behind him, distant shouting suddenly erupted.
Orlov guards, finally realizing something was wrong. Well, it was far too late. By the time they reached the alley, Dimitri was already stepping into the waiting black SUV parked around the corner.
The door closed and the vehicle pulled away. No dramatic chase, gunfight, or last-minute surprises followed. Without Sergei, the Orlov organization would fracture within weeks.
His sons lacked discipline and intelligence. They’d spend more time fighting each other than threatening anyone else. The organization would collapse beneath its own weight, exactly as it deserved.
Rain streaked across the SUV windows as the city rolled past. For the first time in days, Dimitri felt himself relax slightly. The threat was gone. Alexei would receive the news soon enough. Maksim would probably complain that he hadn’t been invited.
Business would continue, and so would life. Most importantly, Sofia would be safe. The thought surprised him less than it once would have. A month ago, protecting Sofia had been an obligation, a responsibility. Now it felt different. More personal.
Dimitri stared out the window. The Volkov estate appeared in the distance as the SUV approached the gates. Warm lights glowed from the mansion.
Home. Yet lately, whenever he thought of home, he no longer pictured the estate itself.
He pictured a stubborn Italian woman arguing with him over breakfast, rolling her eyes at his security protocols, and ignoring his instructions.
She would save his life again though if a situation arose, and she was capable of making him laugh.
The gates opened, and the SUV rolled forward. For the first time since Sofia’s attack, Dimitri allowed himself to believe the danger might finally be over. He intended to enjoy that feeling while it lasted.
****
Six months ago, Sofia would have laughed if someone told her she’d voluntarily be standing in the Volkov estate kitchen. The idea of doing something domestic for Dimitri Volkov would have sounded completely absurd.
Yet here she was, standing beside a large wooden counter with flour on her sleeve and a recipe card propped up against a bowl.
The kitchen staff had been thoroughly confused when she’d appeared that morning. The housekeeper most of all.
“Mrs. Volkov?” the older woman had repeated carefully.
“Yes?”
“You wish to use the kitchen?”
Sofia had nodded. “Alone,” she said.
The housekeeper had looked mildly alarmed by the request, primarily because nobody in the family ever used the kitchen.
The Volkovs employed people specifically for that purpose, but after a few moments of watching Sofia, the woman had smiled knowingly.
“Of course.”
Then she’d herded the remaining staff out of the room. Now, nearly two hours later, Sofia was beginning to understand why most wealthy people hired chefs.
Cooking was exhausting, especially when she was attempting to recreate a dish she’d never actually made before. She wiped her hands on a towel and looked down at the pot simmering on the stove.
The aroma filling the kitchen was rich and comforting. According to Elena, one of the longtime kitchen staff, it was a dish Dimitri’s mother had prepared often when her sons were young.
It was simple and traditional, the kind of meal that reminded people of home. When Sofia had heard that, she’d immediately decided to learn it. She didn’t do it to impress him.
The truth was slightly more embarrassing. Six months had changed a great many things, including her. A movement near the doorway pulled her from her thoughts. The housekeeper appeared.
“He’ll be home soon.”
Sofia immediately pretended she wasn’t suddenly nervous.
“Good,” she said.
The older woman smiled knowingly, then disappeared again. Sofia narrowed her eyes at the door. Everyone in this house was becoming impossible, including herself.
Six months ago she would have never spent an entire morning worrying whether Dimitri would enjoy lunch. Now she was checking the seasoning for the third time. Pathetic. The realization made her roll her eyes. Yet she checked it again anyway.
****
Outside, tires crunched against the driveway. Sofia glanced toward the kitchen window. A familiar black SUV rolled through the gates. Her heartbeat betrayed her immediately.
It was ridiculous. She saw him every day, and yet, the reaction never seemed to disappear. A few minutes later, footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Voices followed. She caught bits and pieces of the conversation regarding security updates and business discussions. The usual. Then the kitchen door opened, and Dimitri stepped inside.
The difference between the man who’d left that morning and the one who returned was immediately obvious. Dimitri had loosened his tie, and his jacket hung open. A faint crease sat between his brows.
Whatever meeting he’d attended had clearly tested his patience. For a moment he didn’t notice her. His attention remained on his phone.
Finally, he looked up. Everything changed. The tension left his shoulders almost instantly. His expression softened when he saw her, and he automatically moved toward her.
“Sofia.” His voice carried surprise, and something warmer.
She folded her arms, trying not to look too pleased.
“Long day?” Sofia asked.
“A terrible one.”
His gaze drifted toward the stove, then toward the prepared table, and back to her. Suspicion appeared immediately.
“What did you do?” Dimitri asked.
Sofia laughed.
The question was so completely Dimitri.
“What makes you think I did something?” Sofia asked.
“Because you’re smiling.”
“That isn’t evidence,” she pointed out.
“It is for you.”
Unfortunately, that was fair. Dimitri stepped close, and his gaze landed on the food. He widened his eyes, looking positively surprised.
“You cooked?” The disbelief in his voice earned a glare.
“I know how,” Sofia retorted.
“I never said you didn’t.”
“You were thinking it,” she pointed out.
His mouth twitched. There it was. That almost-smile she loved, the one most people never saw. The one reserved for family ... well, mostly for her.
“I may have considered the possibility.”
Sofia rolled her eyes. Then pointed toward the table.
“Sit,” she said.
Dimitri immediately obeyed. That surprised her too. She carried over the food. The moment the aroma reached him, his expression changed to one of recognition.
“You made this?” he asked.
Sofia nodded. The room became unexpectedly quiet. For a second she worried she’d gotten it wrong. Then Dimitri looked back down at the dish. Something almost nostalgic crossed his face.
“My mother used to make this,” he murmured.
“I know.”
His eyes returned to hers. Understanding dawned, followed by something dangerously soft.
“You asked about her,” he stated.
The realization settled between them. Sofia suddenly felt strangely self-conscious.
“It wasn’t difficult,” she said.
“You asked about my childhood.”
“I researched a recipe.”
“I’m guessing you probably interrogated half the kitchen staff,” Dimitri mused out loud.
“They volunteered information.”
Dimitri laughed softly, and the sound sent warmth spreading through her chest. He took a bite. Sofia tried not to watch too closely, but she failed immediately. Her man noticed everything, including her concern.
After swallowing, he set down his fork. “It’s good.”
Relief appeared before she could stop it.
“You were worried,” Dimitri said.
“No.”
“You were,” he pointed out.
“No.”
Dimitri widened his smile. Sofia considered throwing bread at him. Instead she sat down beside him. Dimitri continued eating, and to her satisfaction, continued eating enthusiastically. For several minutes the kitchen settled into comfortable silence.
Something that still amazed her. When they’d first married, silence had felt like another battlefield.
Every conversation had been strategy, each interaction a test. Both of them searched each other for weaknesses, intending to exploit it. Now they could simply exist together. The realization crept over her unexpectedly.
Six months. It felt impossible. She remembered their first meeting in the hotel conference room.
The contract, the challenge in his eyes. Sofia had been so certain that she would never trust him. Instead he’d become the one person she trusted most. The one person she looked for first, and the man she wanted beside her when things went wrong.
Dangerous, she had thought back then. The feeling should still frighten her, and yet somehow it didn’t anymore. Dimitri glanced up from his lunch.
“What are you thinking about?” Dimitri asked.
“Us,” she said.
Dimitri raised one eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
A familiar warmth appeared in his expression.
It was the same look he’d begun giving her months ago, the one that still managed to steal her breath occasionally. Sofia decided it was the look of a man who had fallen in love despite every effort not to.
Sofia reached across the table, and Dimitri immediately took her hand. It felt so natural now, like he’d been doing it forever.
“I never expected this,” she admitted quietly.
Dimitri brushed his thumb across her knuckles.
“Neither did I,” he admitted. “I love you, Sofia Marino-Volkov.”
“So do I,” she automatically answered.
The End
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