Chapter 28 Leanna
LEANNA
I wake face-first in a pile of pillows, sheets tangled around me, one leg bare, an arm tossed overhead.
My body still hums from last night, every nerve alive in that sweet, aching way that makes me both wince and smile. For a moment, I just lay there, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened and where I was.
Then I notice.
The other side of the bed is empty and cold.
Nik is gone.
My stomach flips, and I bite back a groan.
I sit up, tugging the sheets around me, twisting my hair into a messy knot over my shoulder, pretending I’m fine. But my body betrays me, every muscle, every ache, every shiver still remembers him. The absence of his warmth beside me makes the emptiness worse.
I glance again at the cold space next to me, disappointment tightening in my chest.
Five a.m. Almost cruelly early, too early to be awake, let alone gone.
Maybe I tossed and turned too much. Perhaps he really did end up on the couch.
Groaning, I push myself up and pad barefoot into the dark living room. The couch is empty, too. I stretch, yawn, and shiver as the memory of him clinging to me makes my body ache in a way nothing else does.
In the kitchen, I spot a small, messy note in his handwriting:
Gym. – NV
Oh, holy hell.
Five in the morning. He’s been up for how long? And his first thought was to work out?
I let out a breathy, exasperated sigh. “Really? Before coffee?” I mutter to the empty room.
I reason it out: Nikolai Ivanov is a professional athlete. Early mornings, punishing workouts, constant discipline—it’s all second nature to him.
“Well, I’m awake now,” I whisper to myself. “Might as well watch him sweat.”
I pull on a sports bra and tights, lace up my running shoes, brush out my hair, and twist it into a high ponytail before slipping quietly down the hall to the gym.
He’s alone on the treadmill, pounding it hard; his pace is merciless. I climb onto an elliptical across the room, setting an easy rhythm, just enough to justify being there. My eyes, though, are fixed on him.
Every muscle flexes beneath his skin, sweat rolling over defined lines of strength. A living, breathing masterpiece in motion.
I’ve seen him like this before, but now, in the quiet morning light, it’s almost hypnotic.
He pushes himself for another fifteen minutes, his rhythm steady and unyielding, before finally slowing to a walk. Stepping off the treadmill, he heads for his water bottle and sits on one of the nearby weight benches. His back is to me, but I know he’s aware of my reflection in the mirror.
I make my way to him, unable to stop myself from reaching out, from touching his hot, slick skin.
In response, he only stares at me with an inscrutable expression.
“What now?” I sigh.
“We cannot be like this here,” he says. “I think we should cool it.”
“Cool it, like, here? In the gym? Or completely?” I ask.
He runs both hands over his face. “I don’t know.”
It almost makes me laugh how tired and miserable he looks, like some impossible answer has been keeping him awake all night.
“I understand the ‘not in public’ part,” I say. “At least… for now.”
His eyes narrow. “For now? Did you forget who you are, a Campisi, and who I am, a Barkov?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “It’s just that I—”
“You what? You’ll go begging the Don, your daddy, to let you slum with a Russian?” His laugh is harsh, humorless, and sharp with a sneer. He’s trying to hurt me, push me away, provoke me.
I was about to tell him the truth, that I’m about to leave, that my father may have named me his successor, but I’m only playing the part. I’m smiling, nodding, learning, using it all to craft my escape, to become untraceable, to start my life on my own terms.
But I don’t say any of that. I just say, “You care about me. Last night, you said we weren’t done.”
He shakes his head, dark and bitter. “So what? And then I fucked you.”
“So…” I trail off, my head spinning from the sudden shift in his tone.
“Ana,” he says, voice low, tight. “I was a mess all day yesterday. I couldn’t think with you in the room, couldn’t focus on anything but wanting to rip the eyeballs out of every man who looked at you. And there were many.”
“And last night,” he continues, teeth grinding slightly, “when we danced… I showed my hand to everyone in that room. That is not good.”
“This is so stupid,” I insist, crossing my arms. “If we care about each other—”
“Then we’re both marked for dead,” he interrupts. “And besides, I have never wanted…” He hesitates, eyes sharp. “…that.”
“That?” I prompt, folding my arms tighter.
“A relationship. A marriage. A family.”
“I never said I wanted marriage or family,” I shoot back.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, voice hardening. “I didn’t ask what you wanted, because we are not in a relationship. We cannot, Ana. In my experience, those close to me tend to become targets. That goes for you, too. We are leaders. We are ruthless. We cannot afford anything that makes us weak.”
“And I make you weak.” Not a question, I state it, my spine straightening. I lift my chin. “So… was it just about sex for you, then? The whole time?”
The words hang in the air, raw, and I immediately regret how desperate I sound.
He shuts down. The walls snap up.
“This has always been about pleasure, malyskha,” he says, the pet name clipped, almost like a rebuke. “It was fun. To break you in. To show you what a real man can do for you.”
“And last night?”
I know he’s lying because he won’t meet my gaze. His expression is hard as stone, but he will not look me in the eye. Still, his answer hurts.
“It was just the inevitable endgame, Princess,” he says. “Hope your Campisi-approved husband enjoys everything I taught you.”
He turns away, gathering his things, and leaves the gym.
I stand there for a long time, like a forlorn idiot frozen in place, trying to decide what to do.
My foolish, naive heart wants to chase after him, to slip back into the shower, start the game all over again. But my head reminds me he needs space. Whatever he’s wrestling with, it isn’t about me.
And I get it.
Pragmatically, I always have.
What we’ve shared has never lived in the daylight. For months, he was only a masked man, a mystery. I was just a body, there for pleasure.
Even if feelings have started to creep in, how could something built like that ever survive once exposed?
Not when I’m a Campisi and he’s a Barkov. Not when I’m already planning to run, to vanish.
I know it can’t happen. And yet, I grieve. I mourn what I’m losing before it’s even entirely mine. Whatever this is, I’ll miss it.
I puff out a long breath, cheeks full, trying to lighten the weight in my chest. Aimlessly, I cycle through a few stretches, a few reps to pass the time while Nik showers and dresses upstairs.
I shove the disappointment down, press it into the deepest corners of my chest, and whisper a promise to myself: I’ll do this again and again until the ache dulls. Until the wanting burns itself out.
“I can do this,” I murmur, though the hollow echo in my chest says otherwise.
“You can do what?” The voice makes me jump.
I look up and find my brother Vincenzo standing near the door.
Thank God Nik has been gone for a while. I don’t know how I could have explained us both being in the gym together, at such an early hour. Especially not after last night’s display on the dance floor.
“Nothing,” I say. “None of your business.”
I grab my phone and water bottle and try to head past him, but he blocks me. My brother is not terribly tall, but he is stocky and built for fighting.
“You’re not even dressed for working out,” I observe. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts a shoulder. I don’t like the look in his eyes.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says.
“I’m just getting a workout in,” I say. “Now get out of my way.”
He doesn’t move away. In fact, he moves closer, leaning in and sniffing me like some kind of animal.
I shudder, a chill running through me at the violation.
“You stink.”
I force my face to stay neutral. “What part of I was working out do you not understand? Of course I stink.”
“No, it’s not that,” he says. Then he moves back, giving me a lazy smile. “Oh, wait. It’s the smell of that fucking Russian all over you.”
For a moment, I feel a twist of panic in my gut. I didn’t take care of myself after everything that happened last night. Maybe I do smell like him?
“What the fuck were you thinking, Leanna?” he asks. “Letting that giant ogre dance with you like that? What a fucking slap in the face to our whole organization. And worse, to the poor sap who came all that way to meet you. Trick or Track or whatever his name was.”
“Trace,” I murmur.
I had forgotten about him, about his look of concern from the side of the dance floor. I had forgotten him because Nikolai Ivanov blots out the moon. He is the only person in every room we share together.
“You should apologize to that poor, dumb fucker,” he says.
“He’s not…dumb,” I say this weakly, though it’s definitely true. “And, I mean, sure. I can apologize.”
“And you should apologize to Dad. And me. And Ezra. And every other Campisi in the room today, because that was a fucking embarrassment. And beyond that. It put a couple of things in place for me.”
I feel my face scrunch in on itself, confusion setting in. “What are you even talking about?”
My brother’s hand shoots out, wrapping around my throat. At first, it’s almost casual, but then he slams me into the wall, grip tightening like he wants to crush the air from my lungs. His eyes are wild, burning with a fury that makes my chest freeze.
I can’t tell if he wants to hurt me or if he wants to see me drop dead.
Then, just as suddenly, something flickers across his face. He glances over his shoulder, and the rage drains from his hands. He lets go entirely, stepping back, slinking down the hall with his hands in his pockets, as if nothing had just happened.
As if he hadn’t just considered killing his own sister.
“Fucking psycho,” I mutter, rubbing my neck as I follow him out, only to see Nik, dressed in a sharp, grey suit, watching my brother as closely as I am.
When my brother disappears around a corner, Nik looks at me, at the place where I hold my hand to my sore neck.
“What the fuck just happened?” he asks with the calm facade of a coiled snake.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Bullshit.”
I shake my head. “That was my brother.”
“I’m aware.” His words are clipped, rage simmering just below the surface. “What. Happened.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” I raise my voice at him. “You just walked away. You just made it clear that whatever happened between us doesn’t mean anything. Why are you even back down here?”
I push past him and head to the elevator, pressing the button angrily and repeatedly until his big hand covers mine. He’s at my back, reaching around me. Damn him for making me feel like I might melt every time he comes close.
“Get. Away,” I growl. “I’m serious. You made your choice.”
A heartbeat.
Then, a menacing whisper in my ear. “You remember what I said before? That I would kill anyone who touches you? The promise still stands. Forever.”
Then his heat is gone, and he’s striding in the direction my brother just went.
I manage to hold back the tears until I’m safely alone in the room.