Chapter 14 – Lev
I wake before dawn, the room still gray with half-light.
Sasha’s asleep beside me, tangled in the sheets, one arm thrown across her stomach, hair a wild blonde mess against the pillow. Her lips are parted slightly, breath slow and even, lashes trembling like she’s still caught in a dream.
For a dangerous moment, I don’t want to move.
The night before keeps replaying in my head—not the sex, not the sound of her voice breaking against mine, but the way she looked at me afterward. The silence between us wasn’t regret. It wasn’t hate. It was something worse—something that felt a lot like surrender.
And that should’ve been enough to satisfy me.
But it’s not.
Something shifts in my chest—a tightness I don’t want to name. It feels like I’ve been caught in my own trap, one I set long ago and forgot to escape from.
I shake the thought off, hard.
This isn’t love. This isn’t anything close. She’s mine—that’s all that matters. The world outside this bed, this house, this moment—it can burn, and I wouldn’t care.
Still, I keep watching her.
Just watching.
Her fingers twitch in her sleep, reaching for the space between us, and my body betrays me by wanting to close the gap.
I contemplate leaving. I should.
The clock on the nightstand says it’s barely five, and I’ve got a meeting in one hour, but I can’t bring myself to move.
If I walk out now, it’ll feel too much like New York—like that morning I pushed her away, leaving her with nothing but a broken look in her eyes. I don’t want her to think this is that again.
So, I stay.
Her body is warm beside mine, soft where I’m all edges. The rise and fall of her breathing slows the chaos in my head until everything feels painfully quiet.
The moment her eyes flutter open, I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead, whispering against her skin, “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”
Her eyes twitch, heavy with sleep, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. “Is it morning already?” Her voice is thick, soft. “Do I have to wake up?”
“No,” I murmur. “You can keep sleeping. I have an early meeting, but I’ll be back soon. I just didn’t want to go without telling you.”
She hums in response, the smile still ghosting across her lips as she turns onto her side, drifting back into sleep.
I watch her for a long moment—longer than I should. Something tugs at my chest, sharp and unfamiliar. Then I quietly slip out of bed, the ache of leaving her heavier than I want to admit.
After taking a quick shower, I dress in a simple black polo and dark slacks and grab my watch from the dresser. No rings, no flash. Just Lev. A man trying not to think too much.
The house is quiet as I head downstairs, the kind of silence that comes before the storm of a celebration. The reception is later today—music, wine, too many eyes. But for now, it’s just the sound of my footsteps on marble and the faint hum of staff moving somewhere in the distance.
My private study sits at the far end of the hall. When I push the door open, Mikhail’s already there, sitting by the window with a mug of coffee in hand. He looks too awake for this hour.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, my voice low.
He glances up, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yup. But the preparation for the reception kept me up a little late. Can’t wait for it to be over today.”
Before I can respond, the door opens again, and Roman walks in.
His long brown hair is tied back in a low bun, and he carries himself with the same quiet confidence he always has. Broad-shouldered, intentional, the kind of presence that commands attention without asking for it.
He nods at Mikhail, then turns his eyes on me. “You’re up early for a man who just got married.”
I allow a small smile, leaning back against the edge of my desk. “You sound disappointed.”
Roman shrugs, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Not disappointed. Just surprised you’re not still upstairs…celebrating.”
Mikhail chokes on his coffee. I ignore him.
Roman looks like he hasn’t slept in days—eyes shadowed, jaw tight. I don’t mention it. He’s always been like this since his time in the military. The nightmares, the late nights, the quiet distance that no one can reach. I’ve tried before, but how do you help a man who won’t let anyone in?
He drops into the chair beside Mikhail with that careless, heavy ease of his and props his boots on the edge of my desk. I let it slide—Roman’s one of the few people alive who can get away with that here.
He doesn’t waste time. “During a recent operation in Greece,” he says, voice flat and low, “I overheard Sasha’s name.”
That gets my attention.
Roman continues, his gaze steady on me. “It was Christos Petropoulos’s men. They were talking like she still belonged to them. Something about unfinished business.”
The air between us tightens.
Mikhail sets down his mug, all traces of humor gone. “You sure they meant her? Not someone else with the same name?”
Roman shakes his head. “No. They mentioned a flight attendant. The one who cost them money and ran to the Rusnaks for cover.” His eyes flick briefly to me. “Sound familiar?”
It does. Too much.
“The context of the conversation was ominous,” Roman continues, his tone flat.
“They spoke about taking back what’s owed,” he says, pausing long enough for the words to hang in the air. “They mentioned Sasha. And her mother.”
Mikhail’s eyes widen. My pulse slows, then spikes again—a cold, steady thrum under my ribs.
“This isn’t idle talk,” Roman warns, sitting forward. The light from the window cuts sharp against his face, highlighting the sleeplessness in his eyes. “Petropoulos doesn’t throw words around. He’s patient. Ruthless. And Viktor Markovic was at that table too.”
The name drags through the study like a blade.
For a moment, I can’t move. Viktor Markovic. The man runs half of Greece’s ports and most of its bloodlines. If he and Petropoulos are in the same room, then whatever they’re planning isn’t rumor—it’s strategy.
Heat curls low in my chest, ugly and familiar. Possessive anger. The wedding was supposed to shield Sasha, not paint a target on her back. Not make her a pawn in someone else’s vengeance.
I steady my breath and drag my gaze to Mikhail.
“Pull everything we have on Viktor Markovic,” I say. “And I want Sasha’s mother’s file reopened. Any old ties, debts, or agreements between the Greeks and the Bratva—I want them all on my desk before noon.”
Mikhail nods, already reaching for his tablet. The tension in the room tightens, the silence growing heavy enough to press against the walls.
Roman leans back in his chair, legs still up on the table, but there’s nothing lazy about his posture now. “If you want, I can act as your liaison with the Greek contacts,” he says. “I can move through Europe without raising suspicion. They won’t link me to this family—not directly.”
I study him for a long moment. Roman doesn’t offer things lightly. He’s still half in that soldier’s mindset—careful, deliberate, loyal to a fault.
Finally, I nod. “Do it.”
He gives a short nod in return, his expression unreadable.
“Thank you,” I add.
Roman flashes me a rare grin and rises fluidly to his feet. “My job here is done, then.”
I roll my eyes. “The reception is today. You’re not going anywhere.”
He starts to argue, but I turn my back to him, facing Mikhail instead.
“I need all these files quickly. We already have too many unknowns, and I’m not waiting for another surprise.”
Roman mumbles something under his breath and walks out of the study just as Mikhail starts typing furiously on his laptop. I stand there for a moment, debating whether to call Niko or Kaz, to bring them in on this. But then I decide against it. Sasha is my woman. I can protect her without help.
A sudden, restless need hits me—sharp and urgent—to see her, to hold her, to make sure she’s safe. I leave the office, striding down the hall with purpose.
When I reach our suite, she’s already awake, standing by the vanity as she brushes her hair. The morning light spills over her soft skin.
“Do you remember we have a wedding reception today?” I ask, leaning against the doorway, my gaze drinking her in.
She glances at me through the mirror, rolling her eyes. “How could I forget my own wedding?”
My own wedding.
The way she says it—soft, almost sensual to my ears—stirs something deep in me. Pride. Possession. Something I shouldn’t feel so strongly, but do. I hide it behind a small smile as I walk toward her and slide my arms around her from behind.
Her reflection meets mine in the mirror, her expression unreadable, but she doesn’t pull away. I lower my head, my lips brushing against her temple.
“Stay close to me this evening,” I murmur.
She nods. “All right.”
I’m not sure why I need to hear it, but I do. My gut won’t settle. Something about today feels off—like the calm before a storm I can’t yet see.
“No wandering off, no disappearing.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Promise me, Sasha.” My voice drops lower, more serious now. “No matter what happens tonight, you stay where I can see you.”
Her amusement fades. She studies my reflection for a moment, then nods slowly. “I promise.”
I press another kiss to her temple, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. Something tells me I’ll need that promise before the night is over.