Chapter 20 – Lev
I wake to warmth.
Sasha is still in my arms, her breath soft against my chest, her fingers curled near my ribs like she’s holding on even in her sleep. For a while, I just lie there and watch her—the way her hair spills across my skin, the faint crease between her brows that doesn’t fade, even now.
Something tightens in my chest, slow and deep.
I can’t imagine life without her.
The thought hits harder than it should.
I pull her closer before I can stop myself, my arms locking around her like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I loosen my grip.
A quiet laugh slips out of me. Pathetic. The man who swore he didn’t need anyone, clinging to a woman like she’s the only thing keeping him breathing.
Maybe she is.
I remember New York.
That morning a few weeks ago when I woke up just like this—her in my arms, my heart in my throat—and I still had to let her go. I told myself it was the right thing to do. That it was safer. Cleaner. Easier.
But I lied.
The ache from that day hasn’t left me, not once. And now, having her here again feels like the universe took pity on a man who didn’t deserve mercy.
I press my face into her hair and breathe her in, grateful for every second of this quiet, fragile peace.
I won’t take it for granted this time.
Whatever it takes, whoever I have to become—I’ll keep her safe. I’ll keep her mine.
Because I love her. God help me, I love her so much it terrifies me.
My phone buzzes in the quiet, and my whole body goes still. Sasha stirs beside me, and I move fast—snatching it up before the sound wakes her.
Roman.
I slip out of bed and step into the hallway, shutting the door behind me. “What is it?” I keep my voice low.
“You’re not going to like this,” Roman says. There’s noise in the background—traffic, voices. “One of my contacts in Athens just intercepted a message from the Petropoulos inner circle.”
My stomach tightens. “Go on.”
“They’re planning to reach out soon. You’ll get a deadline—either you hand Sasha over, or they’ll collect her themselves.”
I say nothing for a long moment. Just stand there, pulse hammering in my throat.
When I finally speak, my voice is calm, almost too calm. “Let them try.”
Roman exhales on the other end. “Lev, you need to tread carefully from now on. They’re not bluffing. If they’re making threats like this, it means they’ve already started moving.”
I clench my jaw, staring out the window as dawn bleeds through the curtains. “I’ll die before I hand her over.”
“Lev—”
“No.” My voice comes out like steel. “If those Greek idiots think something like that is ever going to happen, they’re dumber than I thought. Let them come. I’ll be waiting.”
There’s silence for a beat, then Roman mutters, “Just don’t do anything reckless.”
Too late for that.
I’m still on the call with Roman when Mikhail appears at the end of the hall, moving fast, his expression grim. I hold up a hand, ending the call.
“What?” I snap, already irritated. “Can’t you see I’m on the damn phone?”
Mikhail doesn’t flinch. “This can’t wait.”
I narrow my eyes. “Talk.”
He exhales. “Lev…someone inside the Bratva might be feeding the Greeks information about Sasha’s movements. The details they’ve got—it’s too precise. They know her routes, her guards, her schedule. That’s not a coincidence.”
My stomach knots. I stare at him, silent for a long beat. Then my voice drops, quiet and cold. “You’re saying we have a rat.”
“Yes,” Mikhail says grimly. “And whoever it is…they’re close.”
My jaw tightens as I process Mikhail’s words. A rat inside my house? No. That doesn’t sit right.
“It’s not one of ours,” I say finally, my tone sharp. “I trust every man under this roof with my life.”
Mikhail frowns. “Lev—”
“No,” I cut him off. “This isn’t coming from inside. This is Viktor Markovic.”
His brow furrows. “Viktor?”
I nod once, conviction hardening in my chest. “He’s been keeping tabs on me. On Sasha. That meeting at the dock wasn’t business—it was bait. A distraction. He wanted me out of the house so they could make a move.”
Mikhail’s expression darkens. “You think he’s feeding intel to the Greeks?”
“I don’t think,” I say quietly. “I know.”
He frowns.
“Call Niko and Kaz,” I tell him, my voice sharp with authority. “Tell them to meet me as soon as they can. It’s urgent.”
Mikhail’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Understood.”
“Now,” I add, and the edge in my tone leaves no room for hesitation.
He turns on his heel immediately, already pulling out his phone as he hurries down the hall.
I stand there for a second, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to rein in the storm building inside me. If what Roman said is true—and if Mikhail’s right about a leak—then this isn’t just about Sasha anymore. It’s war.
Still standing in the hall, I pull out my phone and call Roman. He picks up on the second ring.
“Lev,” he says, voice low. “What’s going on?”
“I need to see you. Urgently,” I say, pacing across the room. “Mikhail’s calling Niko and Kaz too.
“Is this about the Greeks?” he asks.
“Yeah. I have an idea. You told me not to be reckless, so I want to run it by you and the others.”
There’s a pause. I can almost hear him exhale through his nose. “I was on my way to the airport,” he says. “But screw it. I’ll turn around. Give me twenty.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly, meaning it. “I owe you.”
He chuckles dryly. “You can owe me when this shitstorm’s over.”
The line clicks dead. I slide my phone back into my pocket and stare at the wall, jaw tightening. Twenty minutes. That’s all the time I have to figure out how to keep Sasha safe if everything goes to hell.
Who am I kidding? I already know everything I want to do. I just have to convince my brothers it’s a great idea.
I start to go back into the room, but my hand freezes on the doorknob.
I can’t face Sasha right now. Not when the guilt is sitting this heavy in my chest. I told her I’d protect her, that she’d never have to be afraid again, and yet every threat feels like it’s inching closer.
Every breath I take feels like I’m failing her a little more.
Fear crawls up my throat, sharp and relentless. I turn away before it shows on my face and make my way to the study instead.
The air in there feels colder. Still. I walk to the window and rest my hands on the frame, staring out at the quiet estate. The guards are posted where they should be, the sun’s creeping higher, and from a distance, everything looks peaceful. But I can feel the storm coming.
I can’t remember the last time I felt raw fear.
Not the polite edge that comes with business risks, not the careful caution that keeps men alive, real, animal fear.
Even as a kid, I wasn’t the sort to tremble.
I was the pretty one: cheekbones, easy smile, a face that disarmed before fists ever needed to.
People thought they could push me around because I looked like I’d rather wear silk than swing a knife.
They learned fast. I learned to let them come at me, to stand there and let the first shove land.
Let them taste confidence. Let them underestimate how far I would go.
Those boys who tried to embarrass Lev Rusnak walked away with bones rearranged, or they didn’t walk away at all.
I made sure of that. It was never pride. It was policy. A lesson. A warning.
Just because I didn’t like getting dirty doesn’t mean I don’t know how.
But this—this knot under my ribs is different.
Sasha is the cause of it. She’s the first thing that’s managed to make my chest tighten and my breath shallow, the first person whose absence makes the air in a room feel wrong.
Every plan I’ve ever run was built around keeping the family safe, the ledger balanced, the perimeter unbreeched.
Never before did a single person make me want to break the balance for them. For her.
I turn from the window. The reflection of my face in the glass looks like a man I barely recognize: hard lines, a hurt that tastes like iron.
If I stop thinking about her—if I shove this ache back down—I can sharpen my mind again.
I can stop being the man who watches and flinches and become the one who moves. Precise. Cruel if necessary. Efficient.
Sasha is the reason I feel this fear, but she will not be the reason I lose. Not today. Not ever. I let the heat of that resolve replace the cold in my chest. I will be ruthless. For her.
When the door opens, I turn, expecting Mikhail—but it’s not just him. He’s flanked by Niko, Kaz, and Roman, all of them stepping into the study with a grim air.
My brows pull together. “How the hell are you all here at once?”
Roman shrugs, closing the door behind them. “Ran into these two just as I was pulling up. Figured whatever’s going on must be big if we all got summoned.”
Kaz drops onto one of the armchairs, sprawling like this is a regular afternoon instead of a possible declaration of war. Niko, on the other hand, looks tense—his sharp eyes cutting to me, then to Mikhail. “Why the urgency, Lev? You sound like you’re planning something reckless.”
I glance from one to the other, weighing how much to tell them, then exhale slowly. “Because I am.”
That gets their attention. The room stills. Even Kaz stops slouching.
I move from the window to the table, bracing my hands on its edge. “Roman just confirmed it—Petropoulos’s men plan to contact me soon. They’ll give me a deadline to hand Sasha over, or they’ll come for her themselves.”
Niko swears under his breath. Mikhail looks down, already expecting it. Roman just watches me, expression unreadable.
I straighten. “We’re done waiting for them to make the next move. From this point forward, we take control.”
I watch them all for a beat, measuring the air in the room. Niko’s jaw is tight; Roman has that closed-off look he gets when he’s calculating angles rather than emotion. Kaz—predictably—leans forward, eyes bright, already tasting the fight.