10. Egor
EGOR
The warehouse air is thick with the scent of gun oil and sweat, the low hum of voices a constant drone in my ears. I should be listening. Should be planning. Instead, my fingers tap against the steel table, restless, while Pavel drones on about the latest shipment from Odessa.
"Pakhan, you hear me?" Pavel snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Wait. Are you sleeping?"
I bare my teeth. "Watch it."
Dmitry chuckles, nudging Pavel with his elbow. "Leave him. He hasn't been sleeping."
I flex my hands, the callouses rough against my palms. I haven't slept in days.
Haven't eaten more than a few bites at a time.
The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that Emilia's door opens a little bit.
And she doesn't reject the stuff I send her.
A carton of her favorite yogurt. A blanket soft enough to wrap around her shoulders.
A stupid, overpriced stroller that cost more than most people's cars.
Sergei's voice cuts through the noise. "Enough. We have real problems to discuss." His gaze flicks to me, sharp. "Like the fact that our Pakhan is too busy winning over a woman to notice the rival mafia moving in on our docks."
I exhale through my nose. "I'm aware."
"Are you?" Sergei's tone is dry. "Because last I checked, you haven't approved the new security rotations. Or the updated routes for the next arms delivery. Or?—"
"I'll handle it." My jaw tightens. "After."
Pavel groans. "After what? After she forgives you?" He leans forward, grinning. "Look, Pakhan, I get it. Women are tricky. But you can't just?—"
"Shut up, Pavel." Dmitry claps a hand over his mouth, but the damage is done. The warehouse falls silent, all eyes on me.
I push back from the table, the chair legs scraping against concrete. "Meeting's over."
Sergei's hand shoots out, gripping my wrist. His fingers dig in, hard enough to bruise. "No. We finish this now. You want her back? Fine. But you don't get to fall apart while the rest of us clean up your mess."
I yank my arm free. "You think I don't know that?"
"I think you're too busy drowning in your own guilt to see straight." Sergei's voice is low, dangerous. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to focus. On the rival mafias. On the docks. On anything that isn't her. And when you've proven you can still lead, then you can grovel."
I want to argue. Want to tell him to go to hell. But the weight of his stare is too heavy, too knowing.
Pavel clears his throat. "Or… you could just buy her a puppy."
Dmitry snorts. "A puppy? Really?"
"What? Women love puppies!" Pavel throws his hands up. "Or a diamond. Or a yacht. Or?—"
"Or nothing." I rub my temples, the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind my eyes. "I'm not buying her a fucking puppy."
Sergei sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thank God."
Dmitry grins. "So what are you going to do?"
I don't answer. Because the truth is, I don't know.
All I know is that I can't eat. Can't sleep.
And I'll burn the whole fucking world down if it means getting her back.
The sand is cold beneath my shoes, the wind biting off the water sharp enough to sting.
She's sitting on the same bench as last time, wrapped in a coat that's too thin for the autumn chill, her hands curled around a paper cup of something steaming.
The sunset paints her in gold, turns her cognac hair to fire.
"Karamelka."
Her shoulders tense. The cup trembles in her grip, but she doesn't turn. "Go away, Egor."
I step closer. Close enough to see the way her breath hitches, the way her fingers tighten around the cup until her knuckles whiten. "I brought you something."
She exhales, sharp. "What is it this time?"
"Food." I hold out the bag anyway. Inside, a thermos of the soup—thick, rich, the kind that sticks to your ribs.
Her eyes flick to the bag, then away. "I'm good."
I set it down beside her. "Eat it or don't. But it's there."
Silence. The waves crash, relentless. She swallows hard enough that I see her throat work. "When are you going to stop?"
"Never. I'll keep atoning because I believed you'd betray me. Because I didn't give you a chance to explain." I crouch in front of her, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her caramel eyes, the way her pupils dilate when I reach for her hand. "Because I'm sorry."
She jerks back, but not fast enough. My fingers brush hers, and the contact sends a jolt through me, sharp as a blade. "Don't."
"Don't what?" I tilt my head, studying her. The dark circles under her eyes. The way her coat gapes at the collar, like she's lost weight. "Don't touch you? Don't apologize? Don't care?"
Her breath shudders. "You don't get to care. Not after?—"
"Not after I fucked up?" I lean in, close enough to smell the vanilla on her skin, the salt in the air. "You're right. I don't. But I do anyway."
She presses her lips together, like she's trying to hold back the words. But they spill out anyway, raw and shaking. "You humiliated me. In front of everyone."
The memory hits like a punch to the gut. The way her face went pale. The way she stood there, trembling, while they all demanded her blood. "I know."
"And then you just… you let me go." Her voice cracks. "You didn't even listen."
"I know." My throat is tight. "I was wrong. I was stupid."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. Just a broken, hollow sound. "Stupid. Yeah. That's one word for it."
I reach for her again, and this time, she doesn't pull away. My thumb brushes over her knuckles, rough and calloused against her soft skin. "Let me make it up to you."
She shakes her head, but her fingers curl around mine, just for a second. "How?"
"Anything." The word is a vow. "Name it."
Her eyes search mine, dark and wary. "I don't trust you."
"I know." I press my forehead to hers, breathe her in. "But I'll spend the rest of my life earning it back."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then, so soft I almost miss it: "I'm scared."
The admission guts me. I pull back just enough to see her face, to cup her cheek in my palm. "Of me?"
She swallows. "Of this." A gesture between us. "Of needing you. Of wanting you to stay."
My chest aches. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her breath hitches. "You say that now. But what happens when someone else tells you I'm lying? What happens when?—"
I cut her off with a kiss. Not gentle. Not sweet. A claiming. A promise. She gasps against my mouth, her hands flying to my shoulders, pushing, then pulling, like she can't decide if she wants to shove me away or drag me closer.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her eyes wide. "That's not fair."
I smirk, even though my heart's hammering. "Never said I'd play fair."
She glares, but there's no heat in it. Just exhaustion. Fear. "I can't keep doing this, Egor. I can't handle it if this happens again."
"I won't." I press my lips to her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. "I swear to you, karamelka. I won't."
She's quiet for so long I think she's going to tell me to leave again. But then, so softly I almost don't hear it: "I want to believe you."
Relief crashes over me, so sharp it steals my breath. I press my lips to her hair, inhale the scent of her… vanilla, salt, home. "Then let me prove it."
She pulls back, just enough to meet my eyes. Hers are wet, but she blinks the tears away. "How?"
I stand, pulling her up with me. "Come back to the house."
Her body tenses. "No."
"I won't do anything you don't want." I brush my thumb over her cheekbone. "I just wan t[ take care of you. Both of you."
She hesitates. "I don't?—"
"Please." The word tastes foreign on my tongue. I've never begged for anything in my life. But for her? I'll get on my knees. "Come back for tonight."
She bites her lip, her gaze flicking to the bag of soup, then back to me. "And if I say no?"
I step closer, crowding her, until her back is pressed against the bench. "Then I'll keep asking. Tomorrow. The next day. The day after that." I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I'm not going anywhere, karamelka. Not until you say yes."
She shivers. "You're impossible."
I grin against her skin. "Is that a yes?"
She huffs, but there's no heat in it. Just a tired, reluctant sigh. "Fine."
Victory surges through me, hot and sweet. I press a kiss to her temple. "Thank you."
She pulls back, her eyes narrowing. "And you'll do everything I say."
I raise an eyebrow. "Within reason."
She crosses her arms. "No. Everything."
I study her… the stubborn set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes. The way she's already leaning into me, like she can't help herself. "Fine." I smirk. "But only if it won't harm you or the baby."
She rolls her eyes, but there's the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Deal."
I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. She doesn't pull away.
And for the first time in weeks, I can breathe.