19. Aleksandr #3
The admission hangs between us, unexpected with its heavy weight.
Sasha is not a man who speaks freely about his personal life.
None of us are. We function better because we maintain a level of distance from the things that will make us vulnerable.
Weakness, real or perceived, is something we’ve all taken painstaking measures to hide.
Yet here he is, offering up a piece of his.
His jaw tightens, the muscles shifting beneath skin as he looks at me. “Locked away. Waiting for someone else to decide whether she lived or died… I know what it feels like being in your position.”
I don’t respond immediately.
I don’t know the full story of what happened the night Sasha and Nikolai went to the Morozov estate to retrieve Alina from her father. The details were never openly discussed. All I know is that it ended in blood and one less Morozov in this world.
It has never been a secret among the four of us that Nikolai favors her in a way that has been… peculiar. Alina had been at the Malyshko estate for less than a week before everything unfolded, and in that short amount of time, she had somehow managed to charm him.
Even now, months later, I still cannot fully understand why he intervened. But the result has been undeniable—Alina is alive thanks to him.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” I say after a moment. “However, Malyshko helped you out of the bind you were in. He isn’t interested in doing the same for me. For… whatever reason.”
His eyes drift briefly to the letter. “I have a feeling the reason he’s unwilling to do it again is because he’s worried it is becoming a bad habit. Continually rewarding it by taking care of it won’t teach consequences.”
A quiet snort leaves me. “I can’t imagine Kuznetsov dealing with this.”
Not only because he would never allow himself to become tangled in something this personal—though, to be fair, neither would Sasha or I half a year ago—but Kuznetsov is also older than both of us by more than a decade.
Men like him learned long ago to keep emotional attachments well outside the borders of business.
At least publicly.
Sasha nods slightly. “What I’m getting at is someone helped me when I was where you are. I believe it is only fair to extend that same offer to you. No strings attached.”
It’s a tempting offer to take.
More than tempting.
Because help right now, real help, could mean the difference between Katerina walking out of that estate alive or never leaving it at all.
But the cost of accepting it is not small for either of us.
Malyshko made it clear this situation is mine to handle alone.
That directive had not been vague or open to interpretation when the boundary had been drawn with Sasha included in that order.
“You’re risking your own standing with the Pact if you do this,” I say slowly.
“I’m aware.” He lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug that feels entirely at odds with the gravity of the conversation.
“If Malyshko is willing to cut us both out of the Pact, that is his prerogative. A stupid one, but a choice he can freely make if he wishes to.” His eyes narrow slightly.
“The alternative is your becoming a dead weight.”
I huff quietly through my nose.
“I highly doubt you will give up getting her back. We can’t have that kind of distraction disrupting our operations like that.”
A fair point. One I can’t argue even if, morally speaking, I probably should.
The Pact was built on a very specific hierarchy of priorities—first, the Pact itself. Second, our individual Bratvas. And only after those came our personal affairs. That structure has kept Moscow stable for decades. These past six months have… certainly complicated things.
For both of us.
Neither Sasha nor I have behaved according to that hierarchy since the women in question walked into our lives.
Katerina has been a whirlwind I never expected.
A problem.
A complication.
And somehow, the one thing in my life I now refuse to lose even if it kills me.
My mouth twists into a smirk as the decision settles into my bones. “Well, well. I never thought I’d see the day you go soft, Sokolov. It seems Alina has managed to dull your edges.”
He fixes me with a flat look. “Don’t pretend you’re any better.”
That earns a laugh out of me. A real one this time. “I won’t.”
The sound fades quickly, but something in the tension between us has shifted. Not softened, exactly. There are two many years between us that we’ve spent as adversaries. But morphed into something more productive than the stagnant frustration that has been choking me for the past two days.
Sasha drops his arms back down to his sides, the casual posture giving way to one that is more focused. “I’ll call my Bratva to meet here in an hour. Once we’re all settled, we’ll get to mapping out a plan of action.”
The words settle into my chest like oxygen finally reaching starved lungs.
Action. Movement. The gears in my head are already turning again. The paralysis that has had a chokehold on me begins to dissolve under the weight of purpose. Every variable starts lining itself up into a clear path resembling a very real strategy.
Finally.
I glance once more down at the letter in my hand before folding it carefully and slipping it into the inside pocket of my slacks. I nod firmly at him. “I’ll set up a war room for us, then.”