20. Alina #2
“He will if he thinks he’s winning,” I say.
Mikhail’s gaze holds mine like a test. “And what do you want him to say?”
“I want him to recite the contract,” I answer. “I want him to say Morozov’s terms. I want him to admit he was the groom. I want him to say what he wants now.”
Enzo’s voice is sharp. “Confession.”
“Yes,” I say. “And once we have it, you end him or you break him. Either works.”
Mikhail turns his head slightly. “You’re proposing a trap.”
“I’m proposing strategy,” I reply. “You’ve been fighting him with guns and routes. I’ll fight him with his ego.”
Mikhail’s gaze drops to my mouth for half a second, then returns to my eyes. The shift is subtle, but it changes the air. I feel it, and it’s surprising how much I’ve come to want his attention. He steps around the desk and stops close enough that I have to tilt my chin to keep looking at him.
“You’re not going,” he says.
“I am.”
“You’re not leaving me guessing,” he says, and his voice is tight now, controlled with effort. “You’re not walking out and daring me to react.”
“I’m not daring you,” I say. “I’m asking you to do something harder.”
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“Trust me,” I say, and my voice stays calm even as my pulse climbs. “Trust my brain as much as you trust your guns.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze holds mine like he’s weighing what it costs.
Then his hand lifts, and he cups the side of my face with his palm. “You don’t get hurt,” he says.
“I can’t promise that,” I reply.
His thumb presses at my jaw. “You don’t get taken.”
“I can promise you that,” I say. “He won’t take me. Not again.”
Mikhail’s breath shifts, and he leans closer.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says.
“I grew up in it.”
His eyes drop again, and this time, he doesn’t hide it.
I don’t move away.
The last few weeks have been a steady collision of fear and safety and control and the fact that he’s still the most capable man in any room, and he knows it.
I’ve watched him with our son, and I’ve watched him with his men, and I’ve watched him restrain himself around me like restraint is a weapon he keeps sharp.
Now he stops restraining it.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, and he pulls me forward.
The kiss is immediate and hungry, and it isn’t careful. His mouth takes mine like he’s done negotiating, and my body reacts like it’s been waiting for permission.
I grab his shirt with both hands and pull him closer, and the sound he makes is rough, like it hurts him to want this.
He kisses me harder, and I open to him without thinking, my breath catching when his tongue slides against mine, when his hand tightens at my neck, when his other hand lands at my waist and drags me flush to him.
It’s too much and not enough. My knees soften and I want more. His mouth breaks away just long enough for him to speak against my lips.
“Say you’ll come back,” he says.
“I will,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I’ll come back,” I repeat, and my voice shakes on the last four words. “Because you’ll be there.”
His hand slides down my back, grips hard at my hip, and he kisses me again, slower this time, deeper, like he’s marking time, like he’s memorizing. I feel his control fighting his need, and it makes my skin burn.
My hands move on their own, one sliding up his neck, fingers threading into his hair at the back of his head. It’s thick now, touched with gray at the temples, and it makes him look even more dangerous, even more composed, even more unfairly handsome.
He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine, and his breathing is heavy but controlled.
“This changes nothing,” he says.
“It changes everything,” I answer.
His mouth twitches like he almost smiles, then he steps back a fraction, and the air goes colder between us.
Enzo clears his throat behind us like he’s been standing there the entire time, which he probably has, and I want to kill him for it.
Mikhail doesn’t turn. “Speak.”
Enzo’s voice is clipped. “Luca’s on comms. He found the cutout.”
Mikhail’s posture tightens again, and the switch back to leadership is instant.
“Where?” Mikhail asks.
“Market cameras caught him,” Enzo replies. “Gloves. Hat. Clean. He walked into a side street, then vanished.”
Mikhail nods once. “Pull the footage anyway. Run the gait. Run the height. Run the movement.”
Enzo hesitates. “Boss. The message.”
“I know what it is,” Mikhail says.
Enzo’s eyes flick to me. “He’s inviting her.”
“He’s summoning me,” I correct, and I keep my voice calm. “He wants a choice he can claim.”
Mikhail turns at last, and his eyes pin Enzo. “Leave us.”
Enzo goes, and the door shuts behind him. He leans forward, hands on the desk again, and he speaks like every word is chosen. “You go to him under my terms.”
“You don’t get to own the terms,” I say. “You get to set the perimeter.”
Mikhail’s mouth tightens. “You’re pushing.”
“I’m insisting.”
He holds my gaze for a long beat, then he exhales through his nose and nods once.
“Swear it,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “Swear what?”
“That you’ll trust my intelligence as much as your guns,” I answer. “That you won’t override me the moment you get nervous, and that you won’t turn this into a brute-force rescue that gets people killed.”
Mikhail’s jaw flexes.
“Swear it,” I repeat.
He stares at me like he hates the demand and respects it at the same time.
“I swear,” he says finally. “On my name and on our son.”
My throat tightens, and I don’t let it show.
“Good,” I say. “Then I’ll give him what he wants.”
Mikhail’s eyes stay on mine. “You’re going to offer.”
“I’m going to control,” I correct. “I’ll offer a meeting, and I’ll make him think he’s dictating it.”
Mikhail nods slowly. “He’ll frisk you.”
“I’ll wear what passes,” I reply. “No jewelry. No bag. Nothing that looks like a threat.”
He watches my face. “No tracker on you?”
My lower lip curls into a little smile, but I don’t say what I’m thinking just yet.
“No guns either,” he adds.
“I know.”
He steps closer again, and his hand lifts like he wants to touch me, then he stops himself halfway.
“I don’t like this,” he says.
“You don’t have to like it,” I answer. “You have to win it.”
Mikhail’s gaze drops again, and I feel the heat of the earlier kiss still sitting on my mouth like a bruise.
“I’m going to write it,” I say.
He nods once. “Then you’re going to eat.”
I blink at him.
“You haven’t eaten enough today,” he says, and his tone turns sharp like he’s annoyed at himself for noticing. “You’ll be steady.”
“I’m steady.”
“You’ll be fed,” he corrects, and it lands like an order and a concern at once.
I stare at him for a second, then I nod, and the nod is smaller than it should be.
I turn to leave, then I stop at the door.
“Mikhail.”
He looks up.
“If I’m right,” I say, “then I was never meant to be Sergei’s bride. I was never meant to be yours. I was meant to be Vladimir’s, and everyone else was a delay.”
Mikhail’s eyes harden.
“Say the rest,” he says.
I keep my voice calm. “If I walk into that room and he sees me choosing, he’ll talk. He’ll want to hear himself win. He’ll say what he’s been hiding.”
Mikhail nods slowly.
“And if I’m wrong,” I add, “then he’ll try to take me.”
Mikhail’s voice drops. “He won’t.”
I hold his gaze. “You swore you’d trust me.”
“I do,” he says.
“Then let me do this,” I reply.
Mikhail doesn’t answer with words.
He crosses the room in two steps, grabs me by the waist, and kisses me again, hard and fast, like he’s sealing something and warning me at the same time. My breath catches, my hands grip his shoulders, and I feel the tension in him like a live wire.
He breaks the kiss and keeps his forehead close to mine.
“Okay. We’ll make a plan, but we’ll do it together.” That makes me smile, and I nod in agreement.
I leave the office with my mouth hot, my pulse fast, and my plan already forming into a clean shape in my head.
Vladimir wanted a choice.
He’s going to get one.
And this time, it’ll be mine.