Chapter Twelve Konstantin’s POV
Chapter Twelve
Konstantin’s POV
The reunion was more unsettling than I had expected. Seeing Alina melt into Liza’s arms reminded me that she was no longer just a suspect. She was now a part of the Bratva inner circle, whether I liked it or not.
When Liza called me the previous night and talked about surprising Alina, I had been skeptical.
While Liza knew my house was my fortress and always found an excuse to dissuade people from coming, she didn’t know part of my hesitance was the thought of the surprise overwhelming Alina.
Eventually, she had won me over and gotten me to agree to call my men and ask them to grant her entry.
Watching them hug like friends who had been separated for years was a relief, an assurance that I hadn’t made a mistake. However, it also caused an itch within me, a kind of longing I knew I had to immediately tamp down. Besides, I couldn’t let her catch me staring at her.
It was pretty difficult on the plane. The documents on my laps laid unread as I gazed at her.
How could I not? From the jacket that swallowed her frame to the brightness of her hair, there were too many things to pull me in.
But that was not to say her calm aura didn’t have a greater effect.
Every time she turned away from the window, I’d look away like I was doing something else other than stare at her.
I went upstairs to give them the space to catch up since Liza would be leaving soon. She and Roman had an event to attend later in the day, and it wasn’t in New York.
“Sir,” Hans called, making me turn around from the hallway of my suite.
“Welcome, sir. Congratulations, sir,” he greeted, smiling. “I wanted to inform you that we put the luggage in the guest room.”
“What luggage? The car with the bags is still in town.”
“No, I meant the luggage they sent from Russia. It got here last night.”
“Alina’s things,” I pointed out, nodding.
His face curled up in a smile again. “We don’t know her name.”
“And now that you do, if I ever hear her name on your lips or that of any other person...you’ll be sorry.”
“Oh, no sir. I’ll never. No one will try it,” he rushed.
“I’ll open my suite now. Move everything to the room by my study.”
“Okay, sir.”
“Quickly,” I added. “We’ve had a long flight. She might want to rest.”
“I’ll be done setting everything up before Mrs. Lobanov leaves,” he assured.
I went straight into my office to get some work done. Sergei’s knock on my office door was what pulled me out of the sea of paperwork an hour later.
“Boss,” he greeted as he entered my office. “I sent you—”
He was interrupted by the sound of his phone.
“Mrs. Liza,” he said, looking up from the device.
“She’s about to leave,” I mentioned, sighing as I sat back.
“Have you guys gotten everything?” I inquired as I rose to my feet.
“Yes, boss. We got different options as you requested.”
We both left the office.
“I’m leaving, dear brother,” Liza announced, smiling up at me as Sergei and I descended the stairs.
She stood with her back to the couch while Alina bent over the baby seat or whatever it was called, engrossed in a conversation with the toddler whose giggles were loud enough for me to hear.
“Thanks for coming,” I recited.
“I didn’t come for you. No need to give me that robotic appreciation,” she remarked, laughing as she turned to Alina and her kid.
That was when Alina stood up straight. Our eyes met in that instant. But, for the first time, she looked away.
“We’ll be seeing you soon. Very soon,” Liza told her as she lifted the handle of the seat.
“Have a safe trip,” Alina answered, a small smile on her face.
As both women walked to the entrance doors, I noticed the transparent white rectangular plate on the table.
“Did you also buy carrots?” I asked, my tone low.
“No, boss,” Sergei answered. “Mrs. Liza brought them. For Mrs. Alina.”
The almost silent hum of Liza’s car sounded at the same time Alina opened the entrance door, coming back into the living room.
I felt my phone vibrate, and I turned to Sergei. “Show her to her room; the one in my suite. Ask Hans to ask what she wants from everything you bought and serve her. Give her anything she wants.”
“Yes, boss.”
Turning around, I went up the stairs, picking up my call. “Don’t tell me you’re not in Riyadh yet…”
**********
When I looked up at the clock across my desk and saw that it was 6:55 pm, I stood up from my chair. I walked out of the office and headed out of my suite. I found Sergei.
“Sergei,” I called, cornering him at the intersection of my suite and the main hallway.
“Boss,” he answered. “I thought you were still on a call.”
“Who is it? Who tried to slip her the fucking phone?”
“We don’t have his name or any other basic details, but,” he brought a photograph out of his inner pocket. “A courier from Morozov’s old network.”
It was a photograph of a guy lying in a dumpster.
“He became a loose end, and they cut him off,” Sergei added. “He was found dead two hours after the attempt.”
“Bring Alina to my office.”
“Okay, boss.”
I went straight into my office, laying the picture on my desk.
The door opened, and Alina walked in, followed by Sergei.
I nodded at Sergei, and he left, closing the door behind him.
She stood a few feet away from the door, her gaze on me, her eyes prompting me to speak like they always did.
She had changed into a green sweater and dark jeans, and from the way the neck of the sweater fit, unlike every other thing she’d worn in the past few days, I could tell they were her clothes.
Her hair was pulled back in the same twist, but her face looked a bit more relaxed.
Her lips seemed brighter, too. I would have thought she felt better, or maybe more comfortable, had her expression not been the opposite.
I didn’t bring her here to admire her.
She’s here for interrogation.
“Explain this,” I demanded, moving the picture to the other side of the table.
She moved closer and bent slightly to examine the photograph.
“Am I supposed to know who this is?” she inquired, confusion taking over her features. “Because I’ve never seen him.”
Frustrated, I rose from my chair. Circling the desk, I stopped when I was right beside her, catching a whiff of her perfume. I told her, “If you really are clean, then prove it.”
“Tell me everything you know about Morozov’s routes, his contacts, every single thing he told or showed you,” I demanded.
She raised her chin, her voice calm as she answered, “I told you already, I know nothing. If I did, I wouldn’t still be breathing.”
My palm came down on the desk, hard and loud, making her jump.
Her reaction doubled my unease and made me dislike myself. It made me want to comfort her. But I couldn’t. This was Bratva business. If she insisted on keeping secrets, it meant trouble.
Fighting to hold on to my composure, I took a breath, lowering my voice as I said, “You’re in the middle of a war. One wrong move and you’ll be buried with the enemy.”
“Then stop treating me like the enemy,” she whispered in response, the tenderness in her voice tugging at something inside me.
I turned away and walked to the window before she could see whatever flickered across my face.