Chapter 18 Dimitri
Dimitri
SONG: FULLY ALIVE BY FLYLEAF
"You're nesting," Giulia said one morning. I was making coffee in the kitchen wearing pajama pants and nothing else. She leaned against the doorframe in one of my shirts and sleep-messed hair.
"I don't nest. I'm establishing operational presence."
"You bought slippers."
"For practical reasons. The floors are cold."
"They have little bears on them."
Margaret had bought those. I was going to have words with Margaret.
"The bears are ironic."
Giulia laughed. That sound I'd become quietly addicted to. "Right. Ironic. Because nothing says terrifying Pakhan like fuzzy bear slippers."
I pulled her close and kissed her to shut her up. She melted against me and the coffee was forgotten for another twenty minutes.
This was the problem. I kept getting distracted by my wife.
By the way she looked at me like I was someone worth keeping.
By conversations that started about Byzantine history and ended four hours later having covered everything from Russian literature to whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
(It didn't. Giulia was objectively wrong about this.)
She made me forget I was supposed to be running a criminal empire. Made the violence and paranoia feel distant and almost manageable.
Dangerous. This whole situation was dangerous. But I couldn't seem to stop.
Tuesday, I brought her books. Not just any books. First editions. Rare. The kind that required calling in favors from antiquarian dealers who didn't ask questions about bloodstained money.
The Alexiad by Anna Comnena, a twelfth-century manuscript she'd mentioned wanting and Latin illuminated. Probably worth more than most people's houses.
I set it on her desk in the library and waited. She walked in ten minutes later carrying coffee and stopped dead when she saw it.
"What is that?"
"A book. You're familiar with the concept."
She set down the coffee with shaking hands and moved closer like the manuscript might bite. "Dimitri. This is...this can't be real."
"It's real."
"This is a first edition Alexiad. Do you have any idea how rare these are?"
"Extremely rare according to the dealer I threatened into finding one."
She looked at me, those dark eyes wet and wide. "You threatened someone for me?"
"Mildly threatened. He was very accommodating once I explained how important it was."
She threw her arms around my neck. Kissed me hard enough to make my vision blur. When she pulled back, she was actually crying.
"Thank you. Thank you. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."
The words hit harder than they should have. What kind of life had she lived where threatening a book dealer qualified as peak thoughtfulness?
"It's just a book."
"It's not just a book. It's proof you listen. That you pay attention. That you..." She trailed off and looked away.
"That I what?"
"That you care. About me. About what makes me happy."
I pulled her back against me and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Of course I care. You're my wife."
"I'm your political arrangement."
"You're both. And increasingly the wife part is winning."
She smiled against my chest. I felt it more than saw it. "Good. Because the wife part is getting attached."
Attached. Such a small word for the terrifying thing happening between us.
Attachment implied something temporary. Easily severed when necessary.
This felt permanent. Foundational. Something that would leave scars when it inevitably ended.
But I didn't say that. Just held her and pretended I didn't know we were building something too fragile to survive the real world.
Thursday brought problems I couldn't ignore anymore. Yuri called about supply chain issues. Akim reported increased Albanian activity near our warehouses. Alexei's numbers didn't add up and he couldn't explain why.
Small problems individually. Collectively they painted a picture I didn't like.
I spent the afternoon in meetings trying to untangle what was happening. Got nowhere. By the time I headed to Silverleaf I was frustrated and distracted and probably should have canceled.
Didn't though. Couldn't. The house had become my refuge. Giulia had become my refuge.
She took one look at my face and poured vodka instead of wine. "Talk to me."
So I did. Laid out the problems I was facing. The pattern of small failures that didn't make sense individually but felt coordinated. The growing suspicion that someone was actively sabotaging us.
She listened without interrupting. When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"Show me your organizational chart. The current one."
I pulled it up on my phone. She studied it. Bit her lip in that way she did when she was thinking hard.
"Here." She pointed to three names. "These are your weakest points. The people most likely to be influenced or compromised."
"How do you figure?"
"Yuri questions your authority but he's too loyal to your father's memory to actually betray you.
Viktor is pragmatic but he's also smart enough to know betrayal would be suicide.
" She traced lines between names. "But these three.
They're new. Promoted in the last year. They don't have the same connection to you or the organization. They're vulnerable to pressure."
She was right. I'd promoted those men because they were competent. Hadn't considered they might be exactly the kind of targets someone would use to infiltrate us.
"You figured that out in five minutes?"
"I've been studying your files for weeks. I know your organization better than you think." She handed back my phone. "Start with surveillance on those three. See who they're talking to. Where their money is going. If someone is using them, they'll leave traces."
Smart. Tactically sound. Exactly what I should have thought of myself if I wasn't too close to the problem.
"You're good at this."
"I read a lot of military history. Strategy translates." She refilled my vodka. "What else?"
I told her about the Albanian activity. She asked questions that forced me to think differently about the problem. By the time we finished dinner, I had three new approaches to investigate and a much clearer picture of what might be happening.
"You should work for me," I said.
"I already work for you. I'm your wife. That's the job."
"I mean officially. As an adviser."
She laughed. "Can you imagine? Giuseppe's daughter officially working for the Bratva. My father would have a stroke."
"Fair point."
But the idea stuck. Having someone I could talk strategy with, someone who understood both the Italian and Russian sides, and someone who saw patterns I missed because I was too embedded in the daily chaos.
Someone I trusted. That was the real revelation. I trusted Giulia. Somewhere in the last month she'd become the person I instinctively turned to when problems arose.
When had that happened?
Saturday, I needed to check on Apolena. I'd been neglecting my sisters while playing house in Silverleaf. Sofiya could take care of herself. Always had. But Apolena was different. Softer. The one who still believed people were fundamentally good.
Dangerous thinking in our world.
I called ahead. She answered on the third ring sounding breathless.
"Dimitri. Hi. What's up?"
"Checking in. Making sure you're still alive and Maxim hasn't let anyone kidnap you."
"I'm fine. Maxim is very thorough about security."
Something in her voice—too bright, too careful. The tone she used when she was hiding something.
"Everything okay?"
"Perfect. Everything's perfect. Why wouldn't it be?"
Definitely hiding something.
"Where's Maxim?"
"He's...around. Doing security things. You know how he is."
I did know how he was. Maxim didn't do anything halfway. If I'd assigned him to protect Apolena he'd take that job seriously. Maybe too seriously based on how flustered my sister sounded.
"Tell him to call me when he has a minute."
"Will do. Was there something specific you needed?"
"Just making sure my baby sister hasn't been murdered while I was distracted."
"I'm twenty. Not a baby." The familiar exasperation in her voice was reassuring. Whatever she was hiding couldn't be that serious if she still had energy to be annoyed with me. "And I'm perfectly safe. Maxim barely lets me out of his sight."
That was his job. But the way she said it. Something underneath the words. I filed it away to think about later, adding it to the growing list of things that felt slightly off but not urgent enough to address immediately.
Mistake.
That instinct right there, the one telling me something wasn't quite right, I should have listened to it.
"Good. Keep it that way. I'll check in next week."
"Or you could come visit. Bring Giulia. I'd actually like to meet her properly instead of at that disaster of a wedding reception."
"Maybe. I'll ask her."
"Please do. I want to know the woman who's made you almost tolerable."
"I've always been tolerable."
"You've always been terrifying. There's a difference." Her voice softened. "But seriously. You seem happier. It's nice."
Happier. Was I happier?
Yes. Undeniably. Giulia had somehow made my life less about survival and more about actually living. Even with all the problems piling up at the edges. Even with the constant low-grade paranoia that something would eventually destroy what we'd built.
I was happy. First time in years. Maybe first time ever.
"I'll bring her by soon. Promise."
"I'll hold you to that."
I hung up and sat in my car outside Apolena's building for a few minutes. Thought about Maxim's dedication to his assignment. About how my sister had sounded breathless and bright and like she was hiding something that made her happy.
Nah. Couldn't be. Maxim was too professional. Apolena was too young. I was reading into things because spending time with Giulia had made me see romance everywhere.
They were fine. Just bodyguard and protectee doing their jobs.
I started the car and headed back to Silverleaf. Back to Giulia. Back to the bubble where everything made sense and nobody was keeping secrets that would eventually explode in my face.
My phone buzzed with a text from Giulia.
Are you coming home for dinner or should Helen save you a plate?
Home. She'd called the Silverleaf house home. Not the house. Not your place. Home.
Like it belonged to both of us.
Me: On my way. Don't let Helen make too much food.
Giulia: Too late. She's made enough to feed your entire organization.
Me: Standard Helen protocol.
Giulia: I'm reading the book you got me. It's beautiful. Thank you again.
Me: You've thanked me six times. It's excessive.
Giulia: I'll thank you six more times when you get here. In person. Possibly while naked.
I almost drove off the road.
Me: Promising me sex through text is dangerous behavior.
Giulia: I'm a dangerous woman. See you at seven.
I pocketed my phone and pulled into traffic.
The city slid past. People living normal lives.
No idea that the Pakhan of the Bratva was driving to his wife's house with a stupid smile on his face.
Falling in love was making me soft. Distracted.
Vulnerable in ways I'd specifically spent thirty-five years avoiding.
I should care more about that. Should be more worried about what this vulnerability would cost. But Giulia was waiting. And that somehow mattered more than being properly paranoid.
I was definitely getting soft. Probably going to get us both killed.
But at least I'd die happy.
That was something.