Chapter 6
ANDREI
The first step to ensuring Alina’s safety is containment. I have to get this situation locked down and under control. Otherwise, her fiancé will catch us off guard, and that cannot happen.
The process is instinctual at this point, something ingrained in me so deeply I don’t think about it consciously anymore. When a situation becomes volatile, it’s important to reduce its ability to spread. To limit movement, control information, and remove unnecessary variables.
Alina Kuznetsova is a variable I did not anticipate.
She stands near the door of my suite, arms crossed tightly over her chest, posture rigid with defiance. The hotel’s luxury robe is cinched tight, but it does nothing to soften the tension running through her body. She looks like someone bracing for impact, waiting for the next blow to land.
“You have to let me go,” she says flatly. “I’m done arguing about this this.”
I watch her for a moment before responding. She’s exhausted, and upset. The adrenaline that carried her through the humiliation of the night is wearing off, leaving raw nerves behind. Her eyes are too bright, her movements slightly unsteady.
“That’s not possible,” I say calmly.
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t get to decide that.”
I’ll forgive her insolence because she’s so exhausted, but normally I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak to me this way. She simply has no idea what she’s up against, but I do. One wrong move will fuck up the whole plan.
“I do,” I reply. “I know how to navigate these situations better than you do.”
She laughs, short and incredulous.
“I just want to go downstairs,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “It’s hardly an issue of national security. If I’m going to disappear with you, I have to get my things.”
“Alina,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose to stay calm. “There is no way in hell I’m letting you go down there. My men aren’t entirely clear on the situation yet. There’s too much at stake.”
“To go down to a ballroom and grab my purse and coat?” she nearly screeches. “What could possibly happen?”
“It’s the not knowing that is keeping you here,” I say firmly. “As soon as I have a situation report, we’re moving. If you want your things, I’ll send for them. It’ll be safer that way.”
She turns away from me, pacing two short steps toward the door before stopping herself. She doesn’t trust herself not to bolt, and that’s good. Running without a plan gets people killed.
I pull my phone from my pocket and make the call before she can argue again.
“Richard,” I say when my assistant answers. “Get the concierge. Ms. Kuznetsova’s belongings are still in the ballroom. Retrieve everything quietly and bring them up here. We need to move her car too. I don’t want it sitting downstairs.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies immediately.
I end the call and look back at her. “There,” I say. “Everything is taken care of.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again. She clearly didn’t think I could handle things that easily.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I did,” I interrupt. “Because you’re not going back downstairs.”
Her shoulders tense. “You’re managing me,” she grumbles. “I don’t need to be managed.”
“Yes, you do,” I answer simply.
The words hit harder than anything else I could have said. I see it in her face, the flash of anger, the way her fingers curl against her arms.
“I’m not one of your men,” she snaps. “If this is going to work, you can’t just order me around.”
“I’m not ordering you around,” I reply. “I’m asking you, out of an abundance of caution, to stay put and let me handle things. I’m protecting you.”
She looks away, blinking rapidly. I knew it wouldn’t be so easy to get her out of here, even when she agreed to let me help her. She’s stubborn and far too independent. I suppose it’s good her future marriage imploded, because she’s clearly not built for compromise.
I move without thinking, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. She flinches instinctively, then stills.
“You should sit back down,” I tell her, gesturing back to the couch.
She was so comfortable there until I told her we’d be leaving. Then, she sprang into action and tried to handle things on her own. The surrender was much easier to manage.
“I’m fine,” she argues, but then she lowers herself into a chair like her strength has suddenly abandoned her. The bravado she carried earlier is gone now, stripped away by exhaustion and shock.
I step back and check my phone again. Messages are stacking up. Security updates. Location pings. Short, efficient reports that tell me exactly what I need to know.
There’s too much movement in the hotel. Too many unfamiliar faces. As the night wears on, it’s impossible to tell who was simply a guest of the party and who was one of Kostya’s men.
I don’t like variables.
“When are we leaving?” she asks, pouting.
“We’ll go as soon as we get an all-clear,” I tell her. “Then they’ll bring my car around and we’ll go to a second location. You can get some sleep once we’re there.”
“I was always told not to let a kidnapper take me to a second location,” she quips.
I pinch the bridge of my nose again. “Good thing I’m not kidnapping you,” I shoot right back. “I’m sure your father would approve of this plan if he knew about it.”
That perks her up again.
“Is he safe?” she asks in fear, as if the thought’s just occurred to her.
“I’ll make sure he will be.”
My phone pings again. It’s my security detail. The car is ready for us. I’m about to let Alina know when I hear it.
It isn’t sharp, like gunfire, or chaotic like shouting. It’s a deep, concussive force that ripples through the building, a low boom that vibrates through the walls and into my bones. The windows rattle violently, the glass bowing inward before settling back into place with a groan.
For half a second, my brain registers it as distant thunder. Then the floor trembles beneath my feet, and I know exactly what it is.
“Down!” I bark, already moving.
Alina gasps as the suite jolts. I grab her and pull her with me, covering her body as we hit the ground hard.
The impact knocks the breath from her lungs, and she cries out, her fear raw and unfiltered.
I shield her head with my arm as something crashes against the window, the sound of shattering glass echoing faintly from somewhere down below.
The blast wasn’t close enough to damage the structure here, so it wasn’t in the hotel.
I stay where I am for a beat longer than necessary, listening.
My ears ring, a high-pitched whine drowning out everything else.
Alina’s breath comes in panicked bursts beneath me, her fingers clutching desperately at my jacket.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, my voice firm. “Stay still.”
She nods, though her body doesn’t stop shaking.
I push myself up slowly, scanning the room. There was no secondary impact on our room besides the vibration. No alarms are going off in the hotel yet, so the blast must have been outside. Just as I’m moving to the window, my phone vibrates violently in my hand.
“Sir,” Anderson says the moment I answer. His voice is calm, but tight. “We have a car explosion confirmed outside. My men are assessing now.”
My blood goes cold.
“Whose vehicle was it?” I ask.
There’s a pause on the line. Half a second too long.
“Yours,” he says. “I’ve just gotten confirmation that the driver is dead.”
For a moment, the world narrows to a single, brutal point of clarity. These men are getting desperate. With Alina gone, they moved to a backup plan. They’re reckless and destructive. That’s how badly they want me dead.
I close my eyes briefly, forcing my breathing to slow. I’m starting to think the Borokov meeting wasn’t planned here by accident.
“Lock down the perimeter,” I say. “I want eyes on every exit, every stairwell, every service corridor. No one moves without clearance.”
“Already in progress,” he replies.
“Get me two identical vehicles,” I continue. “Same make, same plates if possible. One runs hot as a decoy. The other stays dark.”
“Yes, sir.”
I disconnect and look down at Alina.
Her eyes are wide, unfocused, her face drained of color. She looks small in a way she didn’t before, the defiance stripped away by the reality of what just happened.
“Did someone just try to kill you?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say plainly.
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She stares at me like the world has shifted too far off its axis to recover. I crouch in front of her, gripping her shoulders firmly.
“Listen to me,” I say. “This is not the time to panic. You stay close to me, and you do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand?”
She nods, tears spilling silently down her cheeks. Good. Fear will make her compliant. Compliance will keep her alive.
Within minutes, my men flood the floor. The suite transforms from a temporary refuge into a command hub. Phones ring. Voices overlap. Information flows in short, clipped bursts.
The decoy vehicle is already being staged. I watch the live feed on my phone as it pulls away from the curb, a visible target against the dark street.
Let them think they missed the first time. Let them take the bait. The real car waits beneath the hotel, tucked into the service ramp, with the engine off. They wouldn’t be able to find it unless they knew exactly where to look.
“Sir,” one of my men says quietly. “We’re ready.”
I nod once.
I help Alina to her feet. She wobbles, still shaken, and I steady her without comment. Her fingers curl into my sleeve again, tight and instinctive.
“If you hadn’t—”
“If I hadn’t delayed,” I finish. “I’d be dead.”
The words land heavily between us. We both need a moment to process what this means.
I don’t have the luxury of time, though. These men, whoever they are, clearly have a goal to take me out tonight. They pivoted way too quickly when their first attempt didn’t work out. We have to get out of this building as quickly as possible and get to a safe location. Otherwise, we’re both dead.