Chapter 7
ALINA
The sweatsuit Andrei’s men brought me is too big. It hangs off my shoulders and I have to tie the string tightly so the pants will stay on. The sleeves cover my hands unless I push them back and I have to roll up the pant cuffs three times. At least the hotel slippers fit.
Andrei tells me that I have to wear this to be inconspicuous, but it feels like I’m wearing a tent.
It feels way more conspicuous to me than the dress, but what do I know?
I’m just a girl who came to celebrate her upcoming wedding, and now I’m a fugitive hiding from her potentially murderous ex-fiancé.
My head spins again, but I force myself to stay upright. I just want this endless night to finally be over. Andrei says once we get to the safehouse, I can finally go to sleep. If wearing a man’s sweatsuit is going to bring me that goal quicker, so be it.
My hair is pulled back tight at the nape of my neck, every loose strand smoothed down and tucked away. One of the men handed me a baseball cap before we left the suite and gestures for me to put it on. I don’t argue. I just pull it low over my eyes and follow his instructions.
We don’t take the elevators or the main stairs. We go down narrow service corridors that smell like concrete and cleaning chemicals, past doors marked STAFF ONLY, the lighting dimmer and more utilitarian the further down we go.
I keep my head down like they told me to. If this situation weren’t so dangerous, I might feel like a VIP.
The slippers pad softly against the floor. They aren’t ideal for the fast pace we’re walking, but they’re a welcome relief after being in heels all night.
I feel wrung out. This night has been such an insane rollercoaster of emotions, I’m not even sure how I have the energy to stand right now. I’m running on fumes but somehow I’m also running on a third wave of adrenaline. One that started when that car exploded.
I keep replaying it over in my head.
The way the floor lurched beneath my feet. The pressure in my chest. The way Andrei moved without hesitation, pulling me down, covering me like his body was a shield. I’d never felt so simultaneously terrified and protected at the same time. Andrei is such an interesting study of contradictions.
We reach a door at the end of the corridor. One of the men opens it, and cool night air rushes in, sharp and damp. The sound of the city filters up from somewhere above us, distant and muffled.
The loading ramp beneath the hotel is dimly lit and cavernous, shadows pooling in the corners. A black car waits with its engine running, nondescript and unremarkable in a way that feels deliberate. I hesitate for half a second at the threshold.
This is the moment where I could say no. I could go back with Kostya, come hell or highwater. He wouldn’t have to know about my involvement in any of this. He would never know that I met Andrei Markov, or that he’s protecting me. He would probably think that I got loaded and took an Uber home.
I could still break up with him without raising any alarm bells. He cheated on me during our engagement party. That’s more than enough reason to end things. I could never see him again and pretend this whole awful night never happened.
None of that would change the fact that my dad is in the Bratva, though. None of it would make me stop wondering if Kostya sought me out on purpose. Maybe his goal was always to find a way to kill Andrei, and I was just a pawn.
All these thoughts race in my head, and I’m left with no choice but to step forward and get into the car. Once the door is opened by a burly guard, I slide inside, the leather seat cool through my pants. Andrei follows immediately, the door closing behind him with a solid, final thud.
The car pulls away smoothly.
I stare straight ahead for a moment, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. My teeth chatter before I realize I’m doing it. I press my lips together, trying to stop. The silence stretches between us, heavy and oppressive.
“Why would someone try to kill you?” I ask suddenly.
The words tumble out of me without much thought. I have no room for thought anymore. All that’s left is questions.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” Andrei says calmly. “They don’t usually get this close, though.”
There’s no hesitation in his voice. No attempt to soften it or explain it away. Just a simple, terrifying confirmation.
I turn toward him slowly, my movements stiff. He’s sitting close enough that our shoulders nearly touch, his presence solid and unyielding beside me. He looks composed, almost unsettlingly so, like the explosion was just a mild inconvenience.
“They blew up your car,” I say quietly.
“Yes.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course it bothers me, Alina,” he replies. “But it’s familiar. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.”
That’s worse somehow.
I swallow hard, my mouth dry.
“Why tonight?” I manage. “Why use my engagement party as a cover?”
His jaw tightens just slightly. “That’s what I intend to find out.”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “You said they were using me.”
He glances at me then, his gaze sharp and assessing. “That’s certainly a theory.”
“How?” I demand. “I don’t know anything. I work in catering. I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a leaky shower.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “Leverage isn’t about what you have. It’s about who you are.”
My chest tightens.
“I’m no one at all,” I argue. “And considering that my father works on your docks, I don’t imagine he’s all that important in the grand scheme of your organization. I didn’t agree to be anyone’s leverage.”
“I know.” He nods. “Which is why I’m protecting you. The unfortunate truth is, anyone in my organization can get caught up in the madness. That’s another occupational hazard. I’m just sorry you were unaware.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It’s all I have to offer.” He shrugs, turning away from me to look out his window.
The car turns, the motion smooth and controlled. Streetlights flash past the windows in rhythmic bursts. I try to focus on them, grounding myself in something external.
“This is insane,” I mutter.
“I can see how you would think that,” he answers, still turned away from me.
I lean back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. The car hums beneath us, steady and unhurried. I try to imagine my apartment, my bed, my quiet, normal life. It feels like a different universe.
“I just wanted to go home tonight,” I say softly. “I wanted to take off that stupid dress and wash my face and pretend none of this happened.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, not softening his posture at all.
“You keep saying that,” I murmur. “But I don’t think you really are.”
He doesn’t respond.
The silence stretches again, filled only by the sound of the road and my own uneven breathing. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the city blur past.
I don’t know where we’re going or how long this will last. All I know is that my life cracked open tonight, and nothing is ever going to go back to the way it was.
An insidious fear rises up from inside of me, consuming every other thought and emotion until it’s all that’s left. My hands are shaking and I try to hold them together to stop the motion.
It’s embarrassing, how out of control my body feels. It’s another betrayal in a night full of them. I press my lips together, trying to calm my chattering teeth.
Andrei turns to me and notices immediately. “Are you cold?” he asks.
I shake my head, the movement stiff. “No.”
The car is almost too warm. My skin feels flushed, oversensitive, like every nerve ending has been rubbed raw. He doesn’t argue with me, but he doesn’t look convinced either. He studies me in an assessing way, like he’s cataloging information instead of reacting emotionally.
Tears blur my vision before I realize they’re coming. I blink hard, annoyed with myself.
“This is stupid,” I mutter. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he says calmly.
I have no response to that. Instead, I drag the sleeve of the sweatshirt over my hand and wipe at my face, frustrated by the mess of emotions I can’t seem to contain. Everything feels too big to contain in my body.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing,” I admit quietly. “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why I’m trusting you.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” Andrei says after a beat. “In fact, it’s probably better for your safety to keep up some healthy skepticism. But it’s in your best interest right now to let me help you.”
He shifts slightly, turning more toward me. The movement brings him closer, his shoulder brushing mine. The contact is small, almost accidental, but my body reacts like it’s anything but.
My breath stutters. I hate how aware I am of him, of his body heat and his steady, calming presence. I hate that some part of me feels safer because he’s here, even after everything.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
I turn toward him without really thinking about it, my movements slow and uncertain. He’s already looking at me, his gaze steady and unreadable, but not cold. There’s something else there now, something restrained but unmistakable.
I don’t know who moves first. All I know is that suddenly he’s closer, his hand lifting toward my face like he’s giving me time to pull away. He doesn’t touch me right away. He waits, watching my reaction. I don’t pull away.
His fingers brush my cheek gently. The contact sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear. I lean in to his hand before I can overthink it.
The kiss is tentative at first, almost cautious. His lips press against mine like he’s testing the moment, giving me every opportunity to stop him. I don’t.
The second the kiss deepens, something in me gives way. My hands come up to grip the front of his jacket, anchoring myself to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
Heat coils low in my stomach, surprising in its intensity.
I press closer without thinking, needing the contact, the reassurance that I’m here and alive and wanted by someone who isn’t just using me.
His hand slides from my cheek to my waist, steadying me.
The pressure is firm but controlled, not demanding.
It makes me feel held instead of trapped.
The kiss becomes slower and deeper, though no less controlled. My thoughts scatter, replaced by sensation. The warmth of his mouth. The faint scent of his cologne. The way my pulse seems to sync with his.
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe my body is capable of feeling this much when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.
His hand moves, exploring cautiously, like he’s checking in with me without words. When his fingers brush my thigh, my breath catches sharply.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I shake my head, the movement frantic. “I don’t.”
The words come out breathless and desperate. That’s all the encouragement he needs.
His hand slips inside my oversized pants, and then his fingers are brushing over the delicate lace of the lingerie I’d picked out for tonight.
Fuck you, Kostya.
His touch sends electricity through me, and I find myself grinding my hips against his hand. He chuckles lightly, his breath fanning against my lips, before he hooks the fabric with one finger and slips another inside me.
He hisses when he feels how tight and wet I am. I moan at how good his finger feels inside of me. This is so surreal, none of this should be happening, but I’m nothing but need now. I’m all raw nerves and sensitivity, feral until I can find a release.
He slips another finger inside and then his thumb is brushing against my clit.
Oh. This is heaven. Or hell. Maybe I’m dead and my afterlife is just endless pleasure.
My fingers tangle in his hair as I cling to him, the orgasm coming over me fast and hard. He keeps moving his fingers inside of me until my body finally relaxes, totally spent and drained.