9. Alexia
9
Alexia
A fter breakfast, Rose and Pete begged Nadya and me to come to the indoor pool. Now their infectious laughter and the calming sounds of water echo through the enclosed area, filling the air. The sun beams down through the glass ceiling, making the clear blue water sparkle. It creates a strange, ethereal calm around us. The tranquil setting feels like it belongs in a different life, a life untouched by the darkness of my world.
I sit at the edge of the pool, my feet dangling in the cool water. I let my mind wander, feeling the warmth this place offers. Nadya sits beside me, her legs stretched out, the sun catching the edges of her auburn hair as she watches the kids play with a soft, distant smile on her face.
The kids are in the shallow end, splashing around. Rose’s laughter, high and clear, is something I haven’t heard enough of. I steal a glance at her—her cheeks flushed with excitement. So free, so happy! A tightness in my chest makes breathing painful. I know that this moment—this feeling of safety and normalcy—won’t last forever.
Nadya shifts beside me, her toes dipping into the water as she leans back on her hands, eyes trained on the kids playing. There’s something in her posture—something heavy, like a shadow settling over her.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice soft, careful not to disturb the fragile calm around us.
She hesitates, as though deciding whether to speak. When she does, her voice is quiet, raw, peeling back layers I didn’t know she had. “You ever feel like no matter what you do, you can’t escape where you came from?”
I frown, sensing the weight behind her words. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”
Nadya sighs, her gaze still fixed on Rose and Pete in the pool. “Growing up in the Mafia world... it’s like being born with invisible chains. My mother, Moira, tried to protect me from it all, but no matter how sweet or caring she was, there was only so much she could do.”
I steal a glance at her, my curiosity piqued. There’s a weariness in her voice that strikes a chord in me, a reminder of the life we both share. I can see the same shadows in her eyes that I sometimes see in my own reflection—the marks of people who have lived through too much.
“I get it,” I murmur, my thoughts drifting to Rose, to the life I’ve tried to shield her from. But how do you protect a child from something that’s in your blood, woven into the fabric of your very existence?
Nadya shifts slightly, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “I thought maybe I could outrun it, too. Then I fell in love with one of Dave’s soldiers. Ray... he’s my everything, but even with him, I’ve learned you can’t truly escape this world. It always finds a way to pull you back.”
Her words settle heavily between us, a shared grief that neither of us needs to explain. There’s no escaping where we come from, no matter how far we try to run.
Rose’s small voice breaks the silence.
“Mama, can I go fetch the ball? It’s my turn.” She points toward the open doors leading out to the backyard. The colorful ball she and Pete have been playing with is nestled between the doorframe and a flower bed, the bright red and blue standing out starkly against the greenery.
“Of course, moy zaychik.” I watch as she darts off toward the door, her feet making light, quick steps across the warm stone.
I feel Nadya’s eyes on me, so I turn to face her.
“You know, I’ve noticed that Rose is constantly asking for permission to leave a room,” Nadya says quietly. “Has she always been like that?”
The question catches me off guard and I hesitate. How much can I trust Nadya? She’s been nothing but kind, always helpful with Rose, and my daughter seems to adore her. Rose has always been a good judge of character, and that should be enough for me. Still, old habits die hard, and I’ve spent so long hiding the truth, building walls around me and Rose. I’m afraid to let anyone in.
I sigh, deciding to give her something, just enough to answer her question. “I’ve been through a lot,” I begin, my voice low. “So I’ve done everything I could to protect her from our world, but...” I trail off, the memories rising to the surface unbidden. “We spent most of Rose’s life locked away in a room inside one of Igor’s houses. He has homes all over the world; to me, they were all just prisons.”
Nadya locks eyes with me, sympathy and understanding softening her expression. “And I’m guessing you didn’t have permission to move freely much.”
I shake my head, bitterness creeping into my voice. “No. We were watched constantly. I think... I think Rose asking for permission to leave a room is just a knee-jerk reaction now. Like she’s still waiting for someone to tell her it’s safe.”
Nadya nods thoughtfully, her expression softening. “That makes sense. It’s a learned behavior, ingrained in her from years of having no control over her environment.” She pauses for a moment, her gaze shifting back outside where Rose and Pete are laughing, running in circles. “She likes to play in the closet, a small haven of safety.”
I nod, my throat tightening. “I worry about how all that isolation will affect her long-term,” I admit, in a low voice.
Nadya reaches out and pats my shoulder gently. “You don’t have to worry about Rose. I’ve got a degree in early childhood development, and from what I’ve seen, she’s doing remarkably well. She’s an adorable little girl with incredible social and language skills. Look at her interact with Pete—she’s been so carefree and natural with him since the moment they met.”
I follow her gaze and watch as Rose’s giggles fill the air. There’s no hesitation, no fear in her steps. Just the pure joy of a child who, for once, doesn’t have to worry about what comes next.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Nadya says firmly, her voice kind but strong. “If anything, I think the closet is her comfort zone. Somewhere she can control.”
“Maybe,” I breathe, watching as Rose catches up to Pete and throws her arms around him in a playful hug. “She looks pretty comfortable now, though.”
Nadya laughs softly. “Looks like she’s leaving her shell.”
I smile at the sight, my heart swelling with warmth. Despite the terrible situation we’re in, the uncertainty of what comes next, something wonderful is happening. Rose is finding joy here, even if it’s only temporary. And for a moment, that’s enough.
A low, distant rumble catches my attention, and I glance up through the glass ceiling. A black helicopter flies overhead, so close I can make out Dave’s tall frame inside. I glimpse at his scowl. My stomach tightens at the sight, a foreboding sense of dread settling over me.
Minutes later, the doors to the pool area burst open, and in strides Dave, his expression hard, the tension in his shoulders speaking louder than any words.
“Alexia, my office.” His voice is clipped as he turns and disappears back into the house, not waiting for me.
My heart pounds in my chest, the brief warmth I felt a moment ago dissolving into a cold knot of anxiety. I scramble to my feet, casting a glance at Nadya, who offers me a tentative smile. I hurry after him, wondering how bad the news he’s bringing me is now.
D ave’s study looms ahead, the heavy mahogany doors slightly ajar, as if waiting to swallow me whole. The weight of his command— Alexia, my office —still echoes in my ears as I step inside, the soles of my flip-flops making the faintest sound on the polished hardwood floor. The scent of leather and aged wood envelopes me, wrapping around my senses, grounding me.
I’ve never been in this room before. Its austerity and grandeur only heighten the sensation that I’m actually stepping into an interrogation chamber.
The first thing that strikes me is the sheer opulence of the place—the dark, intricately carved shelves that line the walls, filled with books, their spines worn and aged like they’ve held secrets for generations. Gold accents catch the light, giving the space an almost regal atmosphere. The kind that could make someone feel small—if they weren’t already feeling that way. The large windows let in just enough light to create shadows in the corners, deepening the tension that’s thick in the air.
Dave stands beside the massive desk that dominates the room, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the estate. His silhouette is imposing, his broad shoulders tense, as though they’re carrying the weight of the world. Maybe they are. I can feel the anger radiating off him, a tangible force that makes my breath catch. His sensual scent—crisp French cologne with an undercurrent of power and something darker—permeates the air, making my head swim.
My heart beats harder, the sound loud in my ears as I close the door softly behind me. The latch clicks, and it’s like the start of something I’m not sure I’m ready for. I hesitate, standing just a few feet from the door, unsure of what to say or do. I’ve been dreading this confrontation, but I know there’s no avoiding it.
“You’ve got a lot to explain.” His voice cuts through the air like a blade. His words plunge an imaginary knife into my chest, twisting it, stealing my breath.
He doesn’t turn to look at me, his gaze still fixed on the lawns and distant woods lying beyond the glass. The calm in his voice is deceptive. It’s the kind of calm that precedes a storm.
My pulse quickens.
“I—” I start, but the words die in my throat. What part of my truth could I offer that he would accept? There’s just so much I can say right now. None of which, I believe, would matter in this situation or protect me from his evident wrath.
He finally turns, his eyes locking onto mine, dark and unreadable. But there’s something beneath the surface—an edge, a crack, like he’s barely holding himself together. His steps are measured, deliberate, but I catch the way his fists clench and unclench at his sides, as if he’s holding back. The distance between us shrinks with each breath, and the tension stretches like a live wire, crackling between us.
“You need to tell me everything you know about Igor’s operations.” His voice is flat, emotionless, but his eyes are burning. Desperate. “Now.”
My mouth goes dry. Flashes of memories flicker in my mind—Igor’s men, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve overheard—each one more damning than the last. Without intending to, I’ve uncovered things that could get me killed. That’s why I asked Dave to help me escape. The problem is now this secret could get him killed. And I can’t have that.
I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze with a calm I barely feel. “I’ve already told you everything I know,” I say, my voice steady, controlled. He takes a step closer, but I don’t flinch. I push down the instinct to retreat. “I’m not your enemy. You want answers, but you’re looking in the wrong place.” I refuse to tell him what he doesn’t need to know at this time.
“You’re good!” Dave’s eyes narrow, his expression hardening. “You almost convinced me there for a second.” He steps closer, and I instinctively move back. We keep this infuriating dance routine until my body presses against the cool wood of the wall. My heart pounds as he closes in on me, his presence overwhelming. “Your hesitation betrayed you.” He runs the tip of his index finger down the left side of my neck. “Your body did, too.” His proximity plays havoc with my emotions, while the vein pulsing under the pressure of his finger is the proof he is talking about.
He’s so close now, I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the mixture of cologne and raw power that clings to his skin. It seeps into my lungs, clouding my thoughts, making it hard to think straight. My knees weaken, and I grab onto his forearms to keep myself steady. His muscles are taut beneath my hands, through the thick layers of the black suit and white buttoned-down he’s wearing. I feel his pulse—steady, unyielding. I scramble for the right words, something to throw him off, to end this line of questioning.
If I tell him, I’ll put him in danger—and I’m not ready to carry that burden. So I put on a brave face and give him part of the truth. “Yes, I’m nervous. I’m overwhelmed, actually. That’s what you do to me. That’s why I’m reacting like this. I don’t have anything to give you on Igor.”
“Flattery will take you nowhere with me. You must’ve forgotten that about me.” His smirk hurts me. “You’ve been married to the man for more than five years,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous, slicing through the space between us. His anger simmers beneath the surface, and it makes my skin prickle with unease. “You’re a smart woman. How could you not have picked up on anything?”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, the accusation behind them sharp and biting. Dave never shouts. The angrier he is, the quieter his voice becomes, each word dripping with a cold intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
I swallow hard, my throat tight, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “Igor kept me away from his business,” I say, my voice shaking. “I wasn’t involved. He made sure of that.”
Dave’s lips curl into a bitter smile, one that sends a chill down my spine. “Protecting his little princess, huh?” The words are laced with sarcasm, and they ignite something in me. Memories of Igor flood my mind—the way he treated me, the cold and the cruelty hidden behind his careful facade.
I grit my teeth, anger bubbling up inside me, hot and fierce. “I’ve become many things to Igor over the years,” I bite out, my cheeks burning with the heat of my fury. “Little princess has never been one of them.”
Dave’s eyes flash with something—surprise, maybe. Or curiosity. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the same cold resolve that has always defined him. “People are dying, Alexia,” he snaps. “I’ve got no use for games or fake rage.”
Before I can react, Dave’s hand slams into the wall above my head, the sound reverberating. He grabs me by the shoulders, pressing me against the wall. His grip is rough, but the restrained force behind it makes my pulse race. He’s holding back—a barely controlled storm brewing beneath the surface.
His body is too close, his breath hot against the side of my neck. The cool wall grounds me, but it does nothing to stop the tremor in my limbs. His hands, though rough, don’t hurt me. Still, I’m trapped, the solid weight of him caging me in, demanding answers.
“Last night,” he growls, “Igor killed a twenty-year-old who trusted me to keep him safe. He died on my watch, Alexia. And nobody has a fucking clue what Igor is planning next.”
Reality slaps me in the face, forcing air from my lungs in a painful rush. His green eyes bore into mine, anger smoldering them—but there’s something else, too. Something darker, more desperate. My pulse races with the intensity in his gaze—the raw emotion simmering just beneath the surface—that paralyzes me.
I choke out a reply. “I’ve told you all I know. I’ve heard he’s buying and selling people... that’s all.”
I dare not tell him more. If I tell him that Igor is planning to sell Rose at an auction, he’ll figure out the truth. He’ll know she isn’t Igor’s. I haven’t decided if I’m ready for him to know that yet. Not with everything that’s at stake for Rose and me.
His fingers tighten on my shoulders, and I wince, but I don’t look away. His jaw clenches. The tension in the air is thick, electric. His frustration radiates off him in waves.
“Damn it!” His grip tightens momentarily, but then he releases me suddenly, as if disgusted—whether with me or himself, I can’t tell.
The force of his release throws me off balance, my body lurching forward as my hands flail, reaching for anything to steady myself. My feet slip, and my knees slam into the floor. The sharp sting shoots up my legs, but it’s the sudden rush of cool air on my back that catches my breath. My silk top has ridden up, exposing me—exposing everything.
The air goes still.
I scramble to pull the fabric back down, but before I can, Dave’s hand stops me. His touch isn’t rough this time—it’s almost reverent. My breath catches in my throat as I meet his gaze.
His voice is low and rough, filled with shock and something else I can’t quite place. “What the fuck happened to you?” he growls.