Chapter 15 – Dimitri
I wake up to urgent, rapid knocks on the door.
For a second, I’m disoriented—caught between sleep and something softer, something I still don’t fully understand.
Vivian is curled against my chest, her breath warm on my skin, her arm draped over my ribs like she trusts me without thinking.
It’s been seven days since we’ve started sleeping together, and she still sleeps like she’s trying to make up for a lifetime of exhaustion.
Seven days, and I still wake before her.
I don’t know why I like it so much.
Maybe it’s the stillness.
Maybe it’s the way she looks peaceful only when she’s unconscious.
Or maybe it’s the selfish part of me that enjoys having her this close before the world interferes.
I don’t need the morning energy boost anymore. Not with her beside me. Since that evening at the piano, something shifted between us. We didn’t rush into anything. We didn’t explode. We just…found each other again.
Friends first.
Then lovers.
Now—something like a couple.
Something real.
We sleep together every night. We talk for hours. She laughs with me. I feel…lighter. Like torture has loosened its grip on my spine.
The knocking comes again—harder, more urgent. Reality slams back into me.
“Stay,” I whisper automatically, brushing a hand over her shoulder. She doesn’t stir. Deep sleeper. I envy her.
I slide out of bed and pull on my pants, barely managing to fasten them before I reach the door. My irritation is already rising—anyone who knocks like the world is ending better have a damn good reason.
I don’t bother asking who it is. I jerk the door open.
And the look on the person’s face tells me the morning I wanted is already gone.
It’s Sylvester.
His eyes are sharp, urgent, not even bothering with greetings. “One of the warehouses in Brooklyn…it’s gone. Blown to hell.”
My chest tightens. My mind instantly flashes through the list of everything stored there—goods, documents, tech, cash…lives depending on those assets.
“Same insignia,” he continues, voice low but cutting through the room like a blade. “Koval. They left a message. Says…‘Watch your back, Rusnak. We’re coming for you.’”
I feel my jaw lock. My stomach twists. I step out of the door, letting it swing shut behind me, and march to my study. “How much damage?” I demand.
“Substantial, but not irreparable,” Sylvester replies. His tone is measured, but I know the weight of his words. “No one was hurt, thanks to the night crew. But they hit us where it hurts. Strategically.”
I run my hands over my face. Rage simmers like a live wire in my veins. “They’re daring me,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Trying to force me into a reaction…force me to show weakness.”
Sylvester watches me silently. I don’t care. My focus is sharp, coiled. “Get the cameras, all surveillance, everything from the warehouses. I want a complete reconstruction. Someone moved, and I want to know exactly who.”
“Already on it,” he says, stepping back.
I take a deep breath, trying to corral the storm inside me. And in the back of my mind, I think of Vivian—still asleep in my bed. My lips press together. No one touches her. No one. Not today. Not ever.
I turn sharply toward Sylvester. “Call Sebastian. Now. Get him on this before it gets worse.”
The words are a growl. A promise.
“And I want guards in front of the suite,” I snap. “If Vivian sneezes, I want to know. Her life is everyone’s top priority.”
“Yes, sir!” Sylvester hurries off, already dialing commands into his phone.
The study door clicks shut, and the silence that follows feels like the calm before a bomb detonates. The rest of the day evaporates in a blur of orders, strategy, and fury.
I execute a full lockdown.
Every Rusnak guard on the eastern seaboard tightens in around my building until the penthouse feels less like a home and more like an armed bunker.
No one enters.
No one leaves.
Every floor is secured, every hallway monitored, every elevator coded.
If anyone so much as breathes funny near my wife, they’ll be on their knees before they get the chance to regret it. By afternoon, my study is a war room.
Screens everywhere. Maps, intel, feeds. Niko sits on the edge of my desk, jaw tight, analyzing satellite images. Lev stands by the board, marking out potential safehouses the Kovals might be using.
I’m pacing again—energy burning me alive—but my mind won’t settle.
I keep seeing Vivian asleep this morning, soft and real and mine, and it only fuels my rage. The idea that someone blew up property under my name and left me a note?
Cowards.
Dead men walking.
“We know Koval isn’t acting alone,” Lev says, crossing his arms. “He’s too small to pull this off by himself.”
“Then who the hell is backing him?” I snap.
Niko exhales slowly. “We’re working on it. But a hit that precise? Someone wants you rattled.”
“They failed,” I growl, though the tension in my chest says otherwise.
My phone buzzes once. A text from Sebastian flashes across my screen a second later.
Found something. Following it now. Back by evening.
Be ready.
My pulse spikes.
If Seb says to be ready, it means whatever he’s found is big—big enough to shift the floor beneath my feet.
I put the phone down and stare out the tall glass windows of my study, the city sprawling beneath me.
Someone declared war on me.
Fine.
I’ll answer.
But beneath the cold calculation, one thought burns hotter than the rest:
If they ever touch Vivian…if they ever so much as breathe in her direction…I’ll burn their entire bloodline off the planet.
I can feel the promise vibrating through my bones long after I say it.
An hour crawls by before one of my guards steps into the study. “Sir, your wife wants to speak to you. She’s waiting in the hall.”
For a moment—just one—I almost get up.
Vivian.
My wife.
The woman sleeping in my arms every night now, breathing steady against my chest like there’s nothing in the world that could harm her.
But I’m too wired. Too sharp.
My pulse is a hammer. My head is a storm. I’m a walking time bomb with a lit fuse. And I don’t want her anywhere near the explosion.
I drag a hand down my face. “Tell her…not now.”
The words taste like poison. I hate myself for saying them. But I’d hate myself more if I let this rage spill on her. The guard nods and leaves.
Five brutal minutes later, the elevator beeps—and Sebastian barrels through the door without knocking, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. His auburn hair is mussed, shirt half-buttoned, ink smudged along his wrist and collar like he wrestled his sketchbook on the way here.
He tosses his bag onto my desk.
“You look like shit,” Niko announces.
“I feel like shit,” he answers.
“What did you find?” I butt in before they can jab each other.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. That alone twists my stomach. Sebastian only loses his humor when things are truly bad.
He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Dimitri…what I’m about to tell you, you need to calm down.”
“What is it?”
Sebastian exhales like he’s about to detonate a bomb.
“Koval Group is being funded by anonymous offshore accounts traced to European shell companies—accounts once connected to Laurent holdings.”
For a moment, the world tilts. The air thins.
The implication is clear: Vivian’s name is once again tied to the blood on the floor.
And this time, there’s no denying what it means.
Niko, Lev, and Sebastian stare at me like they’re bracing for detonation. Their silence is a noose around my throat.
“What do you plan to do?” Niko asks, voice low, cautious—like he already knows the answer and fears it.
I open my mouth to respond, but the door swings open without a knock.
Sylvester steps inside, breathless. His eyes dart around the room before landing on me.
“There’s an urgent Bratva meeting,” he says, and even his voice sounds strained. “The Pakhan wants to see you immediately.”
The air tightens.
Lev swears under his breath. “You’re in trouble,” he says.
I throw him a lethal glare before storming out of the room. My brothers follow, silent, alert—like they know the ground is cracking under my feet.
The drive to the meeting location is suffocating. No one speaks.
I don’t need them to.
I know exactly what this meeting is about, and I’m already prepared to defend myself no matter what the night turns into.
If they want a war inside that room, I’ll give them one.
The moment I walk into the warehouse, Lukin doesn’t even wait for me to sit.
“It’s time to end this, Dimitri,” he snaps, rising to his feet. His men stiffen behind him. “Your revenge has brought trouble to all our doorsteps. We are ready to join forces and help you defeat Koval and whoever is involved in this—” His jaw clenches. “As long as you let Vivian return.”
Something inside me breaks.
I explode.
The chair scrapes back violently as my palms slam onto the table. “Never.” My voice ricochets through the room like a gunshot. “Vivian isn’t leaving my protection. Not now. Not ever. You don’t bargain with her safety. You don’t negotiate her like she’s a piece on a chessboard.”
Lukin’s expression flickers—anger, disbelief, fear—but I’m already past the point of restraint.
“She stays with me,” I growl. “Even if the entire Bratva stands against it.”
A murmur ripples through the room—shock, disapproval. Roman leans forward like he’s about to lecture a child.
“Dimitri,” he says, palms spread, tone annoyingly calm, “we need clarity. Are you in love with Vivian, or is revenge still your foremost plan? Because right now, it looks like you’re losing sight of the mission.”
My laugh is sharp and humorless.
“What I feel for my wife,” I say, voice dropping to a cold, lethal edge, “is none of your business.”
Roman stiffens, but I don’t stop.
“And if you don’t want to join forces with me? Fine. I’ll fight alone. I’ll end Koval myself. I don’t need a single one of you.”
A few of them exchange glances. Tension thickens like smoke. Adrian finally steps in, raising a hand. “Dimitri, relax.”