Chapter 22 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
The words hang in the air like a blade suspended over all our heads. Maya's face drains of color so fast, I think she might pass out. Her hand finds the back of the couch, gripping it hard enough that her knuckles go white.
"Maybe I have a doppelganger somewhere." Her voice is steady, but I hear the tremor underneath.
Danil studies her for another long moment, his dark eyes moving over her face like he's trying to solve an equation.
Then he shakes his head, a small smile crossing his features.
"My mistake. The woman I'm thinking of had dark hair.
Much longer. And she lived on the other side of the country.
" He picks up his mug again, taking a slow sip.
"Sometimes, faces just look similar, you know? "
The tension doesn't leave Maya's shoulders. If anything, she looks more stricken now than before. "I'm tired," she says abruptly, not looking at either of us. "I'm going to bed."
She's already moving toward the bedroom before I can respond, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a slam.
I turn back to Danil, and the easy smile has dropped from his face. He's watching the closed bedroom door with an expression I can't quite read.
"What was that about?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous.
"Nothing." He sets down his mug and leans back in the chair, but there's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. "Like I said, she just reminded me of someone."
I don't believe him. But I also don't know what game he's playing, so I let it drop. For now.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the howl of wind outside. Danil shifts in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, and I notice the way he moves. Economical. Controlled. Like someone who's spent years learning to be aware of his body in space.
Like me.
"So," he says finally, breaking the silence. "You really don't remember anything?"
"Fragments. Flashes. Nothing that connects." I lean back against the couch, trying to look relaxed even though every muscle in my body is coiled tight. "Tell me something. Something that might help."
He considers this, his fingers drumming against his thigh. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Who I am. What I do. Why someone shot me and left me to die in the snow."
"That's a lot of questions." He stands, moving to the window to look out at the storm. The movement is restless, like he can't quite settle. "And I'm not sure I have all the answers."
"Try."
He turns back to face me, and in the firelight, his features look harder. Older. "You're a businessman. Import-export, mostly. You provide services people need. Goods that are harder to come by through legitimate channels. You protect your territory and the people in it."
"So I'm a criminal."
"You're a pragmatist." His voice is careful, measured. "You have rules. Lines you won't cross. No kids. No civilians who aren't involved."
A memory flashes. A map spread across a table, neighborhoods marked in different colors, my finger tracing boundaries. "I remember something. A map dividing up the city."
Danil's expression doesn't change, but his shoulders tense. "What else?"
"Your face. Younger. We were in a car together. Late at night. You were driving, and I was angry about something. Someone had crossed a line." I close my eyes, trying to force the memory into focus. "I remember the weight of a gun in my hand. The smell of gunpowder and fear."
Danil moves to sit back down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "That's probably for the best."
"Is it?" I meet his eyes. "Or are you just afraid of what I'll remember?"
"Maybe both." He runs a hand over his shaved head, and I notice the scars on his knuckles. Old ones, white and raised. "The man you were before made hard choices. Necessary ones. But they weren't always easy to live with."
"Did I kill people?"
The question hangs between us. Danil doesn't answer immediately, and in that silence, I have my answer.
"When necessary," he says finally. "To protect what was yours. To maintain order. But you weren't a monster. You believed in loyalty. In taking care of your people. In keeping your word, even when it cost you."
I stand, needing to move, and pace to the window. The storm is getting worse, snow falling so thickly, I can barely see the tree line. "And you? What are you to me?"
"Your best friend." His voice is rough with emotion. "The person you trust when you can't trust anyone else."
I turn to look at him, and something in my chest tightens. "I should remember you. I can feel it. Like there's a shape in my mind where you're supposed to fit, but I can't quite see it."
"It'll come back." He stands too, moving closer. "Give it time."
"What if I don't want it to come back?" The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise him. "What if the man I was before is someone I don't want to be?"
Danil's expression softens. "Then you figure out who you want to be now. But you can't do that without knowing who you were."
Another memory hits without warning.
We're in a bar after hours, just the two of us with a bottle of vodka. Danil laughs at something I said, calling me full of shit, claiming my stories get bigger every time.
"You're the only person who tells me when I'm being an idiot," I say, and he grins.
"Someone has to. Otherwise, your ego would be insufferable." We're both laughing, the kind of laughter that comes from years of friendship and shared history.
I blink, and I'm back in the cabin. Danil is watching me with concern in his dark eyes.
"You remembered something," he says. It's not a question.
"A bar. Late at night. We were drinking and laughing." I move back to the couch, suddenly exhausted. "You called me an idiot."
A smile crosses his face, genuine and warm. "That sounds about right. You are an idiot sometimes."
"Apparently." I sink onto the couch, and the cushions are still warm from where Maya was sitting. Her scent lingers, something floral and clean, and I find myself missing her presence even though she's just in the next room. "Tell me more. About us. About what we did together."
Danil settles back into his chair and spends the next hour telling me stories carefully worded, vague on the details that matter, but vivid in the moments that don't. He paints a picture of someone who could read people, see their weaknesses and strengths with a glance, and talk his way out of impossible situations.
He doesn't tell me about the violence. Doesn't mention the bodies or the blood or the hard choices. But I can read between the lines, see the shape of what he's not saying.
"There was a woman," I say suddenly. "In one of my memories. Dark hair, beautiful. She was important to me."
Danil's expression shutters. "There have been women. You're not exactly hard to look at, and power is attractive."
"But no one serious."
"No." He pauses. "You never let anyone get that close."
"Why not?"
"Because close means vulnerable. And vulnerable means weak." He leans forward again. "At least, that's what you used to believe."
He glances at the bedroom door where Maya is on the other side. "She saved my life."
"And you're falling for her." He says it like it's obvious. "Which, given your history, is either the best thing that could happen to you or the worst."
Danil yawns and stands, moving toward the couch. I stand to help him pull it out into a bed. We work in silence, the kind of comfortable quiet that comes from familiarity. When the bed is made and he's settling in, I pause at the hallway entrance.
"Danil?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For looking for me. For not giving up."
His expression softens. "You're my brother. I'd search the whole damn country if I had to."
I nod and head toward the bedroom. Maya's door is closed, but I can see light under the crack. She's awake.
I should give her space. Should let her process whatever Danil's comment stirred up. Instead, I knock softly.
"Come in," she says, her voice small.
She's sitting on the bed, still fully dressed, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes are red, like she's been crying, and something in my chest cracks at the sight.
"Hey." I close the door behind me and move to sit beside her. "You okay?"
"Fine." But she's not fine. She's terrified.
"He knows something," I say quietly. "About you. About who you really are."
She doesn't deny it, just stares at her hands, her fingers twisting together. "He said he was wrong."
"He was lying." I reach out and tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
Her breath hitches, and she looks up at me with those same eyes that have been haunting my dreams since the moment I woke up, freezing, and looked into them. Even scared, even vulnerable, she's beautiful.
"Sasha…" Her voice breaks on my name.
"Listen to me." I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I don't care what Danil thinks he knows. I don't care what he remembers or what he suspects. You're under my protection. That means something."
"You don't understand. If he figures out who I really am—"
"Then he figures it out." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "And I deal with it. You told me everything, Maya. I know why you're here. I know what you're running from. That doesn't change."
"But he's your best friend. Your brother."
"And you're…" I pause, searching for the right word. "You're important to me. More important than you probably should be, considering I've known you for what, a few weeks?"
A ghost of a smile touches her lips.
"And somehow, you've become the most important thing in my life. So no, I'm not going to let Danil or anyone else hurt you. Not while I'm breathing."
She leans into my touch, and the movement makes her sweater shift, revealing the curve of her collarbone. "The walls are thin."
It takes me a second to understand what she means. "You're worried about Danil hearing us?"
"He's right there." Her cheeks flush pink. "In the next room."
"So we'll be quiet." I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "Unless you're planning on being loud?"
"Sasha!" She swats at my chest, but there's no force behind it. "I'm serious."
"So am I." I catch her hand and press it flat against my chest, letting her feel my heartbeat. "But if it makes you feel better, we can just sleep. I'll stay with you. Keep you safe."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." I stand and strip down to my thermal pants, then climb into bed beside her.
She hesitates for only a moment before curling against my chest, her body fitting perfectly against mine.
Even through her clothes, I can feel every curve.
The softness of her ass pressed against my hips. The way her legs tangle with mine.
We lie there in the dark, listening to the storm rage outside and the occasional creak of the couch springs from the living room. Her breathing eventually evens out, but I stay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Because I can't stop thinking about Danil. About the way he moves, the way he watches, the way he can shift from warm and laughing to cold and calculating in a heartbeat. There's violence there, just under the skin. Controlled and leashed, but always present.
And if he's my best friend, if he's the person I trusted most in that other life, then what does that say about me?
What kind of man inspires that kind of loyalty from someone who carries death in his eyes?