25. Sasha #2
“It isn’t a favor. It’s an information exchange,” he counters immediately.
I lean back into my chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath my weight. I lift my pen from the desk, using it to roll between my fingers absentmindedly. “And what, exactly, would we be exchanging? You have nothing to offer me.”
“A favor.”
I let out a low breath through my nose that’s almost a laugh. “Again, you have nothing to offer me. What good would a favor do?”
When he speaks again, annoyance bleeds through despite his attempt to keep his tone even. “I’ll… have your back when it comes to Viktor Morozov’s daughter, your keeping her at your estate. If Malyshko brings it to the table to debate again, I’ll be on your side.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. I toss the pen onto my desk again. “Malyshko’s already given me his stamp of approval.”
“What?” Volkov snaps, the word sharp with disbelief.
Whatever he’s involved with has already made him desperate enough to overextend and offer protection he doesn’t have the authority to promise, tipping his hand in a way he never would have a year ago.
That alone tells me more than any answer he could give would.
I hum into the receiver, enjoying this far more than I probably should be. But then again, there’s hardly ever a time when I get to shove my mortal enemy off his high horse. “Yes. We had quite the dinner discussion a few weeks ago. He’s come to understand that what’s mine isn’t to be touched.”
For a long moment, he says nothing.
I can almost see him sitting on the other end of the line with his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, replaying our recent Pact interaction in his head and trying to figure out where he missed the changes in our command.
Volkov does not like being behind the curve on anything, especially when it comes to Nikolai.
Internal questions would be lining up one after another. How did you do it? What did you give him? What leverage did you use against him? What aren’t you telling me?
And underneath all of it, the thing he will never voice aloud but wants to know more desperately than the rest, Why her?
Why, of all the leverage points in the world, of all the weaknesses a man like me could have chosen, why her?
Volkov exhales slowly on the other end of the line. When he speaks again, the edges of his voice have dulled, replaced with something colder. “I see. If you come across anything pertaining to Borchin, send it my way. We can discuss a price tag then.”
He ends the call without another word.
I lower the phone slowly, my grip loosening as I set it face-down on the desk. For a moment, my gaze drifts instead to the window and beyond where the lights of my estate cast a wide arch beyond the glass.
Volkov is hunting something.
Men like Borchin are never the end goal. They’re pressure points to a great picture.
That alone tells me everything I need to know.
I have no intention of involving myself.
I’ve spent too long untangling one web, cutting my way free from a fate that was supposed to be inevitable.
I won’t step into another simply because Volkov decided to pull at a thread he never intended on unraveling in the first place.
Whatever he’s chasing, he can chase it without me.
Some wars are worth fighting, but this one certainly isn’t mine to clean up.
A knock sounds at my door just as my attention starts to drift.
The handle turns slowly before I answer, the door opening just enough to reveal Alina standing on the other side. The hall light spills around her silhouette, catching in her hair and outlining the gentle curve of her shoulders.
The tight coil in my chest eases the second I see her.
“Ready for bed?” she asks, one hand still wrapped around the handle.
I don’t hesitate. I push back from my desk, papers forgotten where they lie, and cross the room in a few long strides. The closer I get, the more her presence drowns everything else out. None of it matters when she’s standing in front of me.
A small smile tugs at her lips when I stop in front of her. She tilts her head back to look up at me, eyes warm and unguarded in a way that still catches me off balance even now. My hands come up instinctively to cup her face. I lean down and press a soft kiss to her mouth.
“For you,” I murmur against her lips, brushing my thumb along her cheek, “always.”
She exhales and melts into my touch. Her hands slide down the front of my shirt, fingers curling around the fabric. “I love hearing you say that.”
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“And you will hear it until I’m no longer breathing,” I tell her, my voice steady with a certainty I’ve never given anything else in my life.
She laughs softly. Her eyes sparkle under the low glow of the light behind her, affection and trust shining there without fear or hesitation.
“I look forward to it,” she says, her thumb brushing over my collarbone in a small, absent gesture that somehow means everything.
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the warmth of her mouth and the way she fits against me like she was always meant to be here. For once, I don’t think about tomorrow, or politics, or men like me who move in the shadows of Russia’s underbelly.
There is only this, and that is all I will ever need.