Chapter 6 Dimitri
DIMITRI
Iwatch Alina's face as the news broadcast plays, studying every micro-expression, every flicker of emotion that crosses her features.
Her green eyes are fixed on the screen, on her father's tearful performance, and I see the exact moment doubt creeps in.
Her jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the pale skin. Her hands curl into fists on the table.
Good. She's smart enough to question the narrative.
Viktor Popov is a master manipulator. I've known that for years.
But watching him play the grieving father, the desperate man begging for his daughter's safe return, is almost impressive in its audacity.
Almost. The tears are real enough, but I know Viktor.
Those tears aren't for Alina. They're for his ruined plans, his lost alliance, and his damaged reputation.
When the video ends, silence fills the room. Alina stares at the blank screen, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I give her a moment to process, to think. Then I ask the question that needs asking.
"Did you know?" My voice is calm, controlled. "Were you in on the hit with your father?"
Her head snaps toward me, and the genuine shock on her face tells me everything I need to know. Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open in disbelief.
"What?" The word comes out strangled. "You think I... that I would..."
"Answer the question, Alina."
"No!" She stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "No, I didn't know. I didn't know about any of it. How could you even think that?"
The anger in her voice, the outrage, the hurt, it's all real. She's not that good an actress. Relief floods through me, though I don't let it show on my face. I needed to be certain, needed to eliminate that possibility before moving forward.
"I had to ask." I lean back in my chair, studying her.
Even disheveled and exhausted, wearing borrowed clothes with her red hair wild around her face, she's beautiful.
Dangerously so. "Your father is claiming I orchestrated the church attack.
That I murdered Sergei to steal his bride. That I'm holding you prisoner."
"Aren't you?" She crosses her arms over her chest, defensive. "Holding me prisoner?"
"For your protection."
"That's what you keep saying." She laughs, but there's no humor in it.
I stand slowly, moving around the desk toward her. She takes a step back, maintaining distance between us, and I stop. I don't want to crowd her, don't want to make her feel trapped. Not for this conversation.
"I showed you the security footage," I remind her. "You saw the attack. You saw my men die. You saw Sergei fall."
"I saw chaos." Her voice quavers slightly. "I saw people dying."
"Your father's accusation has put us both in an impossible position," I say, choosing my words carefully. "If I return you to him, I look weak. Like I can be pressured and manipulated. The other families will see that as vulnerability, and they'll move against me."
"So, keep me here out of pride?" She shakes her head. "That's insane."
"If I keep you here without explanation, I look guilty of exactly what Viktor is claiming.
" I move to the window, looking out at the darkened grounds.
"The other Bratva families are already choosing sides.
Some believe your father's story. Others are waiting to see how I respond.
A war is brewing, Alina. One that will consume this entire city if we don't stop it. "
I hear her move behind me, her footsteps soft on the carpet. When I glance back, she's closer, her arms still wrapped around herself like armor.
"What does any of that have to do with me?" she asks quietly.
"Everything." I turn to face her fully. "You're the key to all of this. The alliance your marriage to Sergei was supposed to create. The legitimacy it would have brought to both our families. That's all gone now, and the power vacuum it's created is dangerous."
"Sergei is dead." Her voice catches on his name. "There is no alliance."
"There could be." I take a breath, preparing to lay out the plan that's been forming in my mind since I pulled her from that burning church. "There's a third option. One that solves multiple problems at once."
She watches me warily, those green eyes sharp and assessing. "What option?"
"We get married." The words come out blunt, direct. There's no point in dancing around it. "Immediately."
For a moment, she just stares at me. Then she laughs, a harsh sound that has nothing to do with amusement.
"You're insane." She backs away, shaking her head. "You're actually insane."
"I've never been more serious." I follow her, matching her steps. "Think about it, Alina. Your marriage to Sergei was meant to unite our families. If you marry me instead, that alliance is still intact. Stronger, even, because I'm the Pakhan. The head of the family."
"You kidnapped me!" Her voice rises. "You locked me in a room. You took my gun. And now you want me to marry you?"
"I saved your life." I keep my tone level and reasonable. "I pulled you out of that church when you were frozen in shock. I brought you here where you're protected. And yes, I took your gun because you were pointing it at my chest."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. I can see her mind working, processing, trying to find a flaw in my logic.
"It will legitimize your presence in my home," I continue, pressing my advantage.
"No one can claim I'm holding you prisoner if you're my wife.
It consolidates the alliance that Sergei's death threatened.
And it sends a message to the other families that the Morozov family is still in control, still powerful. "
"A message." She laughs again, bitter and sharp. "That's what I am to you? A message?"
"You're more than that." The words come out before I can stop them, and I see surprise flicker across her face. I clear my throat, refocusing. "As my wife, you're untouchable. Protected by my name, my reputation, my resources. No one would dare move against you."
"Except you." She tilts her chin up, defiant. "You could do whatever you wanted with me."
The implication in her words makes something dark and possessive stir in my chest. I push it down, force myself to stay focused on the practical aspects of this arrangement.
"I'm offering you protection, Alina. Safety.
A position of power in a world that would otherwise chew you up and spit you out.
" I move closer, and this time she doesn't back away.
"You have no idea what's waiting for you out there.
How many people want you dead because of who your father is, what he's done.
How many would use you as a pawn to get to me or to him. "
"I can take care of myself." But her voice lacks conviction.
"Can you?" I gesture toward the window, toward the city beyond.
"Your father just painted a target on your back.
Every family that sides with him will see you as a traitor.
Every family that sides with me will see you as leverage.
You're valuable, Alina. Dangerously so. And valuable things in our world don't last long unless they're protected. "
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. I can see her thinking, weighing options, calculating odds. She's smart. She knows I'm right, even if she doesn't want to admit it.
"What about what I want?" she asks finally, her voice small. "Does that matter at all?"
The question catches me off guard. In my world, want is a luxury. Survival is what matters. But looking at her now, at the exhaustion and fear and stubborn strength in her face, I find myself wanting to give her something. Some small piece of control in a situation where she has none.
"Tell me what you want," I say quietly.
She looks up at me, and I see tears gathering in her eyes.
"I want my sister to be safe. I want to know my family survived that church.
I want to go back to yesterday morning when the worst thing I had to worry about was marrying a man I didn't love.
" Her voice breaks. "I want none of this to be real. "
Something in my chest tightens. I've spent so many years building walls, keeping emotion at bay, that I've forgotten what it feels like to want impossible things. But I remember now, looking at her. I remember being young and wanting a world that didn't run on blood and violence.
"I can't give you yesterday," I tell her honestly. "But I can give you safety. I can verify that your family made it out of the church. I can protect your sister. And I can make sure that when you walk out of this house, you do it as someone powerful enough that no one dares touch you."
"As your wife." She says it like a curse.
"As my wife." I don't flinch from the words. “This is the best option for both of us."
She studies my face, searching for something. Truth, maybe. Or lies. I let her look, keeping my expression neutral. I've laid out my case. Now it's up to her.
"I need time to think," she finally says.
"You have until morning." I check my watch. "The families are already mobilizing. Your father is already making moves. We need to act fast, or this opportunity closes."
"Opportunity." She shakes her head. "You make it sound like a business deal."
"In many ways, it is." I won't lie to her about that. "But it's also survival. For both of us."
She moves toward the door, and I don't stop her. She needs space to process, to think. I've given her the information. Now she needs to make her choice.
But before she reaches the door, she turns back. Her green eyes meet mine, and I see something in them that makes my pulse quicken. Not fear. Not anger. Something else. Something I can't quite name.
"No," she says, her voice steady and clear.
The word hangs in the air between us.
"No?" I repeat, certain I've misheard.
"No. I won't marry you." She straightens her shoulders, lifting her chin. "I'll take my chances on my own. I'll figure something out. But I won't trade one prison for another."
Frustration flares hot in my chest. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe." She moves closer, and I catch the scent of jasmine from her hair. "But it's my mistake to make. You say you want to protect me, that you saved my life. But how do I know that's true?" Her eyes narrow. "How do I know you weren't the one who ordered the hit?"