Chapter 30 - Dimitri
DIMITRI
The silver Mercedes gleams in the early morning light like a bad omen. My hand moves instinctively to the Glock at my hip, fingers closing around the grip as I process what I'm seeing. Irina Popov's car. Here. At my estate.
Beside me, Alina goes rigid. I feel the tension radiating from her body, see her hands curl into fists at her sides. The exhaustion that had softened her features moments ago vanishes, replaced by something harder. Colder.
"Get Katya inside," I order into my comm, my voice low and controlled. "Back entrance. Keep her away from the main house until I give the all-clear."
"Copy that, Pakhan." Borge's response is immediate. He comes to the car and carefully lifts Katya, still sleeping, out of the car and takes her to his vehicle. Through the rearview mirror, I watch as he and two other men peel off from our convoy, taking Alina's sister around the side of the estate.
Alina's breathing has changed. Shallow. Quick. I recognize the signs of an impending panic attack. I've seen enough of them in my years to know.
"Look at me." I turn in my seat, cupping her face with one hand. Her green eyes are wide, pupils dilated. "Breathe, Alina. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
She obeys, her chest rising and falling in a more controlled rhythm. Some of the color returns to her pale cheeks.
"I don't want to see her," she whispers. "I can't. Not after everything."
"You don't have to." I stroke my thumb across her cheekbone, feeling the delicate bone structure beneath soft skin. "I can handle this. You can go upstairs, be with Katya."
She closes her eyes for a moment, and I watch the war play out across her features. The girl who wants to hide, to avoid confrontation. And the woman she's becoming, the one who faced down her father and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
When her eyes open again, they're clear. Determined.
"No. She's my mother. I need to do this."
Pride swells in my chest, unexpected and fierce. This woman. My wife. She's stronger than she knows.
We exit the SUV together, and I keep my hand on the small of her back as we walk toward the main entrance.
My men are already positioned around the property, weapons visible.
They know the threat level has just escalated.
A visit from Irina Popov, widow of the man Alina killed, is never just a social call.
The front door opens before we reach it. A maid stands in the doorway. Her face is carefully neutral, but I see the tension in her shoulders.
"She's in the main sitting room, Pakhan. She arrived twenty minutes ago and insisted on waiting."
"Did she come alone?"
"Yes, sir. No security detail that we could see."
That's interesting. And suspicious. Women like Irina Popov don't travel without protection, especially not in the current climate. Which means either she's incredibly foolish, or she's making a statement.
I nod to the maid and guide Alina through the foyer. The house is quiet, most of the staff having retreated to give us privacy. Smart. Whatever happens in the next few minutes, the fewer witnesses, the better.
The sitting room is one of the few spaces in this house that feels lived in. Comfortable leather furniture, a fireplace that actually gets used, bookshelves lined with volumes I've actually read. It's where I come when I need to think, to plan, to remember that I'm more than just the Pakhan.
Irina Popov sits in my favorite chair, a delicate teacup balanced on her knee.
She's dressed impeccably in a black Chanel suit, her blonde hair styled in a perfect chignon.
Mourning clothes, but expensive ones. Her makeup is flawless, though I can see the redness around her eyes that suggests recent tears.
She stands when we enter, setting the teacup down with a soft click of porcelain against porcelain. Her movements are graceful, practiced. A lifetime of playing the perfect Bratva wife.
"Alina." Her voice is warm, maternal. She moves forward with her arms outstretched. "Oh, my darling girl."
Alina stiffens as her mother embraces her, but she doesn't pull away.
Not immediately. I watch the interaction carefully, cataloging every detail.
The way Irina's hands grip Alina's shoulders just a fraction too tightly.
The way her eyes, when they meet mine over Alina's shoulder, are calculating rather than grief-stricken.
This woman is dangerous. Not in the way Viktor was, with his ambition and his willingness to sacrifice anything for power. Irina's danger is subtler. She's a survivor, someone who's learned to navigate the Bratva world by being exactly what men expect her to be.
Until she's not.
Alina pulls back first, putting distance between herself and her mother. "What are you doing here, Mama?"
Irina's smile is sad, understanding. "I heard about your father. About the tragedy at the factory." She dabs at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, though I don't see any actual tears. "I needed to see you. To make sure you were safe."
"Safe." Alina's voice is flat. "You're worried about my safety now?"
"Of course I am. You're my daughter."
I move to stand beside Alina, close enough that our shoulders brush. A united front. Irina's eyes flick to me, and I see her taking in the details. The way I'm positioned protectively. The possessive hand I place on Alina's lower back.
"Mrs. Popov." I keep my voice neutral, professional. "This is unexpected."
"I'm sure it is." She returns to her seat, crossing her legs elegantly. "But surely, you can understand a mother's need to see her child after such traumatic events."
"Traumatic events that your husband orchestrated," Alina says. Her voice is stronger now, steadier. "Events that nearly got me and Katya killed."
Irina's mask slips for just a fraction of a second. I see it in the tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers clench on the handkerchief. Then it's back in place, smooth and perfect.
"Your father made difficult choices," she says carefully. "Choices he believed were necessary to protect our family."
"Protect?" Alina's laugh is bitter. "He sold me to the Kozlovs. He tried to have me killed. He was going to kill Katya."
"You don't understand the pressures he was under. The threats we faced."
I watch this exchange with growing certainty. Irina knew. Maybe not every detail of Viktor's plans, but she knew enough. She knew about the alliance with the Kozlovs. She knew about the church attack. And she did nothing to stop it.
"Did you know?" Alina asks, and I hear the pain underneath the anger, the desperate hope that her mother will deny it, will prove that at least one parent loved her. "Did you know what Papa was planning?"
Irina's silence is answer enough.
"Mama." Alina's voice breaks. "Did you know about Sergei? About the church?"
"I knew your father was making arrangements." Irina's voice is defensive now. "I knew he was working with other families to secure our position. But I didn't know the specifics. He never told me the specifics."
"Because you didn't want to know." I speak for the first time since we sat down, and both women turn to look at me. "You knew enough to understand what was happening, but you chose not to ask questions. Plausible deniability."
Irina's eyes narrow. "You have no right to judge me, Mr. Morozov. You, who built an empire on blood and violence. You, who kidnapped my daughter and forced her into marriage."
"I saved your daughter's life." My voice is cold, controlled. "While you stood by and let your husband sell her to his enemies."
"Viktor was protecting our family!"
"Viktor was protecting himself." Alina stands abruptly, her hands shaking. "He didn't care about us. He never cared about us. And you let him do it. You stood by and watched while he destroyed everything."
Irina rises as well, her composure cracking. "What was I supposed to do? Defy him? You have no idea what it's like, being married to a man like Viktor. The things I had to endure, the compromises I had to make."
"You could have protected us." Tears stream down Alina's face now, and I resist the urge to pull her into my arms. She needs to do this, needs to confront her mother. "You could have warned me. You could have taken Katya and run. You could have done something."
"And where would we have gone?" Irina's voice rises. "You think there's anywhere in this world where Viktor couldn't have found us? You think any of the families would have protected us against him?"
"Dimitri would have."
The words hang in the air between them. Irina's gaze shifts to me, assessing. I see her taking in the way I'm watching Alina, the protective stance I can't quite hide. The dragon tattoo on my neck seems to pulse with each heartbeat.
"Yes," Irina says slowly. "I suppose he would have. You've made quite an impression on him, haven't you?"
There's something in her tone that makes my jaw clench. An implication. A suggestion that Alina has used her beauty, her body, to manipulate me. It's insulting to both of us.
"Your daughter is remarkable," I say, my voice hard. "She's survived everything thrown at her with more courage and strength than most of my soldiers. She's earned her place here."
"Her place." Irina's smile is cold. "As your wife. Your property."
"As my partner." The correction is sharp. "As someone I respect and value."
Alina looks at me, surprise flickering across her features. We haven't talked about what we are to each other, haven't defined this thing growing between us. But I mean every word.
Irina sees it too. I watch her recalculate, adjust her strategy. She's a survivor, and survivors know when to change tactics.
"I'm glad you care for her," she says, her voice softening.
"Truly. Alina deserves someone who will protect her.
But you need to understand what you've gotten yourself into.
Viktor had enemies, yes, but he also had allies.
Families who benefited from his arrangements.
They won't accept his death lying down."
"Is that a threat?" I ask.
"It's a warning." Irina moves toward the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "The Bratva doesn't forgive easily. Viktor's death has created a power vacuum, and nature abhors a vacuum. There will be consequences."
Alina follows her mother to the door, and I trail behind them both. In the foyer, Irina pauses and turns back to her daughter.
"I know you hate me right now," she says quietly. "I know you think I should have done more. Maybe you're right. But I did what I had to do to survive. Just like you're doing now."
"We're nothing alike." Alina's voice is steady, final. "I would never sacrifice my children for my own comfort."
Irina flinches as if she's been slapped. For a moment, I see genuine pain in her eyes. Then the mask is back, perfect and impenetrable.
"You say that now," she says. "But wait until you have children of your own. Wait until you're faced with impossible choices. Then we'll see how different we really are."
She opens the door herself, not waiting for one of my men to do it. But before she steps through, she looks back one final time. Her gaze moves between Alina and me, and I see something calculating in her expression.
"The other families won't accept this marriage," she says, her voice carrying clearly in the quiet foyer.
"They'll see it as a power grab by Dimitri, an attempt to consolidate Viktor's territory with his own.
They'll view Alina as a traitor to her father's memory.
" She pauses, letting the words sink in.
"War is coming, whether you want it or not.
And when it does, you'll both have to decide what you're willing to sacrifice to survive. "