Chapter 38 Dimitri
DIMITRI
The headlights cut through the darkness as I navigate the winding road toward the abandoned monastery. In the passenger seat, Alina sits rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I can see her knuckles turning white even in the dim glow from the dashboard.
Behind us, two SUVs follow at a careful distance. Alexei leads one team, Borge the other. My best men, armed and ready. But they have strict orders to stay back unless I give the signal. Mikhail will be watching for any sign of a trap.
The monastery appears on the hilltop ahead, its ancient stone walls silhouetted against the night sky. Even crumbling and abandoned, it's imposing. The perfect location for a meeting like this. Isolated. Dramatic. Exactly Mikhail's style.
I pull off the main road onto the narrow path leading up the hill. The SUV bounces over ruts and stones, and I hear Alina's sharp intake of breath.
"We're almost there," I say, my voice low. "Remember the plan."
She nods without looking at me. "Stay close. Don't speak unless spoken to. If you give the signal, run."
"Good." I reach over and squeeze her hand briefly. Her fingers are ice cold. "Alina, look at me."
She turns, and in the darkness, her green eyes are wide with fear. But there's steel underneath. This woman who killed her own father, who faced down armed men to save her sister, who married me knowing exactly what kind of monster I am.
"You don't have to do this," I tell her. "I can still turn around. Take you back to the estate where you'll be safe."
"No." Her voice is firm. "We finish this together. That's what we agreed."
I want to tell her what I realized last night as I watched her sleep.
That somewhere between the burning church and this moment, between her pulling a gun on me and her standing beside me at our wedding, I fell in love with her.
Completely. Irrevocably. In a way that terrifies me because it makes me vulnerable in ways I've never been before.
But the words stick in my throat. Men like me don't get to say such things, don't get to have such weaknesses. Love is a luxury I can't afford, especially not tonight.
So instead, I lift her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. "Stay close to me. No matter what happens."
"I will."
I release her hand and continue up the hill. The monastery looms larger with each passing second. As we round the final curve, I see the courtyard lit by torches. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the ancient stones, creating an almost medieval atmosphere.
And there, in the center of it all, stands Mikhail Volkov.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. Five years. Five years since I watched them lower his casket into the ground. Five years of believing he was dead, of carrying the guilt of his supposed death. And all that time, he was alive. Planning. Waiting.
I park the SUV and kill the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just sit there, staring at the man who's orchestrated so much destruction.
Mikhail looks exactly as he did in the video.
Silver hair perfectly styled despite the late hour.
Expensive suit that probably costs more than most people make in a month.
Cold blue eyes that hold intelligence and cruelty in equal measure.
He's flanked by at least a dozen armed men, all of them watching us with predatory interest.
"Ready?" I ask Alina.
She takes a deep breath and nods.
We exit the vehicle together. The night air is cool, carrying the scent of old stone and burning pitch from the torches.
I keep my hand on Alina's lower back as we walk toward Mikhail, feeling the slight tremor running through her body.
She's terrified, but she's not showing it. Her spine is straight, her chin lifted.
Pride swells in my chest. My wife. My partner.
Mikhail's smile widens as we approach. "Dimitri. It's been too long, old friend." His Russian accent is smooth, cultured. He switches to English, probably for Alina's benefit. "And you brought your bride. How romantic."
I don't respond to the jab. I just keep walking until we're about ten feet away, close enough to talk but far enough to react if his men make a move.
Mikhail circles us slowly, like a predator assessing prey. His eyes linger on Alina, traveling over her body in a way that makes my jaw clench. "She's even more beautiful up close. Those green eyes. That red hair. I can see why you were so quick to claim her after poor Sergei's unfortunate death."
"Get to the point, Mikhail." My voice is cold, controlled. "What do you want?"
He stops circling and faces me directly. "Straight to business. You've changed, Dima. The young man I knew would have at least exchanged pleasantries first. Five years in a grave does that to a person, I suppose. Makes you appreciate the value of time."
"You were never in a grave."
"No." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "But you thought I was. You mourned me. Attended my funeral. Shed tears over my casket. That must have been quite the performance, considering you're the one who put me in prison."
The accusation hangs in the air between us. I don't deny it. Can't deny it. "You were making moves that would have brought federal attention down on all of us. You were willing to sacrifice the entire Bratva structure for your own ambition."
"And you were willing to sacrifice your brother to preserve it." Mikhail's voice hardens. "We were family, Dimitri. Closer than blood. And you betrayed me."
"You betrayed yourself." I keep my tone level, refusing to be drawn into an emotional argument. "You knew the rules. You broke them. I did what had to be done."
Mikhail laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Always so righteous. So certain of your moral superiority. Tell me, Dima, how does it feel to stand on that high ground you've built from the bodies of everyone who trusted you?"
I feel Alina shift slightly beside me, and I press my hand more firmly against her back. A silent reminder to stay calm, stay quiet.
"You didn't bring me here to rehash the past," I say. "You want something. So tell me what it is, and let's end this."
Mikhail's expression shifts, becomes more businesslike.
"You're right. The past is the past. What matters now is the future.
" He spreads his hands in a gesture that's almost magnanimous.
"I want what you took from me, Dimitri. My territory.
My businesses. My reputation. Everything you built on the foundation I laid. "
"That's not going to happen."
"Hear me out." He starts pacing, his expensive shoes crunching on the gravel.
"I'm willing to be reasonable. I'll call off the war between the families.
I'll provide evidence clearing you of the Kozlov murders.
I'll even disappear again, let you keep your life, your freedom.
All you have to do is step down as head of the Morozov family and hand over control to me. "
I study his face, looking for the trap. Because there's always a trap with Mikhail. "That's it? I just walk away, and you let me live?"
"Well." His smile returns, sharper now. "There is one more thing."
The way he says it makes me instantly alert.
"I want her." Mikhail's eyes lock on Alina. "Your beautiful bride. Not permanently, of course. Just for one night. To prove that you've truly surrendered. That you understand the price of betrayal."
The world narrows to a single point. Mikhail's face. His cold smile. The casual way he's just demanded my wife like she's a piece of property to be traded.
Rage burns through my veins like acid, but I force it down, force myself to stay calm, to think strategically. This is what he wants. He wants me to lose control, to react emotionally. To prove that I've grown weak.
I feel Alina go rigid beside me. Her trembling has stopped, replaced by something else. Something harder.
"No," I say, my voice flat and absolute.
Mikhail's eyebrows rise. "No? Just like that? You're not even going to consider it?"
"There's nothing to consider." I pull Alina closer, making my claim clear. "She's my wife. She's not part of any negotiation."
"How touching." Mikhail's smile widens. "You've really have gone soft, haven't you? The Dimitri I knew would have understood that everything has a price. Everyone can be traded."
"Then you didn't know me as well as you thought."
"Oh, I think I knew you perfectly." Mikhail takes a step closer, and I see his men tense, ready to move. "I knew you were ambitious. Ruthless. Willing to sacrifice anything for power. That's why I chose you as my successor. That's why your betrayal cut so deep."
"I was never going to be your successor." I keep my voice steady. "I was going to be your puppet. There's a difference."
Mikhail's mask slips for just a moment, and I see the rage underneath, the wounded pride. Then it's back in place, smooth and controlled.
"Last chance, Dima." His voice drops, becomes almost gentle.
"Give me what I want, and this ends peacefully.
Refuse, and I'll take everything from you.
Your territory. Your reputation. Your life.
And yes, your pretty little wife. I'll take her too, but it won't be for just one night.
It will be for as long as I want. And you'll be dead, so you won't be able to stop me. "
The threat is clear. Absolute. And I know he means every word.
I'm about to respond, about to tell him exactly what he can do with his demands, when Alina moves.
She steps forward, pulling away from my protective hand, and before I can stop her, before I can even process what's happening, her palm connects with Mikhail's face in a sharp, ringing slap.
The sound echoes across the courtyard like a gunshot.
Mikhail's head snaps to the side. His men raise their weapons. The world seems to freeze for a heartbeat.
Then Alina speaks, her voice steady and cold as winter ice. "I'd rather die than let you touch me."