Chapter 48 Dimitri
DIMITRI
Istare at the photograph of Katya, my hands trembling with a rage so pure it threatens to consume me. The image shows her walking across campus, completely unaware that someone was watching, hunting. The note mocks me with its simplicity. Pretty girl. Would be a shame if something happened to her.
"Cancel it." My voice is steel. "Cancel the gala. Pull Katya from school immediately and shut down the estate."
Alina's hand covers mine, warm and steady. "That's exactly what he wants."
I turn to her, seeing the fear in her green eyes that she's trying so hard to hide. "He threatened your sister."
"I know." Her voice doesn't quaver. "And if we react out of fear, if we hide and cancel and show weakness, he wins. Every neutral family will see that Ivan Volkov can make us run scared with a single photograph."
"I don't care what they see." I pull her closer, my hand instinctively moving to her stomach where our child grows. "I care about keeping you safe. Keeping Katya safe."
"We will be safe." She cups my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. "But we do it smart. We pull Katya from school right now, bring her here, surround her with guards. The gala goes forward. We show strength, not fear."
Alexei clears his throat from the doorway. "She's right, Boss. Running now makes us look weak. But we can make the gala the most secure event this city has ever seen."
I want to argue. Every instinct screams at me to gather everyone I love, lock them away, and paint the streets red with Ivan Volkov's blood.
"Fine." I release her, already moving toward my phone. "But Katya doesn't leave this estate until Ivan is dealt with. And you…" I turn back to Alina, my voice dropping. "You don't leave my sight for a single second tonight."
She smiles, and despite everything, it makes my heart stutter. "I wouldn't dream of it."
The Grand Marquis Hotel rises above downtown like a monument to old money and older secrets. I've held meetings here before, made deals in its private rooms, but tonight it serves a different purpose. Tonight, it's a stage.
My security team has swept the building three times. Every entrance is monitored. Every guest will be screened. Snipers are positioned on surrounding rooftops. If Ivan Volkov wants to make a move, he'll have to do it in front of witnesses, in front of the entire Bratva hierarchy.
I adjust my tie in the car's rearview mirror, but my eyes keep drifting to Alina beside me.
She's devastating in an emerald gown that clings to her curves and matches her eyes perfectly.
Her red hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck.
The dragonfly tattoo on her wrist peeks out from beneath her bracelet.
"You're staring," she says softly, a smile playing at her lips.
"I'm memorizing." I take her hand, bringing it to my lips. "In case I need to kill someone tonight and want to remember something beautiful first."
She laughs, but there's tension in it. "Try not to kill anyone at our charity gala. It sends the wrong message."
"No promises."
The car stops at the entrance. Cameras flash as we emerge. I keep Alina close, my hand at the small of her back as we navigate the red carpet. Reporters shout questions. I ignore them all, focused entirely on getting her inside safely.
The ballroom is magnificent. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over hundreds of guests in evening wear. A string quartet plays in the corner. Champagne flows freely. To anyone outside our world, this looks like any other high society event. But I see the truth beneath the polish.
Every major Bratva family is represented here.
The Kozlovs are gone, destroyed. The Popovs are scattered, leaderless.
But the others remain, watching, calculating, deciding which side of history they want to be on.
The neutral families cluster together, their body language cautious.
They're here because refusing the invitation would have been an insult, but they haven't committed to supporting my leadership.
Not yet.
"Breathe," Alina whispers, her hand tightening on my arm. "You look like you're about to start a war."
"I'm always about to start a war. It's my natural state."
She laughs again, and this time it's genuine. Several heads turn at the sound. Good. Let them see her happy, confident, unafraid. Let them see that the Morozov family is strong.
I work the room methodically, Alina at my side.
We move from group to group, making small talk that carries larger meanings.
I discuss business opportunities with the Petrov family, hint at territorial arrangements with the Sokolovs, and carefully probe the Romanovs about their stance on the proposed reforms.
Alina is perfect. She charms the wives, asks intelligent questions, and subtly reinforces our message—the old ways are dying, and those who adapt will prosper.
I watch her laugh at something Alexei's wife says, watch her touch an older woman's arm with genuine warmth, and I'm struck again by how completely she's transformed my world.
Six months ago, she was a terrified bride at a doomed wedding. Now she's a force of nature in an emerald gown, reshaping the Bratva with nothing but intelligence and courage.
I'm so focused on her that I almost miss the shift in the room's energy. Conversations falter. Heads turn toward the entrance. The string quartet plays on, oblivious, but everyone else has gone still.
Ivan Volkov has arrived.
He wasn't invited. His name was specifically excluded from the guest list. But here he stands in the doorway, silver hair gleaming, blue eyes cold as a winter sky, wearing a smile that promises violence.
My hand moves instinctively toward my weapon, but Alina's fingers close around my wrist. "Not here," she breathes. "Not like this."
She's right. Starting a gunfight in a room full of neutral families wouldn’t aid our goals. So I force myself to relax, to smile, to play the gracious host as Ivan crosses the ballroom toward us.
The crowd parts for him. Some faces show fear, others calculation. The neutral families watch with intense interest, waiting to see how this confrontation plays out.
Ivan stops in front of us, his smile never wavering. "Dimitri. How wonderful to see you." His English is perfect, barely accented. "And the lovely Alina. Marriage clearly agrees with you both."
"Ivan." I keep my voice neutral. "I don't recall your name on the guest list."
"An oversight, surely." He gestures around the ballroom. "Such a magnificent event. A celebration of new beginnings, I understand. How… optimistic."
Alina's hand tightens on my arm, but her voice is steady. "We believe in building rather than destroying. Perhaps you should try it sometime."
Ivan's eyes flicker to her, and I see something dangerous move behind them.
"Ah, yes. The reformer. I've heard so much about your speeches, your ideas about changing our world.
" He steps closer, lowering his voice so only we can hear.
"Tell me, does your husband know how many enemies you've made with that pretty mouth? "
"Careful." The word comes out as a growl.
"Or what?" Ivan's smile widens. "You'll kill me here, in front of everyone? Please, Dimitri. We both know you're trying to appear civilized now. Domesticated." His gaze drops to Alina's stomach. "Congratulations on the pregnancy, by the way. A child is such a blessing. So fragile. So vulnerable."
The threat is clear. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to strike. I could kill him in three seconds. Snap his neck before his guards could react. But Alina's presence beside me, the weight of all those watching eyes, holds me back.
"You should leave," I say quietly. "While you still can."
"Should I?" Ivan looks around the ballroom, making sure everyone is watching.
"But I've only just arrived. And I have so much to say.
" He raises his voice, addressing the room.
"I want to congratulate the happy couple.
Dimitri Morozov and his beautiful bride, building their little empire on the ashes of tradition. How romantic."
The room has gone completely silent. Even the string quartet has stopped playing.
"Everyone knows what you're doing," Ivan continues, his voice carrying to every corner. "Weakening us with talk of reform and equality. Destroying everything our fathers built. And why? Because you've fallen in love." He spits the last word like a curse. "Because you've let a woman make you soft."
I start to move, but Alina steps forward first.
"You're right," she says clearly, her voice ringing through the ballroom. "Dimitri has changed. We both have. But not because of weakness."
"Pretty words." Ivan's smile turns cruel. "But words won't protect you when—"
"Everyone in this room knows who you are, Ivan.
" Alina cuts him off, her green eyes blazing.
"You're Mikhail Volkov's cousin. You're trying to finish what he started.
You're using the same tactics, the same manipulation, the same threats.
" She pauses, letting her words sink in. "And you'll fail just like he did."
The silence that follows is absolute. Ivan's mask drops, revealing the monster beneath. His face contorts with rage, his hand moving toward his jacket.
My own hand is already on my weapon, but Ivan doesn't draw. Instead, he leans close to Alina, his voice low and venomous.
"You just signed your own death warrant, little girl. Enjoy the rest of your evening. It may be your last."