Chapter Twenty-Seven Vladimir
I linger outside the bedroom longer than necessary, listening. I encouraged Anya to take a bath, hoping the heat and the quiet would help her unwind after everything she’d been told tonight. Too much truth. Too much legacy. Anyone would need time to breathe after that.
I step inside quietly. The bedroom is empty, the lamp on low. The air smells faintly of lavender and something brighter—bergamot, maybe. Calm, deliberate choices. Very Anya. I pause, listening for the sound of water, a splash, her voice. There’s nothing.
A flicker of concern settles in my chest.
“Anya?” I call softly.
No answer.
I move to the bathroom and push the door open. Steam rolls out, warm and heavy. She’s in the tub, sunk low, tendrils of blonde hair damp against her cheeks, her head tipped slightly to the side. Her eyes are closed, lashes resting on flushed skin. Her breathing is slow, even.
Asleep.
Relief comes first, then worry. The water has cooled some, and she’s been in there too long. I kneel beside the tub and touch her shoulder. Warm. She stirs faintly but doesn’t wake.
“It’s all right,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
I slide one arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lift her carefully from the bath.
Water streams down her skin and onto the tile.
I keep my focus where it belongs—on balance, on safety—but I can’t entirely ignore the reality of her body in my arms. Her skin is impossibly soft, her muscles firm beneath it.
Strength earned through discipline and pain, not vanity.
A dancer’s strength.
I wrap her in a towel and dry her off slowly, methodically, careful to remain respectful. Still, every brush of my hands reminds me how close she is, how easily lines could blur if I allowed them to. I do not allow it.
I ease my clean t-shirt over her head. It hangs loose on her, the fabric nearly swallowing her frame. She murmurs something unintelligible and leans slightly toward me. For a moment, I go very still.
Control, Vladimir.
I carry her into the bedroom and lay her gently on the mattress, pulling back the covers and tucking her in. When I turn to leave, she reaches up and grabs my hand.
“Don’t leave,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be alone. Will you lie with me?”
I stare down at her and consider her request. She is so vulnerable. A wave of possessiveness washes over me. I want nothing more than to pull this beautiful angel into my arms and protect her from life. Brushing a loose strand of hair off her face, I smile down at her. “I can stay.”
Moving to the other side of the bed, I strip off my trousers and my dress shirt. Clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, I lower myself to the bed instead of joining her under the covers. Even though all I want is to feel her in my arms, I know what she needs is peace. I’ll give her that.
She turns to watch me undress, and I see the surprise on her face when I don’t slip inside next to her.
However, rather than question me, she closes her eyes and drifts back under.
Her breathing deepens again as I watch her.
The urge to protect her settles heavy and unyielding in my chest—stronger, more dangerous than desire.
I wake before the light fully breaks through the curtains, the room washed in that quiet gray that exists only for a few minutes each morning.
Anya is curled on her side beside me, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, her hair spilled across the sheets.
She’s still wearing my shirt. The sight of it tightens something in my chest I don’t bother fighting.
I study her face—the soft curve of her mouth, the faint crease between her brows even in sleep.
She looks peaceful now, but I know how much anger and hurt she carries beneath the surface.
The urge to shield her from all of it hits me hard and fast. I want this—this quiet, this intimacy—to be permanent.
I want to wake up like this every morning, with her breathing beside me, with the knowledge that she’s safe.
The thought startles me with its certainty.
She shifts, lashes fluttering, and then her eyes open. For a moment, she simply looks at me, curious and unguarded.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, her voice rough with sleep.
I huff a quiet breath. “Because you’re beautiful.”
Color warms her cheeks before confusion takes over. “What… happened last night?”
“You fell asleep in the bath,” I say gently. “I found you there. I brought you to bed.”
Her brows knit together as memory filters back in. “You carried me?”
“Yes.”
“And dressed me?” she presses.
“My shirt,” I clarify. “Nothing more.”
She studies my face as if weighing whether to believe me, then exhales. “How am I feeling?” she asks, answering my unspoken question. “Angry. Still. Furious, actually.”
“At your father.”
“At everything,” she says sharply. “At the Bratva. At what he’s doing to Alexi. At what he’s done to me—my whole life.” Her jaw tightens. “I don’t want this future he’s planned.”
I reach out, brushing my thumb lightly over her knuckles. “I may have a solution,” I say carefully. “One that protects you. And Alexi.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You do?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” I hold her eyes. “I won’t let either of you be destroyed by this.”
The silence stretches—then she leans forward suddenly and kisses me.
It’s impulsive, unguarded. Surprise lasts only a heartbeat before instinct takes over. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding to her waist, the world narrowing to the warmth of her mouth and the certainty of her choice.
The door slams open.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Alexi’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
Anya pulls back, turning toward her brother, fury flashing. “Don’t you dare,” she snaps. “He didn’t take advantage of me. He protected me.”
Alexi’s glare shifts to me, dangerous and unyielding.
I release Anya and stand. “We’ll talk,” I say evenly. “All of us. Over breakfast.”
I grab my things and head for the door. “I’m taking a shower.”
As I leave them behind, I already know—nothing is going to stay simple from here on out.
The room service cart sits between us like a neutral party—silver domes, the smell of strong coffee, eggs, bread still warm.
Dominic pours coffee without comment, watching everything with the quiet awareness of a man who knows when to stay out of the line of fire.
Anya sits beside Alexi, shoulders tense, chin lifted in defiance. Alexi hasn’t touched his food.
His attention is fixed on me.
“You,” he says flatly. “Tell me exactly what your intentions are toward my sister.”
The question is sharp, protective, and entirely expected. I set my cup down with deliberate care and meet his gaze without flinching.
“I care for Anya,” I say. “More than I want.” I glance at her briefly before returning my attention to him. “And I intend to protect her.”
Anya’s breath catches softly. Alexi’s jaw tightens.
“Protect her how?” he demands. “Because from where I’m sitting—”
“Alexi,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “Before you start interrogating me, let me finish.”
He looks ready to argue, but something in my tone gives him pause.
“Anya is being positioned like a bargaining chip,” I continue calmly. “Marriage as leverage. Power consolidated through her body and her obedience. I won’t allow that.”
Anya’s hand curls into a fist on the table.
“So what’s your plan?” Alexi asks coldly.
I lean back slightly, giving myself room, then lay it out cleanly. “You reclaim your birthright.”
The room goes still.
Dominic’s brow lifts. Anya turns fully toward her brother. Alexi lets out a harsh, incredulous laugh.
“No,” he says immediately. “Absolutely not. We already talked about this. I will not be part of the Bratva. I won’t touch human trafficking. Ever.”
“And you wouldn’t have to,” I say evenly.
“That’s not how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works—if you’re the one in charge.”
His eyes snap back to mine.
“You think it’s that simple?”
“No,” I reply. “I think it’s brutal. Dangerous. And necessary.”
He shakes his head. “You’re asking me to become the very thing I despise.”
“I’m asking you to become the man who can end it,” I counter. “You’ve seen what your father has built. You know where the rot is. From the outside, you can scream all you want. From the top, you can cut it out.”
“That empire runs on trafficking,” Alexi snaps. “On drugs. On blood.”
“And it doesn’t have to,” I say firmly. “Not all of it. You take control, you dismantle the trafficking networks first. Quietly. Systematically. You redirect operations, starve the pipelines, make it unprofitable. I’ll help you.”
His eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because I have resources you don’t,” I answer. “And because Anya matters to me. Because you matter to her. And because no one should be forced to wear their father’s sins like chains.”
Anya’s gaze burns into mine—hope and fear tangled together.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” I add, softer now. “Not in the decisions. Not in the fallout. I’ll stand with you. Dominic will. Others, too, once the balance shifts.”
Alexi exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re talking about taking on monsters.”
“I know,” I say. “I’ve fought worse.”
Silence stretches across the table. Alexi doesn’t argue this time. Instead, he stares into his untouched coffee, his mind clearly racing. I see it—the hesitation, yes, but also the spark. The possibility.
He’s considering it.
That’s when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps on the door.
All four of us freeze.
I rise and open the door to find a man in plain clothes with two uniformed officers behind him.
“Vladimir Zoloth?” the man asks.
I nod. “May I help you?”
“Good morning,” he says, holding up his identification.
“Senior Investigator Ivanov. Investigative Committee of the Russian Federation. I have some questions for you regarding an altercation last evening between you and three of our citizens. Oleg Petrov, Pavel Nazarov, and Artem Sorokin. May I come in?”
I glance behind me to find Alexi has left the room, taking his plate and coffee cup with him. Stepping back, I gesture for them to enter. After I make the introductions, Anya tosses her napkin onto the table and stands.
“If you’ve come to harass Mr. Zoloth, you should know that those three attempted to rape me last night. Mr. Zoloth and Mr. Stoya stopped them.”
Investigator Ivanov's only reaction is a long blink. “I’m not here to arrest Mr. Zoloth for protecting you; however, I do need to ask him and you some questions about last night. You see, we found the bodies of those three men inside Mr. Nazarov’s nightclub this morning.
They were murdered. I need to know where you were from midnight to six this morning. ”