Love and survival shouldn't be at war like this. But they are. And I don't know which one is winning.
I glare up at him, tilting my head to the side. "So, what happens now?"
He doesn't answer right away. His golden eyes meet mine steadily and I can practically see the questions running through his mind. He has a duty, an image to keep as a Pakhan. Maybe he doesn't want me dead any longer, but how can he keep me alive and not look like a weak Mob boss?
He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, footsteps gain our attention. We turn to see Danil hurrying toward us. Well, he's hurrying as much as he can through the snow. When he finally reaches us, he's puffing white clouds through his mouth and nose, his big chest expanding as he catches his breath.
"Some undercover older FBI guy is snooping around the cabin."
30
ALEKSANDR
The transformation happens without conscious thought. My spine straightens, shoulders squaring as muscle memory takes over. The uncertainty that plagued me for weeks evaporates like morning fog under harsh sunlight. I know exactly who I am now. What I am.
Aleksandr Romanov. Pakhan of the Romanov Bratva.
And the woman standing in front of me, shaking with cold and fear in her nightgown and boots, belongs to me, whether she accepts it or not.
"Danil." My voice comes out cold, commanding. The voice that makes grown men flinch. "Secure the perimeter. Make sure Davis doesn't have backup."
Danil's eyes widen slightly at my tone, then something like relief crosses his face. His Pakhan is back. "Da." He hands me a gun, which I take without even conscious thought, then melts into the darkness, moving with the silent efficiency of a predator.
I turn my attention to Maya—Lena—who's still clutching that pathetic duffel bag like it's a lifeline. Her dark blue eyes are wide, terrified, and something in my chest twists at the sight.
"Inside." I gesture toward the cabin. "Now."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." Her voice shakes, but there's steel underneath. Good. I've always respected courage, even when it's foolish.
"You're standing in the snow in a nightgown." I let my gaze travel down her body, noting how the thin fabric clings to her curves, the shadow of her legs showing through the weather-damp material. "You'll freeze to death in ten minutes. Is that really how you want this to end?"
She glances toward the tree line, calculating. I can see the wheels turning in her head, weighing her chances of escape against the reality of the situation.
"Don't." The single word carries enough weight to stop her mid-thought. "You won't make it fifty yards before hypothermia sets in. And I will catch you."
"To finish what you started?" The bitterness in her voice cuts deeper than it should.
I close the distance between us in two strides, my hand finding her elbow. Not rough, but absolutely certain. She tries to jerk away, but I'm already guiding her back toward the cabin. Her body shivers violently against my side, and I can feel the cold radiating off her skin even through my shirt and her jacket.
John Davis stands on the porch, his weathered face carefully neutral. But I see the way his hand rests near his hip,the instinctive reach for a weapon that's probably not there anymore. Old habits.
"Everything all right out here?" His hazel eyes move between Lena and me, reading the situation with the practiced ease of a man who spent decades in law enforcement.
"Just fine." I keep my voice pleasant and easy, the mask I've worn a thousand times when dealing with people who need to believe I'm reasonable. "My girlfriend gets restless at night. Sleepwalking."
Lena stiffens beside me, but she's smart enough not to contradict me. Not yet, anyway.
John's gaze lingers on her face, on the fear she's trying to hide. "That so, Maya?"
I feel her hesitate, the war playing out behind those midnight blue eyes. She could scream for help, could tell this retired cop exactly who I am and what I've done. But she also knows that would sign his death warrant.
"I'm fine, John." Her voice is steadier than I expected. "Just needed some air."
"In a nightgown? In this weather?" He doesn't believe her. Smart man.
"I told you." I inject just enough edge into my tone to remind him he's on my property, in my space. "Sleepwalking. It's a condition she's had since childhood. Stress makes it worse."
John's jaw tightens. He knows I'm lying. Knows something is very wrong here. But he's also alone, unarmed, and facing a man he probably recognizes from old case files.