Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
That we’re what I’ve always wanted us to be.
Suddenly, I see the day through an entirely new lens. Is Alina putting on an act with me? Like she did the day she slipped out of that bathroom window after willingly embracing me? Motherfucker… The progress I’ve been making with her, our newfound comradery—is it all in my head? Her reluctant admission that she wants to stay—was that real or an attempt to manipulate me, to get me to lower my guard so she can… what? Run away again when I’m not looking?
She has to know I won’t be that careless again.
No. The more likely possibility is that her brothers are getting ready to do something, and she knows it. Despite my careful monitoring of all her communications, they’ve somehow managed to convey their plan to her, and she’s doing her best to facilitate it… say, by getting us outside into crowded tourist areas, where we’re less protected than at my heavily guarded penthouse.
Fuck.
Blocking out Birgit’s response to Alina’s gushing praise of me, I sweep my gaze over our surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary. Only my men, holding their positions at strategic distances from us. They appear alert, undistracted—exactly as they should be. Back at the penthouse, the rest of the security team is watching us via street cameras and satellites. No one should be able to get a jump on us, no matter how well-trained and well-armed they are… as the Molotovs’ strike team would be.
Still, even once I turn my attention back to the conversation between the two women, the paranoia gnaws hard at me. Because if the Molotovs were going to attempt something, it would be here and now, after Alina got the all-clear but before we went back to Moscow, where my security measures are even stronger.
“—leaving for Thailand soon,” Birgit is saying when I tune back in. “A friend of mine moved to Chiang Mai last year, and she loves the climate, the people, everything. You guys should come visit once I settle in. Lots of Russians there, I hear.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve been several times,” Alina says animatedly. “I love Chiang Mai, and Krabi is straight-up paradise.” She looks up at me. “Alexei, you’ve been there too, right?”
“Yes.” I don’t elaborate. The spot between my shoulder blades is itching as if a sniper’s laser is dancing over it, and I’m not about to ignore the sensation that’s saved my life more than once. I force a reasonably polite smile in Birgit’s direction and loop my arm around Alina’s back. “Nice meeting you, Birgit. We should get going now.”
Before my wife can protest, I guide her away from the crowds.
Paranoia or not, we’re going back to the penthouse, where I can keep her safe.
Chapter 22
Alina
I’m still fuming at Alexei when we enter the penthouse. We were having such a nice outing, and I was just about to get Birgit’s number so we could stay in touch when Alexei abruptly went all cold and dragged me away, not even letting me say goodbye. The only reason I didn’t put up a fight was because I didn’t want Birgit to think that Alexei was abusive to me or whatever it was she initially suspected at the hostel.
In general, she seems to have a low opinion of men, and I don’t want to feed into it. Once things settle down further, I’m hoping to invite her to Moscow for a visit, or to go see her in Thailand, if that’s where she ends up.
For now, though, I need to figure out what happened to have Alexei acting so rudely and—
“Hey.” Ruslan materializes out of the kitchen, causing my pulse to jump. Before I can fully register his grim expression, he says, “It’s over. He’s dead.”
My stomach drops. At my side, Alexei freezes. When he speaks a beat later, his voice is hoarse. “But I spoke to him today. Just hours ago.”
Ruslan nods, his jaw tight. “So did I. He called me from Katya’s phone. I thought she was calling to… you know.”
Alexei stabs his fingers through his hair. “Same.”
I suck in a breath. Their father. They’re talking about Boris Leonov.
He’s dead.
My anger deflates, my grievances suddenly petty in light of Alexei and Ruslan’s loss. And it is a loss, however tense their relationship with their father seemed to be. I can see it on their faces—Alexei’s, especially. The tight set of his shoulders and the emptiness in his gaze speaks volumes to me. Without thinking, I reach over and clasp his hand in both of mine, seeking to alleviate his hurt in any way I can.
His gaze swings to me, but there’s no warmth in it. His hand is stiff in mine, his fingers cold. I squeeze his palm anyway. I know how pain can be so vast it makes you numb, how grief can smother everything, stamping out every emotion until you feel like you are dead yourself. Like you don’t exist.