According to Roman, none of them knew I was privy to the information he gave me about them wanting Sasha. Headvised I stay calm and act dumb about it—something that was a hell of a lot harder to do than he made it sound. But I did.
I stood there, in the middle of my own reception, forcing myself to smile and talk to Viktor about business instead of reaching for the gun I wished I had under my jacket. It’s hard—no, it’s nearly impossible—to stand there and speak amicably with a man you know wants your wife.
They want her.
But they’ll have to go through me first.
I leave the office without a word, my mind still burning with the images of Viktor and his men. The hallways blur as I move quickly, each step purposeful, until I reach our suite.
Through the open door, I see Sasha pacing from left to right, the movement sharp, anxious. Her hair is loose, falling over her shoulders, her hands twisted together in front of her. She's still wearing her pretty reception dress.
She stops as I enter, eyes narrowing.
“What’s happening?” she demands, voice tight. “Why are you acting like this? Why are you so…paranoid?”
“Is this a trick question?”
I can’t believe she’s asking me this after I told her exactly what’s happening. Does she not realize the gravity of this situation?
I take in the way her chest rises and falls, the way she’s so tense she almost looks ready to snap. My chest tightens at the sight. She’s mine, and I won’t let the world touch even the edge of her life.
I step closer, the heat between us heavy, my voice low and sharp. “You don’t understand, Sasha. This isn’t paranoia. This is reality. The Greeks haven’t let go of your father’s debt…and they’ve made it very clear they want you.”
“I know, but—”
I move closer until we’re only a breath apart. “From now on,” I say evenly, “you don’t go anywhere without me or Mikhail. Nowhere, Sasha. Not out of this house, not across the street, not to the fucking garden. You understand?”
Her brows knit together, confusion turning quickly into defiance. “Lev, that’s insane. I’m not a child—”
I cut her off, my tone harder, “You’re not a child. You’re my wife. And right now, you’re in danger. That means I decide what’s safe and what’s not.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t look away. That stubborn streak of hers—it both drives me crazy and keeps me sane.
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “I know you want to keep working,” I say, softer this time. “I know you love flying. But that life isn’t safe for you right now. Not until I know the Greeks are done circling.”
Her eyes widen a little. “You’re saying I have to quit?”
“I’m saying you have to wait,” I correct quietly. “Take a step back for now. I’ll make sure you’re safe first, then you can go wherever the hell you want. But until then….” I shake my head. “No airports. No flights. No leaving without me or Mikhail.”
She exhales sharply, turning away from me like she can hide the storm gathering behind her eyes. I can feel her frustration, her loss, the same way I feel my own rage simmering beneath my skin.
“I’m not doing this to trap you,” I add, my voice low, rough with truth. “I’m doing it to keep you breathing.”
Sasha nods silently. “How long do I have to wait and keep all this up?”
Her voice wavers—maybe out of fear, maybe out of frustration. I understand both.
“Until the threat is cleared,” I say, my tone firmer than I intend.
She blinks once, her jaw tightening. “That’s not an answer, Lev. That could mean weeks. Months. A year.”
I hold her gaze, saying nothing. Because she’s right—but saying that out loud would only make it worse.
She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath. I catch only the wordcontrolbefore she spins on her heel and storms into the bathroom. The sound of the door slamming hits me like a slap.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the empty space where she was. Her perfume lingers in the air—rose and vanilla—mocking the silence she leaves behind. Then the water turns on, hard and fast, drowning out everything else.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling through my teeth. My pulse is still hammering. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know she’s suffocating here, trapped between walls and rules she didn’t ask for. But the alternative—the image of her being taken, hurt—burns through me so violently I can’t even breathe.
