Aleksander adjusts Lily on his hip and pulls his phone out with his free hand. The captain and one of the ground crew are hovering near the bottom of the stairs, looking rattled.
“We will not be needing the charter anymore,” he calls to the captain. His voice carries. “You can stand down. My apologies for the trouble.”
The man looks like he wants to argue, but then his eyes flick to the blood and to the guns and he thinks better of it. He nods and starts up the stairs, already talking into his radio.
Aleksander dials a number and turns slightly away, still rocking Lily gently on his hip. His tone is clipped but calm.
“I need a team at the private strip,” he says. “Clean up and transport. One body. Yes. My usual rate. Fifteen minutes ago would be ideal.”
He ends the call and tucks the phone away.
For a moment he just stands there, holding his daughter, looking out over the tarmac like he’s trying to see the next ten moves of a game that has changed too many times.
Then he comes back to me.
Lily reaches out for me when she sees I’m still there. “Mommy,” she says, voice scratchy.
My heart squeezes. I take her carefully and she settles against me like this is the most normal thing in the world, like we didn’t almost get on a plane to disappear.
Aleksander insists on driving us himself, not trusting anyone else.
The city is quiet as we cross it, the headlights washing over empty streets, the engine a steady hum beneath the silence. Lily is tucked in her car seat, clutching a new stuffed animal Selene handed her on the way out—a bear this time. She doesn’t say much, just yawns and leans her head against the window, asleep by the time we hit the halfway mark.
By the time we get home—really home, not a safe house, not a hospital—I feel both wired and hollow. Aleksander carries Lily in, her small body limp in his arms, and I follow with bags, unlocking the door, fumbling the light on in the hallway.
He gets her settled, pulling the blankets up over her, brushing her hair back with a tenderness that does something soft and painful to my chest. He sits by her side until she sighs and rolls over, lost to the world.
He stays a second longer, just watching her, making sure she’s really asleep.
When he comes out, he closes her door quietly behind him. The house is dark except for the kitchen light I left on. For a moment we both stand in the quiet, just breathing, looking at each other like it’s the first time all night.
The adrenaline is still there, humming beneath my skin, mixing with something hungrier, sharper, more honest than anything that happened on that tarmac.
I cross the room before I can think about it. Aleksander meets me halfway, his hands coming up to cup my jaw, then threading into my hair, rough and gentle all at once.
The first kiss is heat and relief and pure need. It’s everything we almost lost, everything we still could. He presses me back against the wall, mouths at my neck, his hands roaming, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
I slide my hands under his shirt, palms flat against warm skin, his body so solid and real it grounds me more than any words could. He groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest, and kisses me harder, deeper. I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair, and he lifts me up, carrying me to the bedroom like I weigh nothing.
Clothes come off in a blur, the urgency only making everything hotter. His mouth finds my throat, my breasts, my stomach,worshiping me like he can’t get enough. I arch into him, every nerve ending awake, greedy for more.
We don’t make it all the way to the bed at first. Aleksander presses me gently back against the bedroom door as it clicks shut, his mouth hungry, hands sliding beneath my shirt, over my ribs, up to cup my breasts.
He breaks the kiss, lips brushing my jaw, then lower, hot breath skating down my neck. He moves slowly, deliberately, making sure I feel every second of it. His fingers tease at the edge of my bra, then slip underneath, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard and aching. I arch into his touch, breath shuddering out of me.
He kisses down, pausing at the hollow of my throat, his stubble scratching soft skin, his mouth rough and warm. Then he lowers, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my breast, tongue flicking out to taste me. His hands work my bra away, tossing it aside. The air on my bare skin makes me shiver.
Aleksander groans softly at the sight of me. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost reverent. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, tonguing it slowly, then harder, teasing with his teeth, his hand gently kneading the other breast, thumb rolling over the sensitive tip.
I gasp, my hands in his hair, hips pressing against him. Every nerve ending is focused on his mouth, his hands, the way he worships every inch of my skin. He switches, lavishing just as much attention on my other breast, licking, sucking, until I’m squirming beneath him, desperate for more.
His fingers trail down, light and teasing over my stomach, finding the waistband of my panties. He pushes them down,lips still wrapped around my nipple, his hand sliding between my thighs. He strokes gently at first, fingertips teasing my folds, circling my clit with slow, torturous precision.
“Please,” I whisper, voice raw with want.
He looks up at me, eyes dark, mouth glistening from my skin. “Tell me what you need,” he says, voice low and commanding, but so gentle I melt.
“More,” I manage. “Just—more, Aleksander, please.”
