The pleasure builds slowly between us, a steady climb rather than a frantic race. I angle my hips, finding that spot inside her that makes her gasp. Her inner walls flutter around me.
"That's it," I encourage. "Let go, Alina. I've got you."
She comes with a soft cry, her body clenching around me. The sensation pushes me over the edge. I bury my face in her neck, groaning her name as I spill inside her.
We stay connected for long moments after, neither of us wanting to break the intimacy. Finally, I ease out carefully and pull her against my side. She curls into me, her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine.
She falls asleep in my arms, her breathing deep and even. But I can't sleep. My mind is racing, planning, calculating. Ivan made a mistake tonight. He showed his hand, revealed his desperation. Now I know exactly how dangerous he is.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I ease away from Alina carefully, not wanting to wake her, and pull on pants before opening the door.
Alexei stands there, his face grim. I step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind me. "What did the prisoners say?"
"Plenty. Ivan's losing support, even within his own alliance. The families don't like his methods, don't like how public he's making everything. Tonight's hit was a last-ditch effort to salvage his reputation. If he'd succeeded in killing Alina, he could have blamed you for not protecting your wife, made you look weak."
"But he failed."
"He failed." Alexei's expression darkens. "Which makes him more dangerous now. A cornered animal is unpredictable."
I nod slowly, my mind already working through the implications. Ivan can't back down now without losing face completely. He'll have to escalate, to make another move. The question is what and when.
"Double the security on Katya," I order. "And have someone watch Alina's mother, just in case Ivan tries to use her as leverage."
"Already done." Alexei hesitates, then pulls an envelope from his jacket. "There's something else. This was delivered an hour ago. Courier wouldn't say who sent it."
I take the envelope, feeling the weight of expensive paper. Inside is a single card, embossed with the traditional Bratva seal. My blood runs cold as I read the formal Russian script.
"What is it?" Alexei asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
I look up at him, feeling the weight of centuries of tradition pressing down on me. "Ivan has called for a tribunal. A formal challenge to my leadership."
51
ALINA
The warehouse smells like old concrete and motor oil, a far cry from the luxury I've grown accustomed to at Dimitri's estate. But this place has history. According to Alexei, Bratva tribunals have been held here for over thirty years.
I stand beside Dimitri near the front of the cavernous space, my hand resting protectively over my stomach. The baby is fine after last night's ambush, but I can't stop the instinctive gesture. Around us, representatives from every major family fill the rows of folding chairs that have been set up for the occasion. The atmosphere is thick with tension and cigarette smoke.
Dimitri's hand finds the small of my back, warm and reassuring. He looks devastating in his dark suit, his green eyes sharp and alert as he surveys the room. The scar above his left eyebrow catches the harsh fluorescent light. I want to reach up and trace it with my fingers, to remind myself that he's real, that we've survived everything thrown at us so far.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmurs in my ear, his accent thicker than usual. It always gets that way when he's stressed.
"We've been over this," I whisper back. "I'm not hiding anymore."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. He knows I'm right. If I hide every time there's danger, I'll spend my entire life locked away.
Ivan Volkov enters through the main doors, flanked by his remaining allies. His silver hair is perfectly styled, his blue eyes cold as they sweep over the assembled families before landing on me. His lip curls in disgust. I lift my chin and meet his gaze without flinching. I've faced down worse than him.
An older man I don't recognize steps forward. He's apparently the neutral arbiter for this tribunal, chosen because he has no allegiance to either Dimitri or Ivan. His voice booms through the warehouse as he calls the proceedings to order.
The rules are explained in both English and Russian. Each side will present their case. The families will vote. The decision is final and binding. Anyone who violates the tribunal's ruling will be considered an enemy of the entire Bratva.
Ivan goes first. He's a good speaker, I'll give him that. His voice is smooth and persuasive as he lays out his accusations against Dimitri.
"Dimitri Morozov has abandoned the traditions that have kept our organization strong for generations," Ivan begins, pacing in front of the assembled families like a lawyer in a courtroom. "He has allowed women into leadership discussions, treating them as equals when they should be protected and kept separate from our business."
His eyes flick to me, and I feel the weight of dozens of gazes following. I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react.
