Dimitri rounds on him, fury blazing in his eyes. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am on your side." Alexei's voice is calm, measured. "Which is why I'm telling you this is our best option. A frontal assault on that compound will cost lives. Good men will die. But if Alina can get inside, if she can locate Katya and give us intel on the layout, we can move fast and surgical."
I watch Dimitri process this, see him shifting from husband to Pakhan, from emotion to strategy. It's fascinating and terrifying to witness the transformation.
"Fine." The word comes out like gravel. "But we do this my way. Every detail, every contingency planned down to the second."
Relief floods through me so intense, my knees go weak. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." He moves to his desk and pulls out his phone, already making calls. "If this goes wrong, if Viktor somuch as looks at you the wrong way, I'm coming in. And I won't stop until everyone in that compound is dead."
The cold certainty in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it makes me feel safe. Protected. Loved, even though neither of us has said the word.
The next hour passes in a blur of preparation. Dimitri's tech specialist arrives with equipment that looks like something out of a spy movie. He fits me with a wire so small I can barely feel it against my skin, hidden beneath my bra strap where even a thorough pat-down wouldn't find it.
"The range is good for about half a mile," the tech explains, his fingers working with practiced efficiency. "We'll be able to hear everything you say, everything that's said to you. If you need to signal us, just say the word 'dragonfly'. That's your panic word."
Dragonfly. Like the tattoo on my wrist. I nod, committing it to memory.
The GPS tracker is sewn into the hem of my jeans, invisible unless someone literally cuts the fabric apart. The tech shows me how it works, how Dimitri's men will be able to track my exact location in real-time.
"You'll never be alone," Dimitri says, watching from across the room. "Even when you can't see us, we'll be there."
I change into the prepared clothes, simple jeans and a dark sweater that won't draw attention. No jewelry except for my wedding ring, which I twist nervously on my finger. The gold is warm against my skin, a reminder of the vows we spoke just hours ago.
For better or worse. In sickness and in health.
I didn't realize the worse would come so soon.
When Pavel finishes and leaves, Dimitri and I are alone in his bedroom. The bed where we consummated our marriage is still unmade, the sheets tangled and rumpled. It feels like a lifetime ago, not just a few hours.
"Come here," Dimitri says, his voice rough.
I go to him, and he pulls me into his arms, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe. His heart pounds against my cheek, fast and hard, betraying the fear he won't voice.
"If anything happens to you, I'll make him watch as I destroy everything he's ever cared about. And then I'll kill him slowly, painfully, in ways that will make him beg for death."
I believe him. Every word.
"Nothing's going to happen to me," I say, trying to convince us both. "I'm going to get Katya, and we're going to come home."
Home. The word slips out naturally, and I realize with a start that I mean it. This estate, this fortress, has become home in the short time I've been here. Or maybe it's not the place. Maybe it's the man holding me.
Dimitri pulls back and cups my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "I need you to understand something. You're not just my wife. You're not just a piece in this game. You're…"
He trails off, struggling with words that don't come easily to a man like him. But I see it in his eyes, in the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and breakable.
"I know," I whisper. "I feel it too."
He kisses me then, deep and desperate, and I taste fear mixed with desire. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back, and I open for him, letting him claim my mouth like he's trying to memorize the taste of me.
The kiss turns heated, urgent, and suddenly, we're moving toward the bed. Dimitri's hands are everywhere, stripping away my clothes with shaking fingers. The wire and tracker are carefully avoided as he lays me down on the tangled sheets.
"I want you," he growls against my throat.
There's no time for this. I should be getting ready, focusing on the mission ahead. But I need this too, need to feel alive, connected, andlovedbefore I walk into my father's trap.
Dimitri makes love to me slowly this time, his movements deliberate and tender. He kisses every inch of my skin, murmurs words in Russian that I don't understand but feel in my bones. When he finally enters me, it's with a gentleness that makes tears prick my eyes.
