I release her hand and continue up the hill. The monastery looms larger with each passing second. As we round the final curve, I see the courtyard lit by torches. The flickering flamescast dancing shadows across the ancient stones, creating an almost medieval atmosphere.
And there, in the center of it all, stands Mikhail Volkov.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. Five years. Five years since I watched them lower his casket into the ground. Five years of believing he was dead, of carrying the guilt of his supposed death. And all that time, he was alive. Planning. Waiting.
I park the SUV and kill the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just sit there, staring at the man who's orchestrated so much destruction.
Mikhail looks exactly as he did in the video. Silver hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. Expensive suit that probably costs more than most people make in a month. Cold blue eyes that hold intelligence and cruelty in equal measure. He's flanked by at least a dozen armed men, all of them watching us with predatory interest.
"Ready?" I ask Alina.
She takes a deep breath and nods.
We exit the vehicle together. The night air is cool, carrying the scent of old stone and burning pitch from the torches. I keep my hand on Alina's lower back as we walk toward Mikhail, feeling the slight tremor running through her body. She's terrified, but she's not showing it. Her spine is straight, her chin lifted.
Pride swells in my chest. My wife. My partner.
Mikhail's smile widens as we approach. "Dimitri. It's been too long, old friend." His Russian accent is smooth, cultured. He switches to English, probably for Alina's benefit. "And you brought your bride. How romantic."
I don't respond to the jab. I just keep walking until we're about ten feet away, close enough to talk but far enough to react if his men make a move.
Mikhail circles us slowly, like a predator assessing prey. His eyes linger on Alina, traveling over her body in a way that makes my jaw clench. "She's even more beautiful up close. Those green eyes. That red hair. I can see why you were so quick to claim her after poor Sergei's unfortunate death."
"Get to the point, Mikhail." My voice is cold, controlled. "What do you want?"
He stops circling and faces me directly. "Straight to business. You've changed,Dima. The young man I knew would have at least exchanged pleasantries first. Five years in a grave does that to a person, I suppose. Makes you appreciate the value of time."
"You were never in a grave."
"No." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "But you thought I was. You mourned me. Attended my funeral. Shed tears over my casket. That must have been quite the performance, considering you're the one who put me in prison."
The accusation hangs in the air between us. I don't deny it. Can't deny it. "You were making moves that would have brought federal attention down on all of us. You were willing to sacrifice the entire Bratva structure for your own ambition."
"And you were willing to sacrifice your brother to preserve it." Mikhail's voice hardens. "We were family, Dimitri. Closer than blood. And you betrayed me."
"You betrayed yourself." I keep my tone level, refusing to be drawn into an emotional argument. "You knew the rules. You broke them. I did what had to be done."
Mikhail laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Always so righteous. So certain of your moral superiority. Tell me,Dima, how does it feel to stand on that high ground you've built from the bodies of everyone who trusted you?"
I feel Alina shift slightly beside me, and I press my hand more firmly against her back. A silent reminder to stay calm, stay quiet.
"You didn't bring me here to rehash the past," I say. "You want something. So tell me what it is, and let's end this."
Mikhail's expression shifts, becomes more businesslike. "You're right. The past is the past. What matters now is the future." He spreads his hands in a gesture that's almost magnanimous. "I want what you took from me, Dimitri. My territory. My businesses. My reputation. Everything you built on the foundation I laid."
"That's not going to happen."
"Hear me out." He starts pacing, his expensive shoes crunching on the gravel. "I'm willing to be reasonable. I'll call off the war between the families. I'll provide evidence clearing you of the Kozlov murders. I'll even disappear again, let you keep your life, your freedom. All you have to do is step down as head of the Morozov family and hand over control to me."
I study his face, looking for the trap. Because there's always a trap with Mikhail. "That's it? I just walk away, and you let me live?"
"Well." His smile returns, sharper now. "There is one more thing."
The way he says it makes me instantly alert.
"I want her." Mikhail's eyes lock on Alina. "Your beautiful bride. Not permanently, of course. Just for one night. To prove that you've truly surrendered. That you understand the price of betrayal."
The world narrows to a single point. Mikhail's face. His cold smile. The casual way he's just demanded my wife like she's a piece of property to be traded.
