ALINA
Iwake to an eerie silence that immediately sets my nerves on edge. The estate is never this quiet. Even in the early morning hours, there's always the distant sound of guards changing shifts, the hum of security systems, the occasional footstep in the hallway.
This silence feels different. Oppressive.
I reach across the bed, but Dimitri's side is cold. He's been gone for hours. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, still flat but carrying the precious secret of our child.
I throw back the covers and pad to the window, pulling aside the heavy curtain. What I see makes my blood run cold.
Armed guards patrol the grounds in pairs, at least three times the usual number. New security cameras have been installed on every corner of the property. The main gate has been reinforced with additional barriers, and I can see the glint of weapons everywhere I look.
The estate has become a fortress overnight.
Fury rises in my chest, hot and immediate. I yank on a robe and storm out of the bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the marble floors as I make my way downstairs. I find Dimitri in his study, surrounded by monitors showing every angle of the property. He's on the phone, speaking in rapid Russian, his voice hard and commanding.
He looks up when I enter, and I see the exhaustion in his green eyes. He hasn't slept.
"I'll call you back," he says into the phone, then sets it down carefully on his desk.
"What is this?" I gesture toward the windows, toward the armed compound our home has become. "What have you done?"
"What I had to do." His voice is calm, but I can hear the steel beneath it. "You're not leaving the property, Alina. Not until this is over."
"Excuse me?" The word comes out sharper than I intend. "You're making me a prisoner?"
"I'm keeping you safe." He stands, moving around the desk toward me. "Ivan Volkov put a price on your head. Half a million dollars. Do you understand what that means? Every desperate criminal in the city is looking for an opportunity."
"So your solution is to lock me up?" I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the anger pulse through me. "To turn our home into a jail?"
"My solution is to keep you alive." His jaw tightens, and I see something flicker in his eyes. Something that looks like fear. "Youandour baby."
The mention of the baby softens me slightly, but I refuse to back down. "We can't live like this, Dimitri. We can't hide forever."
"I'm not asking you to hide forever." He reaches for me, but I step back. "Just until I can neutralize the threat."
"And how long will that take? Weeks? Months?" I shake my head, feeling tears of frustration prick at my eyes. "I won't be a prisoner in my own home. I won't let Ivan Volkov control my life through fear."
"Alina." His voice drops, becomes almost pleading. "Please. I can't lose you."
The raw emotion in those words stops me cold. I look at him, really look at him, and see past the powerful Bratva boss to the man beneath. The man who's terrified of losing the family he's only just found.
"I can't lose you," he repeats, quieter now. "I can't lose our baby. If something happened to you because I didn't do enough, didn't protect you well enough…" He trails off, running a hand through his dark hair. The silver at his temples catches the morning light. "I wouldn't survive it."
My anger drains away, replaced by a different kind of determination. I close the distance between us and take his hands in mine. "Then we end this. We don't hide, we don't wait for Ivan to make his move. We take control of the situation."
He frowns, his green eyes searching my face. "What are you suggesting?"
"A public appearance." The idea crystallizes as I speak. "A charity gala. Something high-profile with witnesses, with press,with all the neutral families in attendance. We force Ivan to either make his move in front of everyone or back down."
"That's insane." Dimitri pulls his hands from mine, turning away. "You want to paint a target on yourself?"
"The target is already there." I move to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at me. "But right now, Ivan controls the narrative. He's made me look weak, made us look like we're running scared. A gala changes that. It shows strength. It shows we're not afraid."
"You should be afraid." His voice is rough. "I'm afraid."
"I know." I cup his face in my hands, feeling the scratch of his beard against my palms. "But we can't let fear win. We need to show the other families that the Morozov name still means something. That we're not going anywhere."
Before he can respond, there's a knock at the door. He looks between us, reading the tension in the room.
