I watch them disappear upstairs together, Mila chattering about all the ways she can be helpful and feel that sick feeling in my stomach.
I feel so fucking vulnerable.
Twenty minutes later, Alexei comes into my office. The man looks like he’s been through a war.
Once again, I have to hide my smile.
“Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
He gives me a dirty look. Then squats in front of the liquor cabinet and pulls out the expensive scotch. Usually, that’s reserved for special occasions.
I let him get away with it because I can tell he’s had a round night.
He pours a glass, takes a drink and then exhales.
“Did you get her pregnant on purpose?” He asks.
I scoff. “What kind of question is that?”
He shrugs. “I’m just curious.”
“No.”
“You know that woman is going to put you through absolute hell. She is never going to be the meek, obedient woman a strong pakhan needs.”
"That's not what I want. I don't want meek or obedient. I've never wanted that, not really. The women who bend and break under pressure, who smile and nod and never challenge anything—they bore me. They always have. And they’re weak.”
He nods as if he expected the answer.
"So what are you doing with her?" he asks, his tone shifting from casual to serious. "Because this isn't just about keeping her as collateral anymore. This isn't even about the baby, not entirely. What's your endgame here, Dante?"
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted by the weight of the question. "I don't know."
The admission doesn’t feel good. I'm Dante Sokolov. I always know. I plan, I strategize, I control every variable I can. But with Hannah, I'm flying blind, making decisions based on instinct and desperation instead of logic.
"I don't fucking know," I repeat. "I'm in over my head here, and I can't seem to find my way back to solid ground."
Alexei's expression softens, understanding replacing the judgment I expected to see. "She got under your skin."
"She got everywhere." I sink into my chair, suddenly feeling every one of my thirty-seven years. "The moment I saw her againoutside that coffee shop, I knew I was fucked. And now she's pregnant, and her father is probably going to die, and she hates me, and I still can't let her go."
"You're scared," Alexei observes.
"Terrified," I admit. "Of losing her. Of keeping her. Of fucking this up the way I fucked up with Katya."
Alexei nods slowly, then does something unexpected—he smiles. Actually smiles, like my complete emotional breakdown is somehow amusing.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing is funny. It's just—" He shakes his head, that smile widening. "She's a lot, your Hannah. Stubborn as hell, sharp tongue, absolutely no respect for authority. But damn, Dante. She's beautiful. And not just physically. The way she fought for her father, the way she protected Mila during the alarm, the way she looked at you in that hospital room like you hung the fucking moon even while she was calling you a monster?—"
"Finish that thought and I'll kill you," I interrupt, my voice deadly quiet.
Alexei just laughs. Actually laughs like he doesn't have a care in the world.
"You'll try," he says, still grinning. "But you won't succeed. You need me too much right now."
