“I can’t imagine anyone being interested in security,” Oleg waves her off. “We’re not the least bit interesting.”
“Not true. I have several female followers who adore books on hot security guys. They’ll be panting to get a look at you and your men—hot, Russian men with the strength to survive in a harsh environment. I bet you have some former military in your employ, right? That’s a whole other fetish my followers adore. I think we could do a great segment on the challenges you face here in Russia compared to those of your counterpartsin other nations. I know you can’t go into specifics or anything confidential, but you can’t tell me you don’t have stories you use to wow women. I won’t believe it if you say you don’t.”
Skylar is in full-on flirt mode. I appreciate how she’s garnered their attention away from me. Their fixation on her gives me a chance to study each of them. Their gazes are intense, and the gleam in their eyes is more predatory than I would be comfortable being on the receiving end of. I know Skylar can take care of herself, but my gut tells me it is time to leave.
“I hate to break up the party,” I interrupt. “But I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. I need to get my sleep because practice starts on Monday, and then it's fourteen days of grueling practice before we open.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN: VLADIMIR
Two weeks after leaving New Orleans, we pull into the Port of St. Petersburg. The trip was uneventful except for two milestones. I bid farewell to my father as we tossed him overboard into the Atlantic Ocean. He’ll either drown or the sharks will get him first; I didn’t care which. However, I did feel some remorse for the poor sharks. They’ll likely get a bad case of indigestion. I sent a text to Hex letting him know that our father was no longer a problem that either of us had to deal with going forward. The other milestone was Alexi’s full recovery. As Russia came into view, Alexi stood at the guardrail, watching.
“What are you going to do?” I ask him.
He looks at me in surprise. “Is this where we part ways?”
I shake my head. “No, not necessarily. It’s up to you. My father rented a room at the Grand Hotel. I changed it to a suite. There are three bedrooms. You’re welcome to come with us and stay there. I rented rooms on the floor below us for my men.”
Alexi glances back at the cityscape before turning back to me. “I’d like to stay with you for a while. I need to think.”
We disembarked from the ship and left my men to gather our belongings and bring everything to the hotel. I trusted them to handle everything. The ship would remain docked until I decided whether to return on it or fly back to America. Thepresence of the ship wouldn’t go unnoticed. Alexandr would hear about our arrival and expect a visit or at least a phone call. He’ll be expecting my father, instead of me, though. I’ll need to be careful in how I handle the meeting. Killing a Bratva leader is not something they take lightly. However, I’m confident Alexandr will accept my reasoning. He may be the head of the Bratva, but he’s someone who understands the importance of love and loyalty.
The limo eased to a smooth stop beneath the arched entrance of the Grand Hotel, its polished façade rising like a monument to old St. Petersburg wealth and power. Through the tinted glass, I caught sight of door attendants already moving, their coats crisp, their expressions carefully neutral. Nothing here is ever left to chance.
Alexi shifted beside me, his jaw tight, eyes alert despite the lingering pallor that still clung to him. Dominic leaned back across from us, one arm draped casually along the seat, though I knew better than to mistake his posture for ease. We were all watching. Measuring.
The door opened, and cold morning air rushed in, sharp and clean. A man stepped forward immediately—tall, silver-haired, impeccably dressed. The hotel manager. He greeted us by name, his Russian smooth and deferential, and personally ushered us inside as if we were expected guests rather than men returning to a city that might still want us dead.
The lobby gleamed with marble and gold accents, chandeliers throwing warm light over plush carpets that muffled our footsteps. Guests glanced up, curious but discreet, as we passed. Power recognizes power. Even here.
We took a private elevator to the upper floors, the manager chatting softly about amenities and views. When the doors opened, he led us into a sprawling three-bedroom suite thatoverlooked the city: high ceilings, dark wood, thick drapes—luxury designed to reassure and impress.
A long table in the living area was already set. Bottles of vodka and whiskey rested in crystal buckets, condensation beading along the glass. Champagne waited on ice. Platters of fresh fruit, pastries, smoked fish, and warm blini filled the room with rich, comforting scents.
“Compliments of the hotel,” the manager said, smiling thinly, before excusing himself.
Alexi exhaled slowly. Dominic gave a low whistle.
I didn’t join them. I crossed the room to the window and pushed aside the drapes. Below, the city was already awake—cars moving along wet streets, pedestrians bundled against the chill, St. Petersburg carrying on with business as usual.
For us, this is where everything begins or ends.
“Have you thought any more about what you’re going to do?” I ask Alexi without turning around.
“I want to find out who arranged for my kidnapping and hoped for my death,” Alexi clips. “After that, I don’t know. I feel like I can’t move forward until I know who wanted me dead and why.”
“You have no idea about the why?” Dominic asks. “You must know of someone who wanted you dead.”
Alexi let out a short, humorless laugh. It wasn’t amusement—it was exhaustion. He scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
“That many?” Dominic asked.
“The list is long,” Alexi replied flatly. “Very long.”
I turn from the window to study him before taking a seat across the low table separating us. This wasn’t bravado or deflection. It was the reality of the life he’d been born into, one he’d never fully embraced but could never escape.
“It could be something small,” Alexi continued, his tone almost conversational. “Revenge, for example. I once stole another man’s girlfriend. He didn’t take it well.” His mouth twitched, but there was no real humor there. “Or it could be business. Someone could be trying to take over the Bratva. Someone who thought removing me would create an opening.”
Dominic frowned. “You don’t think it was personal?”
