He wore those clothes—the black-on-black uniform of violence—and seeing him like this drives home exactly how much he has changed. How much he has had to change to keep me safe.
I hear him say something that makes my heart clench: "Call Marcus. Tell him to stay away until I give the all-clear." His voice is hard, leaving no room for argument.
Then he sees me on the stairs. His entire demeanor shifts for just a second—expression softening, eyes warming—and he gives me a small smile meant to be reassuring. He gestures for Konstantin, who materializes at his side immediately.
"She stays with you," Drogo says in English. "Do not let her out of your sight. If anything happens, you get her out. Understood?"
"Understood, boss," Konstantin replies, moving to stand near me.
"Babe," Drogo says, looking up at me. "Come here."
I finish descending the stairs on legs that feel unsteady, and he pulls me close for just a moment, pressing a kiss tomy forehead. "Remember what I said," he murmurs against my skin. "You will be okay. I promise."
Before I can respond, one of the men calls out in Russian from the front window. Drogo stiffens, his jaw tightening. "He is here."
Goosebumps erupt across my arms so hard they hurt. The air shifts—just slightly at first, a subtle chill creeping through the room. I watch my breath start to fog, faint wisps at first, then thicker. Konstantin notices too, his eyes narrowing as he scans the room for the source of cold that should not exist.
The ghosts. After days of silence, they are back.
Drogo moves me firmly to stand beside Konstantin, positioning himself between us and the front door, and that is when it happens. The door opens, but Klaus does not walk in alone like some civilian. This is the Bratva. He enters flanked by four men—massive, armed, their eyes scanning the room with professional efficiency. They fan out immediately, taking positions that mirror Drogo's men, creating a standoff of bodies and weapons and barely restrained violence. Klaus himself waits in the doorway until his men signal the all-clear with subtle nods.
Only then does he step inside, and the transformation is jarring. The cold calculation disappears, replaced by warmth, by charm, by the persona of a loving father visiting his son. He is older than I expected—maybe mid-sixties—with silver hair slicked back and an expensive suit that probably costs more than my car. Moving with the kind of confidence that comes from decades of absolute power.
"Son!" he says in accented English, arms spreading wide as he approaches Drogo. "Why did you not tell me you found your girl? I would have come sooner to meet her!" He pullsDrogo into what looks like a genuine embrace, clapping him on the back.
Drogo returns the embrace, but I can see the tension in every line of his body. "It happened quickly," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "I wanted to tell you in person."
Klaus releases him and turns his attention to me. His smile widens as he approaches, and I fight the urge to step back. My knees buckle slightly—I lock them before anyone sees, forcing my body to obey when every instinct screams to run.
"And this must be Alena," he says warmly. "I have heard so much about you, my dear." His eyes—sharp, calculating, missing nothing—sweep over me from head to toe. They linger on the bite mark on my neck, and his smile twitches—just a flicker, there and gone—before he looks away.
He reaches for my hand, and I force myself to extend it. His grip is firm, polite, but he holds on a second too long when his eyes catch on the black diamond. The lights flicker once, subtle, and I feel the temperature drop another degree.
"Oh!" he exclaims, lifting my hand higher to examine the ring more closely. "An engagement! This is wonderful news!" He looks at Drogo with what appears to be genuine pleasure, but his next words send ice through my veins. "A beautiful ring for a beautiful girl. I hope my son knows how lucky he is..." He pauses, his smile never wavering. "How very lucky."
The way he says lucky—the pause, the weight he puts on the word—makes it clear he is not talking about fortune at all. It is a threat wrapped in velvet.
"We must celebrate!" Klaus continues, finally releasing my hand. "I am getting a daughter after all these years!"
The whisper comes so faintly I almost miss it, riding on a sudden gust of frigid air: "He lies. Protect him." And then the glass on the side table—a tumbler Drogo left there thismorning—flies off the surface as if shoved by an invisible hand. It shatters at Klaus's feet, crystal exploding across the hardwood in a spray of glittering shards.
Everyone freezes. Klaus looks down at the broken glass, and for just a moment—just a flicker—something dark crosses his face. Irritation. Maybe even fear. Then the warm mask returns, and he laughs. "Old houses," he says lightly. "Always settling, yes?"
But his men have gone rigid, hands moving subtly toward weapons, and I see Drogo's men do the same. The room is a powder keg waiting for a spark.
I glance at Drogo and my breath catches. He is smiling—a small, polite smile—but his eyes are those of a predator watching prey. Calm. Calculating. The only break in his mask was when Klaus took my hand—I saw his jaw tighten, saw his fingers flex at his sides, saw the violence he was holding back by sheer force of will.
"Thank you," I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel. "We are very happy."
Klaus turns back to Drogo. "We should talk, yes? About the wedding, about your future, about everything." His tone is jovial, but there is something underneath it that makes my skin crawl. "There is so much to discuss."
"Of course," Drogo says smoothly. "Let us go to my office. We can speak privately there." He gestures toward the hallway.
Klaus nods and begins walking in that direction, completely comfortable, completely at ease. Two of his men move to follow, but Drogo raises a hand. "Just us," he says quietly. It is not a request.
Klaus pauses mid-step. His eyes flick to his men for just a split second—testing, calculating, weighing their loyaltyagainst the insult of being excluded—before he turns back with a wider smile. "Of course, of course. Just father and son, yes?" But I see the calculation in that look, see him filing away Drogo's defiance for later.
Drogo catches my eye for just a second before he follows Klaus down the hallway. Stay here. Stay safe. I love you. All of that conveyed in a single look. Then they disappear into the office, the door closing behind them with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the sudden silence.
