“I’m correcting your mistakes.” His voice remains level. “If you’re going to accuse me, at least be accurate about what I’ve actually done.”
Another step. Now he’s close enough that I can see details—the faint scar above his eyebrow, the way his jaw tightens when he’s controlling something, the absolute certainty in his gaze.
“Your father didn’t try to protect you,” Aleksandr says quietly. “He tried to protect himself. There’s a difference.”
“That’s not—”
“He knew what was coming. Knew his betrayal would have consequences. He could have made arrangements, set aside resources, ensured his family was shielded. Instead, he hoped the Bratva would forget. That enough time and distance would make him safe.”
I back up without meaning to. My hips hit the edge of the desk.
“He hesitated when power required cruelty,” Aleksandr continues, still advancing. “He wanted the benefits of our world without the cost. Wanted wealth and influence without blood on his hands. That weakness is what destroyed him. Not me.”
“You’re still destroying us—”
“I’m taking what he can no longer protect.” He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “That’s the rule of nature, Elena. The strong take what the weak cannot hold. Your family’s legacy didn’t fail because of me. It failed because it outgrew its spine.”
His hand comes down beside my hip, braced against the desk. Not touching me. Just… there. Caging me in without actually restraining.
Heat blooms where there’s no contact. My skin prickles with awareness I desperately don’t want.
“I will take control of what remains,” he says, voice dropping lower. “I’ll use it properly. Build something stronger than your father ever could. That’s not cruelty. It’s inevitability.”
I hate the certainty in his voice. Hate how he frames destruction as natural law. Hate that some traitorous part of my brain understands the logic, sees the truth in it even while rejecting the conclusion.
“You had no right—” I start.
“Rights are what the powerful grant the weak. Your father had rights until he betrayed the wrong people. Then he had consequences.”
“Stop talking like this is—” My voice cracks. “Like this is justified. Like you’re not a criminal destroying innocent people.”
“Innocent?” For the first time, something flashes in his eyes. Not anger. Something darker. “Your family built wealth on my world’s violence. Profited from the same systems you’re nowcondemning. The only difference between your father and me is honesty about what we are.”
I try to step away. To put distance between us, between this conversation and the uncomfortable truths threading through it.
He shifts his weight. Doesn’t grab me. Doesn’t force me. Just moves his body to block my path. One step would put us in contact: chest to chest, breath to breath.
I freeze.
“You’re dangerous,” he says quietly, “because you’re intelligent. You see patterns. Understand systems. That mind of yours is the only reason you’re still breathing.”
His gaze drops. Deliberate, slow, traveling down my body in a way that makes my skin flush hot. Not leering. Assessing. Like he’s cataloging every detail, filing away information for later use.
When his eyes return to mine, something in them makes my breath stutter.
Not fear. Something worse.
Awareness. The kind that lives in my body before my mind can reject it.
“If you were stupid,” he continues, voice barely above a murmur, “you’d already be dead. If you were weak, you’d be broken. You’re neither. You walked into my territory knowing the risk. You fought when fighting was suicide. You’re standing here now accusing me of crimes while completely at my mercy.”
His other hand comes to the desk on my opposite side. Now I’m truly caged. His arms bracket me, body close enough that I feel the heat of him against my skin.
“That intelligence is valuable,” he says. “That defiance is… interesting.”
My pulse is hammering so hard I’m certain he can see it. Can probably hear it in the silence between his words.
“I’m not interested,” I manage. The lie tastes obvious.
