Aria sits on the edge of our bed, still dressed in the simple sweater and jeans she wore earlier. Her dark hair falls loosearound her shoulders, and when she looks up at my entrance, I see the fear she's been trying to hide all evening.
"What's happening?" Her voice trembles slightly. "Cyril wouldn't tell me anything. Just said you were handling something important."
I cross to her in three strides, pulling her against my chest before I can think better of it. She comes willingly, her arms wrapping around my waist, her face pressing into my neck. The scent of her hair fills my lungs, something floral mixed with the faint trace of the kitchen spices that always cling to her skin. I feel the subtle swell of her stomach pressed against me, our child growing between us, and something in my chest cracks open.
"Matvey sent an ultimatum," I say against her temple, my accent thickening with emotion I can't suppress. "He has copies of the photographs from the island. He's threatening to release them unless I surrender everything."
Her body goes rigid in my arms. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm ending this." The words come out cold, absolute. "Permanently."
She pulls back enough to meet my gaze, and I see her dark eyes swimming with tears she's refusing to let fall. "How?"
"By taking everything he has before he can use it against us." My hands frame her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. "By showing him what happens when someone threatens my family."
"Nikolai." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a plea all at once. "This is dangerous. What if something goes wrong? What if he hurts you?"
"He won't." I try to project confidence I don't entirely feel. "I know how to handle men like Matvey."
"I'll be careful," I promise after she just stares at me, even though we both know it's a lie. There's no such thing as careful in war. "I'll come back to you."
"You'd better." Her voice breaks on the words. "Because if you don't, I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself for leaving me alone with this baby."
Despite everything, I feel my lips curve into something that might be a smile. "Noted."
She rises on her toes, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes like desperation and promise. I deepen it, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opens for me, and for a moment nothing exists except this. Her body pressed against mine, her fingers threading through my hair, the way she makes these small sounds that drive me wild.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she rests her forehead against mine. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll come back to us."
"I promise." The words feel like a vow, binding and absolute. "I'll always come back to you,Solnyshka. Always."
Her hands fist tighter in my shirt, and when she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper. "Then go end this. Do whatever you have to do. Just come home."
41
ARIA
Istand in the doorway of Nikolai's study, my hand pressed against the frame for support, and watch him transform into someone I barely recognize. Maps of the city sprawl across his massive desk like battle plans, red circles marking territories and operations with the precision of a military strategist. His captains crowd the room, their shoulders nearly touching, their voices a low rumble of Russian that rises and falls like distant thunder. The language sounds harsh, guttural, nothing like the poetry Nikolai whispered on the island.
My eyes track him as he moves around the desk, his finger stabbing at locations on the map while he issues orders in that clipped, authoritative tone that makes grown men straighten their spines. His eyes are cold as winter, all the warmth I've glimpsed in private moments buried beneath layers of calculation. His jaw is set with determination that makes my chest constrict with something between fear and unwanted admiration. This is the Pakhan in full force, and I understand with crystalline clarity that people will die because of the decisions being made in this room.
The serpent tattoo on his neck seems to writhe as he speaks, and I catch myself staring at the way his dress shirt pulls across his shoulders when he leans over the map. Even now, even knowing what he's planning, my traitorous body responds to him. Heat pools low in my belly, and I hate myself for it.
Cyril stands at Nikolai's right hand. He's pointing at something on a laptop screen, his gray eyes cold as he translates numbers into body counts with the detachment of someone discussing grocery lists.
But then I notice the other preparations scattered among the violence. A folder labeled with my name sits on the corner of the desk, and when one of the captains shifts, I catch a glimpse of what's inside. Safe house addresses. Offshore account numbers. Escape routes mapped with the same meticulous precision as the attacks they're planning. Nikolai is preparing for my survival if everything goes wrong, protecting me and our child even as he marches toward war.
The duality makes me dizzy. My hand moves unconsciously to my stomach, to the subtle swell that's becoming harder to hide, and I feel the baby flutter in response to my spiking adrenaline.
"Isn't there another way?" The words burst out before I can stop them, my voice cutting through the Russian like a blade through silk.
Every head in the room turns toward me. The captains' expressions range from surprised to hostile, these men unused to being interrupted by anyone, let alone a woman. But I keep my chin lifted, my spine straight, refusing to be diminished by their collective assessment.
Nikolai's ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, and something flickers across his face too quickly to identify before his mask slams back into place. "Give us a moment."
The captains file out with murmured acknowledgments, Cyril lingering longest, his gray eyes moving between us with uncomfortable intensity before he finally follows the others. The door closes with a soft click that sounds far too final.
"Aria." My name on his lips carries a warning I choose to ignore.
