"But Katya recognized my name tonight." The memory of those sharp green eyes assessing me makes my skin crawl. "She knows who I am."
"Katya knows a lot of things." Danil's expression darkens. "But she's smart enough not to make a move without being certain of the outcome. And right now, you're under Aleksandr's protection. That makes you untouchable."
"Unless someone decides Aleksandr shouldn't be Pakhan anymore."
"Then they'd have to go through me first." The casual way he says it, like he's discussing the weather instead of his willingness to die, makes something in my chest tighten. "And I'm very hard to kill."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, both of us nursing our warm milk like children instead of adults tangled up in organized crime.
"Can I tell you a story?" Danil asks suddenly, a smile tugging at his scarred face. "About Aleksandr when he was younger?"
"Sure." I lean forward, eager for any glimpse of the man behind the Pakhan’s mask.
Danil's laugh is deep and genuine. "He was seventeen, maybe eighteen. Still running errands for the organization, trying to prove himself. There was this girl, Svetlana, the daughter of a local shopkeeper. Beautiful, completely out of his league, and he was obsessed."
I find myself smiling despite everything. "Let me guess. It didn't go well."
"He decided the way to impress her was to steal a car. Not just any car, but a Mercedes belonging to one of the captains." Danil shakes his head, still grinning at the memory. "He took it for a joyride, picked her up, tried to act like he owned it."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes. He's driving around, showing off, and the captain sees his own car go past with some punk kid behind the wheel." Danil takes another sip. "Aleksandr didn't realize until he pulled up to drop Svetlana off and found the captain waiting with three very large, very angry men."
"What happened?" I'm leaning forward now, completely invested.
"The captain made him wash and detail every car in the organization's fleet. By hand. In the middle of winter. Took him three weeks." Danil's eyes crinkle with amusement. "And Svetlana? She started dating the captain's nephew the next day."
I laugh, really laugh, for the first time since the party started. The image of a teenage Aleksandr, cocky and stupid and trying to impress a girl, is so far from the controlled, dangerous man I know that it feels like a different person entirely.
"He never tried to steal a car again," Danil adds. "But he did learn an important lesson about knowing your limits and picking your battles."
"Did he ever get the girl?" I ask.
"Eventually. Different girl, different circumstances. But that's a story for another time." He stands, taking both our empty mugs to the sink. "You should get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be busy analyzing everything from tonight."
"Thank you." I stand too, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am. "For the story. For telling me about my parents."
"You're family now." He says it simply, like it's a fact rather than an opinion. "That means something to us."
He leaves, and I'm alone in the kitchen with the lingering warmth of the story and the knowledge that somewhere out there, my parents are alive and safe.
I make my way upstairs, my body heavy with exhaustion. The hallway is quiet, just the soft sound of my bare feet on carpet and the distant hum of the house settling. My bedroom door appears, and I'm reaching for the handle when I notice Aleksandr's door is open, light spilling into the hallway.
He's still awake.
I should go to my room. Should lock the door and try to sleep and not think about the way he looked in that suit tonight, orhow his hand felt on my back, or the heat in his eyes when he watched me across the room.
I keep walking to my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
I change into sleep pants and a tank top, wash my face, and brush my teeth. The routine is soothing, familiar, something normal in a life that's become anything but. I'm pulling back the covers when a knock sounds at my door.
My heart jumps into my throat. I know who it is before I open it.
Aleksandr stands in the hallway, still in his suit pants and white shirt, though he's lost the jacket and his sleeves are rolled up like Danil's were. His dark hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it, and those gold eyes are tired but alert.
"Can I come in?" His voice is quiet, respectful. Asking instead of demanding.
I step back, letting him enter. He closes the door behind him but doesn't lock it, doesn't move toward me. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking almost uncertain.
