Page 101 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I look at him, really look. Shadows under his eyes. Tension in his jaw. He looks like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks. That makes two of us.

“I had to make it believable,” he continues.

“Believable to who?”

He sighs. “Marco Gonzalez…”

I listen as Leonid explains his deal with Marco Gonzalez, another dangerous mafia figure. And how he suddenly changed the terms, demanding Leonid marry his niece, and slowly, my anger fades.

His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “I never stopped loving you,” he says. “Not for one goddamn second.”

Tears sting my eyes again. I blink them back.

He lifts my hand to his lips, kisses my knuckles. “Forgive me?”

“I’m still considering it,” I whisper, but there’s no heat behind the words anymore.

A small, relieved smile touches his mouth.

I shift against the pillows. “So Lisa, is she safe now?”

“Yes, I relocated her and her girlfriend to Thailand; they are safe there. I have people watching them.”

Lisa, the woman I saw him touch, the one I thought he’d chosen over me. The one whose existence tore my heart open that day outside his office. And all this time, while I was crying myself raw on my kitchen floor, convinced he’d moved on… he was helping her.

He could’ve used her as leverage and left her to rot once the deal was done. Most men in his world would have. But he didn’t. He made sure she escaped—with the woman she loves, with a chance at a real life. A woman he barely knew.

My throat tightens. Tears prick my eyes again, not angry ones this time. Leonid immediately notices.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, I just realized what a great man you are.”

He tilts his head to the side smirking. “You just realized that?”

I smile. “Don’t push it, you’re still in the dog house.”

He brushes his knuckles against my cheeks, smiling. “If it means I’ll be close to you, then I don’t mind.”

We’re silent for a few minutes until I break it, asking a question that’s been burning at the back of my mind.

“Tell me about your childhood,” I say softly. “How did you end up becoming the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva? Were your parents in it too?”

Leonid shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “No. My parents weren’t in it.”

He exhales, long and quiet, like he’s pulling the memory up from somewhere deep. “They were immigrants. Came here from Russia when I was little, Igor had just been born. They opened a small convenience store in Brighton Beach. Worked every hour God sent, trying to provide for us. Then one night… robbery gone wrong. They were shot. Both of them. Dead before the ambulance even got there.”

My chest tightens. I squeeze his hand without thinking.

“After that,” he continues, voice steady but quieter, “we bounced between foster homes. None of them were good. The people only saw us as checks, extra money every month. Food was barely there. Clean clothes were a luxury. The last place…” He pauses, jaw flexing. “The husband tried to touch Igor. I walked in on him. I grabbed the nearest thing, a baseball bat, and knocked him out cold. Took Igor’s hand, and we ran. Never went back to any foster home after that.”

I can barely breathe. Picturing them, two scared kids on the streets, makes my heart physically ache.

“We survived however we could,” he says. “Pickpocketing. Sleeping in alleys. Stealing food from dumpsters. Until I met Viktor Kuznetsov, the Pakhan of New York’s Bratva at the time. He caught me trying to lift his wallet. Instead of killing me, he gave me a job. Over the years I proved myself. Became one of his most trusted soldiers. Igor and I… we became like sons to him. He had no children of his own. When he died ten years ago, lung cancer, he left everything to me. I took over as Pakhan.”

He falls silent for a moment, thumb stroking slow circles over my knuckles.

“I know I should’ve told you sooner,” he says finally, voice rough. “When we first started... I planned to. Every time I opened my mouth to explain, I changed my mind. I was terrified you’d run. That you’d look at me the way you looked at me when you found out, like I’m a monster.”