Chapter 13 Sasha doesn't say a word as we move through the house, and I already know any reason he has for interrupting Nicole and me can't be good. I'd made it very clear earlier in the day that we weren't to be bothered. We pass the back doors and head toward the side entrance that leads straight into my office. I shoot one last glance back toward the garden, though I can't see Nicole from this angle. Once the door to my office closes behind us, I turn on my heel. "What the hell is going on?" I growl. Sasha tosses his phone onto my desk, frustration crackling in the air. "One of our shipments was hit tonight," he answers gravely, his own frustration palpable. "Hit how?" I ask as my body tenses. "It was ambushed near the docks off Thirty-Fifth," he says, his tone flat. "Same setup as always: two trucks, five of our men, full protocol. But they still got hit." I circle the desk and unlock the secure cabinet, grabbing the burner phone I use only for internal logistics. "Any casualties?" I ask, holding my breath and praying there aren't. "Four injured. One dead," he says, trying to mask his own emotion. My fingers curl into the edge of the desk until my knuckles go white. This shouldn't have happened. "Who?" "Valentin," he says quietly. I close my eyes briefly, letting the grief hit me just for a moment. He was just a kid, eager to learn and always loyal. Worse, I'd promised his father I'd look after him when he joined the ranks. No matter who killed him, his death is squarely on my shoulders. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to dwell on my own feelings. That's the nature of the business. "What happened to the shipment?" I ask. "It's gone." "All of it?" I ask, enraged. Sasha nods. "Every crate is gone like we never loaded the trucks at all." I pace behind my desk, clenching my teeth. This couldn't have been a random act. Someone knew exactly what they were doing. Our routes are regularly rotated, our deliveries are staggered, and only a few people know where they'll be at any given time. Whoever pulled this off had our playbook. "How did they get past the alert system?" I wonder aloud. "They disabled it." The certainty in Sasha's voice lands like a punch. At least he's taking this seriously. "They cut the lines before anyone even knew they were close. In and out in minutes. A clean hit." "Fuck," I mutter. My mind races through every possible name, every rival crew bold enough to make a move like this. One name keeps popping up as the obvious contender. Semion. "You think Semion would be that bold?" Sasha asks, reading my expression the way only a brother can. I don't answer right away. Jumping to any conclusions could be disastrous in this line of work. We don't move on another crew's territory unless we're certain they hit first. Semion's crew has been too quiet lately, though. And when men like him go quiet, it usually means they're planning something big. "I think it reeks of him," I tell him honestly. "But we're not doing anything until I have proof." Sasha moves to the liquor cabinet in the corner, pouring two fingers of vodka into a glass before bringing it to me. I down it all in one swallow. We fall silent for a moment, each of us turning over the implications of this attack on our relationship with Semion's Bratva. He could be testing our defenses, probing for weakness. Or worse-this might be only a warning before something bigger. "And if it wasn't Semion?" Sasha asks after draining his vodka. "Then we have a bigger problem," I say. "Someone we don't even know is after us, and we don't have the bandwidth for that right now." The idea that there's someone out there smart enough and well-equipped enough to move like this without us noticing until it's too late infuriates me. That level of precision doesn't come from street punks or wannabe gangs. It comes from men with decades of experience, who have endless resources. "We need to tighten up the whole operation," I say, walking back to my desk. "We won't have any more blind drops. Double the guards. Rotate drivers mid-route. Encrypt every damn thing, even internally. This can't ever happen again." "I'll handle it," Sasha says. "By the way, I'm really sorry about ruining your night. Shitty timing." I lift my gaze sharply, surprised. I shrug. "It is what it is. This is the life we chose." Sasha nods, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he props a shoulder against the doorframe, folds his arms, and flashes a shit-eating grin that promises trouble. "You know," he says, drawing the words out like a long drag on a cigarette. "Apart from all this, you seem relaxed tonight." I narrow my eyes at him, but I don't rise to the bait. He grins, cocky and unrelenting. "Come on, man," he drawls. "Don't give me that look. I'm your brother. You've been different lately." I glance up from the screen. "Different how?" I scoff. "I don't know," he drawls, drumming his fingers on the doorframe. "Softer. Distracted. Whipped, maybe?" I snort and close the laptop. "Do you have a death wish?" "No, but you do." He points at me, grinning. "And her name is Nicole." I shake my head, but the ghost of a smile tugs at my mouth. "You don't know what you're talking about." "Admit it," Sasha pushes. "You've got it bad for Nurse Nicole." I stay silent, which, unfortunately, is answer enough. Sasha whistles low. "Careful," I warn, although my voice lacks bite. "What?" he asks, laughing. "Are you going to deny it? That woman has you twisted in knots, big brother. And honestly, it's about time." I stare at him for a long second. "She's not just some woman." "I didn't say she was. I'm saying you look at her like she might be the woman." My jaw tightens, the muscles flexing as I grind my teeth together. "She's..." I trail off, unsure how to explain something I barely understand myself. "She's unexpected." Sasha lifts a brow. "You mean she wasn't part of the plan? Welcome to life, Sergei. Shit happens." "It's not that simple." He exhales, still watching me carefully. "Because of our world?" "Because of all of it." I glance out the window, at the inky blackness of the garden. "Because of the things I've done and the things I'll probably have to keep doing." "So she doesn't know anything about what you do?" Sasha asks, though it's not really a question. I shake my head once. "Well," he says slowly, "she's living in your house, and she's taking care of Mom. It won't stay a secret for long. One way or another, she's probably going to find out." "I know." I sigh, my voice low and rough. "But I don't know if I can stomach what happens when she does." Sasha falls quiet for a moment. Then, in a rare show of seriousness, he says, "You really care about her, don't you? I've never seen you put in so much effort for a woman before." "Fine, you little shit. I care about her," I admit. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Holy shit. You're in love with her!" I roll my eyes, but there's no bite to it. "You should tell her," he says. I tense. "Tell her what?" "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." "I don't think that's a good idea," I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "When she finds out what I do, she'll probably run for the hills." "You don't know that," he says softly. "I just don't want to hand her a reason to run," I admit. "I don't think I could handle that. Maybe it's better you interrupted us tonight." He studies me in silence for a moment. "If she's the right one, nothing you say will scare her off." His words carry more wisdom than I've ever given him credit for. "I don't know if she's the right one," I shoot back. "I just know I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since the night we met." Sasha sighs and pushes off the wall. "Look, all I'm saying is you don't have to be alone just because of what you do. Lots of men in your position are happily married." I don't respond to that. Who said anything about marriage? I shoot him an annoyed look and turn back to the computer, trying in earnest to focus on the numbers swimming before me. He finally gets the hint and leaves, the echo of his boots fading down the hallway. I sit there long after he's gone, turning his words over and over. I've always believed there's no room for softness in my world, that opening up to anyone is a fatal mistake. I assumed love was a weakness men like me couldn't afford, despite the proof of my parents' marriage. For the first time in my life, I'm starting to question that belief. What if she's not a weakness? What if she's the one thing that makes all of this worth it? Which isn't to say I'm ready to take that step with her. We have a good rapport and explosive chemistry, but I'm nowhere near dropping to one knee. I just want time to find out whether there's more here than blistering chemistry. But the lingering thought remains. Once I tell her who I am, once I show her the darker side of my world, I risk losing her. I'll keep her close for as long as I can, even if that means I can't have her in every way I crave. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...