“No.”
There’s no attempt to soften it into anything easier to accept. Just the truth.
I study him harder now. The expensive watch against his wrist. The sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. The tattoos that climb from his hands to his neck. The calm expression, while his men quietly reposition themselves around the shelter without waiting for instructions. Power moves around him differently than it does around most wealthy men. It’s less performative and more dangerous.
Alexei’s voice lowers. “Does that scare you?”
I should say yes. Any sane woman would. Instead, I look up at him standing between me and whatever nightmare has suddenly attached itself to my life, and the truth slips out before I can stop it.
“No.”
A tiny change crosses his face, almost impossible to notice, but I see it anyway.
“I think,” I admit carefully, “I actually feel safer with you here.”
His eyes stay locked on mine despite everything happening around us. Then another thought crashes into me all at once.
“My mama’s car got broken into, too.”
Every trace of warmth disappears from his face instantly. “My men should have informed me.” His jaw hardens, and one hand curls into a fist at his side. “That oversight won’t happen twice.”
I tell him everything quickly. Either last night or early this morning. The shattered driver-side window. The registration papers thrown everywhere. The center console dumped out. Then I tell him about my blue shelter hoodie, neatly folded on the front seat.
By the time I finish, Alexei has gone completely still. Quiet in a way that feels very dangerous. He glances toward his men, and they immediately start walking over without him needing to say much at all.
“Ivan, adjust rotations around Teresa Hayes’s residence,” he says evenly. “Double evening coverage.”
“Yes, boss,” Ivan answers.
Luka is already typing before the sentence fully finishes.
“Luka, get me the police report from Teresa Hayes’s vehicle break-in. Have Sasha handle it.”
Luka nods once, continuing to type on his tablet.
Alexei looks at me again. “Tell me exactly who has access to Ivy while she’s here.”
The second he asks, the entire conversation feels different, and a sick feeling twists low in my stomach.
“Staff. Volunteers. Visitors during adoption hours.” I swallow carefully.
“Names,” Alexei says quietly.
Luka nods.
I glance back toward the shelter, suddenly seeing everything differently. The open lobby. Volunteers moving in and out. Doors that stay unlocked during adoption hours.
“You think this is connected to Ivy?” I whisper.
“I think someone is watching the people connected to her,” he says carefully. “And I intend to find out why.”
The hair stands up on the back of my neck, not because I think he’s wrong, but because I believe him completely.
Alexei steps closer, lowering his voice enough that only I can hear him.
“I’m going to handle this myself.”
Relief hits first. Then, nervousness follows immediately after. I’m beginning to understand that whatever Alexei considers “handling” probably exists far outside police and security reports.
