Page 19 of Bratva King

Behind them, the Volkov convoy had already departed, leaving nothing behind except ashes. He carried her away from everything she'd ever known. Over the following years, he broke her apart piece by piece.

He taught her that trust was weakness, mercy was failure, and attachment was fatal. He sharpened grief into obedience, loneliness into discipline, and pain into precision. Eventually, the girl who laughed and enjoyed Alexei’s teasing no longer existed. Only the assassin remained.

Chapter Six

Back in the present, a familiar voice drifted through the darkness once again.

"Is that really you, Natalia?" Alexei murmured, his voice low with quiet disbelief, gentler than she'd ever heard it.

The sound cut cleanly through the haze clouding her mind. Her fingers twitched almost imperceptibly against the blanket before she stilled them by force of habit.

Finally, he knew who she was. That realization should have sent alarm bells screaming through her head. It should have filled her with urgency and contingency plans. An exposed identity was a liability. It was dangerous, but the panic never came.

If anything, she found herself oddly unsurprised. Of course he'd figured it out. Alexei Volkov wasn't merely another Bratva boss. He was Pakhan of one of the most powerful organizations in the country. He had investigators, hackers, accountants who could make people disappear on paper, and soldiers who could uncover secrets people had buried for decades.

Discovering the identity of the woman who had tried to assassinate him was almost inevitable. Sooner or later, he would have learned the truth. The assassin inside her stirred uneasily.

He's compromised your anonymity. Alexei knows your past, and all your weaknesses. Leave, kill him if necessary.

The voice was cold, conditioned into every instinct she possessed. Another voice, one she hadn't heard clearly in years, answered it. It's Alexei, he’s come back.

Not exactly, she thought, mind still in a haze. He hadn't returned that night, but he had come back for her eventually. Ten years late, to be exact.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to answer him, to tell him yes, it was really her. Some childish part of Natalia yearned to tell him she remembered the stolen pies, the gardens, the warmth of the summer sun before everything had burned.

She wanted to yell at him that she waited until someone else had opened that car door. Then she’d ask him why he'd never come back. The words crowded behind her lips. She forced every ounce of strength she had left into opening her mouth.

“Alexei,” she whispered, then nothing.

Her next words dissolved into little more than a broken breath. Her tongue felt impossibly heavy, and even lifting her eyelids seemed beyond her. Another crushing wave of exhaustion rolled through her, stealing what little strength she'd gathered.

It was deeper than ordinary fatigue. Her injured body simply refused to obey. She hated feeling helpless, unable to form a single word. Then something warm settled over her hand.

She tensed instinctively before realizing what it was.

His hand.

Alexei wrapped his fingers gently around hers. His palm dwarfed her own, rough with old calluses probably earned from years of weapons training and hard work. Yet, it was impossibly warm against her chilled skin. His grip wasn't restraining, but steady and reassuring.

For reasons she couldn't explain, that simple touch loosened something painfully tight inside her chest. She couldn't remember the last time another person had held her hand without wanting something in return.

He brushed his thumb lightly across her knuckles. "We'll talk more when you're better," he said quietly. "There's no rush."

The words settled over her like a blanket. For the first time in years, Natalia believed them. She didn't need to fight, at least not tonight. Neither did she need to plan her escape, or make sure she slept with a knife under her pillow.

Somewhere deep inside, the frightened thirteen-year-old girl who had once climbed into a Volkov car because she'd trusted a boy named Alexei finally unclenched her fists. Natalia let out the smallest sigh.

Then Natalia could feel his warm breath against her face. He kissed her, softly on the mouth. A strange emotion stirred in her belly. Hunger. She wanted more than a kiss, a touch. That should frighten her a little, and few things scared her, but it didn’t.

This was her Alexei, and knowing he was still there beside her, she surrendered to the exhaustion pulling at her consciousness. This time, when sleep claimed her, it was deep and dreamless.

****

Alexei found himself standing outside Natalia's bedroom again. He stopped in front of the closed door, one hand resting lightly against the polished oak. This was ridiculous, and he knew it.

An hour ago he'd checked on her. Two hours before that, he'd checked again. He had personally changed the dressing on her shoulder that morning under the doctor's supervision. Alexei had listened while the physician assured him her fever had finally broken, and watched her sleep peacefully before forcing himself to leave.

She was recovering, but she needed rest. Natalia certainly didn't need Alexei hovering outside her bedroom like an anxious husband. The thought nearly made him laugh.