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They’re not allowed to change.
No matter what.
Especially after the storm that’s coming our way.
21
SASHA
The party at the main Bratva’s mansion is in full swing.
Everyone is here, and I mean everyone—including our allies from the other organizations. The Yakuza, the Triads, and the Italians.
Juan even sent his son over after Igor suggested it. I don’t think he trusts the older man more than he does Kirill, but he seems more at ease now that Igor is in the game. Maybe that’s because they’re around the same age and are secretive to a fault.
Aside from the different factions, the leaders' families are also accompanying them tonight, but no children are allowed.
Not that they would bring them. I can’t imagine, say, Adrian shoving his son at such an event.
The risks of these gatherings are colossal. If we’re attacked, we’re sure to lose all the precious allies everyone, and especially Kirill, has been working hard to secure.
Needless to say, it’s a security nightmare for bodyguards. We’ve had to cooperate with so many guards, and some of them are on the fanatic side when it comes to protecting their bosses. They’re almost as hotheaded as Viktor, Vladislav, and Kolya—Adrian’s senior guard.
Well, and me.
Kirill’s safety is a nonnegotiable concept in my book. The other day, I choked a girl for daring to step into his path, and he had to order me to back away before I killed her.
Sometimes, he reacts to my bursts of protectiveness with a smile, and other times, he just sighs and shakes his head as if he thinks he’d have better luck trying to tame a lion.
It’s a problem that I’m working on. I know full well that I shouldn’t be acting like that, but I’m still traumatized by the scenes of him surrounded by blood on that hill and then lying in a hospital bed with lifeless eyes and bandages covering his body.
I will never allow such a thing to happen again. Never.
So what if I’m being a little bit too crazy about this? Viktor does it all the time, and he’s not seen as abnormal…at least, not much.
At any rate, I think I’m being perfectly reasonable, and no one, not even Kirill, will convince me otherwise.
Earlier, after he fucked my brains out in his office and I blurted that I loved him like an idiot, he told me not to come to this party.
He mentioned something about keeping Karina company and taking the night off. I thought he was joking, but he was perfectly serious.
I said, “The possibility of me not accompanying you tonight is on the same level as you allowing me to spend time with Konstantin.”
He didn’t seem happy with my decision to come along.
It did hurt a little to have him think that way. Maybe he took my feelings for him badly. Maybe I made a terrible mistake by voicing them. Isn’t there some sort of rule that you shouldn’t express your feelings during or right after sex?
That’s when I feel the most vulnerable, which is why I couldn’t control those overwhelming emotions or the need to let him know about them. And now…well, now, I’m plagued by this horrible feeling that I did something wrong.
Kirill is not an emotional man, and any outbursts like that could backfire. I knew that, but I stupidly brought up emotions related to whatever we have.
Is it wrong that I want more of him? And I don’t mean his body and intense dominance. I don’t mean his protectiveness and care, either. I need…something deeper.
I want to wake up in the morning and know that he’ll be there for the rest of my life. I don’t want to think that this is a phase that will eventually fade.
I’m being a sappy idiot right now, and Kirill can’t, under any circumstances, find out about these thoughts, or he might distance himself from me.
Desperate much, Sasha?
I wince at that but straighten when Damien leans against the wall beside me, hands in his pants pockets. He’s supposed to be wearing a suit, but I saw him throw off the tie earlier and then slam his jacket on the ground, so now, he’s only in a crumpled shirt with the first two buttons undone and surprisingly pressed pants. His hair isn’t a disaster like usual, though, but he’s definitely run his fingers through it a few times.
I’m more presentable than he is, but he still looks great, even when he’s dressed worse than anyone here. People with superior genes like him and Kirill manage to look like supermodels in whatever they’re wearing.
“Aren’t you supposed to be mingling around with the others?” I ask. “This is a guards’ area.”
“Fuck mingling.” He glares at the crowd. “That Yakuza old geezer is trying to corner me for a drink, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even do vodka.”
