Chapter 26

Lev

I wake up to the sight of Dalia next to me, her breathing even and calm as she sleeps.

It’s a view that never fails to stir something deep inside me. The morning light spills across her bare skin, highlighted beneath the thin sheets.

I find myself thinking about the fun we had last night.

The way her hair fanned out on the pillow, the soft moans that filled the room, and the warmth of her touch flash through my mind, vivid and stirring. The joyous smile on her face as I slipped the engagement ring on her finger.

Part of me is tempted to wake her, to relive those moments, but I resist. She looks so peaceful, and I decide she needs the rest. Besides, today isn’t a day for lingering in bed—there’s too much to handle, and I can't afford to start late.

Quietly, I slip out from under the sheets, careful not to disturb her. I take a quick shower, letting the hot water stream down my body and wake me up fully.

Thoughts of what's on my agenda for the day begin to crowd my mind. The issues from yesterday haven’t disappeared; they’ve just been temporarily compartmentalized.

I step out of the shower and dry off. Choosing my clothes for the day, I opt for something sharp yet practical—a well-fitted suit that's comfortable enough for a day that could stretch long into the night.

As I’m buttoning up my shirt, a voice floats from the bed, teasing and warm.

“Looking good, handsome.”

I turn to see Dalia propped up on her elbows, her chocolate-brown hair tousled around her face in a way that sends my heart racing, a playful smile on her lips. I can't help but grin back and walk over to her.

"Were you watching me this whole time?"

She laughs lightly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe a little. There’s something sexy about watching you get dressed, almost as sexy as watching you get un dressed.”

Climbing onto the bed, I lean in close. "Be careful, I have ways of dealing with spies," I tease, playing along with the flirtatious mood.

“Oh? Is that right?”

“That’s right,” I affirm as I gently pull down the sheet, revealing her perfect, round breasts. The sight stirs me, and I lean down, kissing her softly at first then more insistently, my lips and tongue worshipping her skin, eliciting soft moans from her sweet lips.

Her sounds only fuel my desire, and I find myself getting lost in the moment. The feel of her warm skin, the taste of her, is intoxicating. I move down her body, kissing and licking every inch of her, savoring the way she responds to my touch.

"You know, watching you get dressed isn't the only thing I enjoy," she whispers, her voice breathy and filled with need.

"Is that so?" I murmur against her skin, my hands exploring her curves, feeling her shiver under my touch.

She arches her back, pressing her breasts closer to my mouth. I take one nipple between my lips, sucking gently, then harder, making her gasp. My hand moves lower, finding the heat between her legs, her wetness making me groan.

"I love watching your face when I touch you.”

I slide my fingers inside her, finding her slick and ready. I pump them slowly, my thumb circling her clit, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Don't stop," she pleads, her voice quivering as her hips move in rhythm with my fingers.

I press deeper, curling my fingers inside her, finding that perfect spot. My thumb circles her clit with increasing pressure, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

"Oh, Lev," she moans again, her body trembling with the buildup of her orgasm. Her back arches off the bed, and I can feel her tightening around my fingers, teetering on the edge.

"Come for me," I whisper against her ear.

Her body responds instantly, a cry of pleasure escaping her lips as she shatters around my hand. Her walls pulse and contract, her juices coating my fingers as she rides out the waves of her climax. I watch her face, the way her eyes flutter shut, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

As she comes down from her high her breathing slows, and she opens her eyes to meet mine, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

"That was amazing," she murmurs, her hand reaching down to cover mine, still resting against her.

Before I can respond, she slides her hand down to my cock, her fingers brushing against the hard bulge straining against my slacks. She gives it a gentle squeeze, making me groan with pent-up desire.

"Your turn," she whispers.

Just as she's about to unbutton my slacks, a chime sounds from my phone on the nightstand, breaking up the moment. I let out a frustrated sigh, glancing over at the offending device.

"Ignore it," she urges, her hand continuing to caress me through the fabric.

I want nothing more than to heed her advice, but the persistent sound of another text chime draws my attention back.

"I can't," I say reluctantly, pulling away slightly. "It might be important."

She pouts but understanding flickers in her eyes as she releases me. I reach over to the nightstand, grabbing my phone and unlocking the screen. The message displayed makes my stomach knot.

"It's from the office," I explain. "I need to handle this."

She sits up, still looking disappointed but nods in understanding. "Duty calls," she says softly, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

I'm jolted out of the moment by the shrill ring of my phone. It's Yuri. I step out of our room into the hallway to take the call.

“Talk to me.”

Yuri's voice is abrupt. "We've finally made a connection with the motorcycles. Traced them back to an owner—a man named Nikolai Vetrov. Turns out, he's an associate of Plushenko."

A surge of rage flares up inside me, but I clamp it down, keeping my voice calm. "Good work. I'll be in soon to discuss. We need to move fast on this."

"Understood," Yuri replies, and I end the call.

When I return to the bedroom, Dalia is sitting up, her expression etched with concern. "Is everything okay?" she asks, watching me closely.

I nod, trying to reassure her while keeping the details sparse. "We may have a lead on the attacks.”

"So I'll be working from home as usual then.”

I lean down and give her a deep, lingering kiss, a promise of my return.

"Stay safe," I murmur against her lips, then straighten and head out for the day, my mind already shifting gears to the day ahead.

Hours later, I find myself navigating through the streets with Vanya at the wheel.

We’ve got a lead on Plushenko’s location—a Russian restaurant named Tsar's Table in the West Loop area. It’s where Alexei holds biweekly meetings with his lieutenants, making it the perfect setting for an impromptu fact-finding operation.

Three other cars accompany us, all filled with men I trust. We pull up in front of the restaurant and confidently get out of the vehicle. Alongside me are Yuri, Vanya, Luk, Vladimir and Grigori, plus a half-dozen of our most reliable enforcers.

I glance around at the group, everyone alert and ready.

“Here’s the plan,” I begin. “We rush in, flash the guns, and force a meeting. No shooting unless I give the word. We’re here to get answers, not to shed blood without reason.”

The men nod, understanding the stakes and the need for precision.

We adjust our coats, check our weapons, and prepare to enter Tsar's Table. With a final nod from me, we move toward the entrance, ready to take control of the situation.

I slam the door open with a forceful kick, charging in with authority as my team swiftly files in behind me.

Instantly, the room transforms into a high-stakes standoff. Alexei, unmistakably in command, sits at a prominent table, a dozen of his men flanking him, their expressions stoic, hands reaching for their weapons.

As our presence disrupts the calm, guns are drawn in a heartbeat—Alexei's crew on one side, mine on the other.

The atmosphere crackles with the electricity of impending conflict, every man ready to spring into action.

Despite the sudden surge of adrenaline, Alexei remains seated, the picture of composure. He fixes me with a cool, assessing look, a wry smile forming on his lips.

"Lev Ivanov, to what do I owe the unexpected honor?" he asks calmly, sounding almost amused, as if we're merely old acquaintances meeting by chance instead of on the verge of a showdown.

I take in the scene. Alexei's youthful and cocky confidence along with his strategic poise mark him as a formidable adversary. It's clear why he commands such loyalty and respect in this cutthroat world. There is also a strange spark of familiarity about him though I’ve never met him before.

"Let’s get one thing clear. I'm not here to fight. I want to talk."

Alexei chuckles. "Have you ever heard of a phone call? Or maybe a text? Perhaps we should add each other on Snapchat to avoid such dramatic entrances in the future."

Laughter ripples through the room from his men, a momentary lightness in the situation.

I remain unfazed, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "I’ve never been much for social media," I reply coolly. "Face-to-face always gets more immediate results."

"Indeed it does.” He then nods slightly, a signal understood by all. "Why don't we start by putting our guns away?"

"That’s a good idea," I agree. The sound of firearms being holstered fills the room, and the atmosphere shifts slightly, moving from standoff to cautious negotiation.

With the immediate threat dialed down, Alexei gestures toward the empty seat at the other end of the table.

"Please, have a seat."

I walk over and take the offered seat directly across from him. The room settles, all eyes on us, waiting for the next move in this high-stakes chess game. Leaning forward, I lock eyes with him, ensuring I have his full attention before I speak.

"Nikolai Vetrov," I simply say. Those two words, loaded with implications, challenge Alexei to reveal his hand.

However, Alexei’s reaction to the name Nikolai Vetrov isn’t the shock or recognition I’d hoped for. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a puzzled expression crossing his features as if he’s genuinely trying to place the name.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

I narrow my eyes, skeptical of his reply. “Are you bullshitting me?”

Alexei holds my gaze. “I’m not playing games, Lev. I know about the attacks on your family, and frankly, they disgust me. That's not how I conduct business.”

I study his face, searching for any telltale sign of deception. His demeanor seems genuine, but I know better.

“Vetrov was a low-level associate for you,” I state flatly.

“Was,” interjects one of Alexei’s lieutenants, a burly man with a keen eye. “He turned out to be a thief. We ran him out of the organization. He died a year ago.”

My interest piques. “And did you have anything to do with his death?”

The lieutenant shakes his head, his expression unflinching. “No. He got himself killed over some petty drug bullshit. Nothing to do with us.”

I sit back, processing this information. It’s a dead end in more ways than one—a lead gone cold and a suspect literally deceased.

Alexei seems interested as I explain the connection. "So, why do you know that name?"

I lean in slightly, making sure I have his full attention. "He was linked to a motorcycle used in the attack on my family.”

Alexei's response is to drum his fingers thoughtfully on the table, his brow furrowed in concentration. "This is an odd development considering he’d been dead long before that incident occurred," he muses aloud, then adds with a hint of skepticism, "sounds too convenient, doesn’t it?"

I nod slightly, encouraging him to continue. "What’s on your mind?"

He meets my gaze with a calculated look. "Someone might have purposely linked the bike to this man knowing he was already dead, a way to connect him to the attack without risking anything."

I press for more clarity. "Are you suggesting this was a plot to frame your organization? To make it look like you were behind the attack?"

"I believe so," Alexei confirms. "Look, Lev, I may be competition but I’m civil competition. There’s more money to be made with deals than with bloodshed."

I sit back, considering his words. His rationale makes sense. Alexei's explanation feels sincere and it fits the pattern of a setup designed to pit powerful players against each other.

This could mean there's another player in the game, one who stands to gain from our mutual destruction.

Alexei leans back, his expression turning more contemplative. "If you want my opinion," he begins, pausing for effect, "I think that 'the call is coming from inside the house,' as they say."

"A traitor?"

Alexei nods slowly, his gaze steady. "Indeed. It seems like only an internal job could stir such trouble within your organization," he asserts, his voice laced with a hint of disdain for such tactics.

He then shifts forward again, clasping his hands on the table, signaling a move toward a solution. "I have a proposal," he continues, "a truce between the Ivanov and Plushenko organizations until this unseemly matter is all sorted out. You now know we had nothing to do with the attack and with that, we need reassurance you won’t try to retaliate. Together, we can find out who is trying to pit us against one another."

I consider his words carefully. In the underworld, alliances are as fragile as they are necessary. Alexei, with his keen understanding and strategic mind, could indeed be a valuable ally in this tangled scenario. Having him on our side, even temporarily, might just give us the edge we need to root out the true culprit.

I rise from my seat, extending my hand across the table. Alexei reaches out his own.

"Truce it is," I say, and seal it with a handshake.