Chapter 13: Alexei

"I've been waiting for an update."

"Well, shit's gotten messier," I respond, leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to figure out how to sum it all up.

"What has?

I exhale slowly. "The whole fucking operation, Dmitri. Sergei is the least of our worries. There's a bigger network, and they're trafficking women and children. The ball we went to wasn't just a cover for drugs. It was an auction. They were selling human beings."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "You're telling me they were selling people?"

"Yeah," I say, swallowing hard. "Kids, Dmitri. Women, too. I saw the files. They've got the routes, the buyers, everything. It's all laid out in those papers."

"Fuck," Dmitri mutters. "How deep does this go?"

"It's global . . .. It's not just here. They've got operations everywhere. Europe, Asia, Africa. The list of buyers goes on and on."

Another long silence, but I can hear Dmitri breathing on the other end.

"Don't do anything yet," Dmitri says finally in a firm voice.

"What?" My grip tightens on the phone. "Are you serious? How can you say that after what I just told you?"

"Calm the fuck down," Dmitri snaps back. "I'm telling you, don't make any rash decisions. You can't go in blind, not when it's this big. You're too close to it right now."

I grit my teeth. "You think I'm gonna sit on this? After what we've seen? You expect me to just wait?"

"Yes," he says. "You need to think, not react. You want to take this down? You do it smart, not emotional. Otherwise, you'll get yourself killed."

"I'm not emotional," I argue. "We fucking need to stop these monsters."

"Are you sure about that?" Dmitri's voice is calm again and cuts to the haze of anger. "Because you sound like you want to rush into a suicide mission. We need to be strategic. You're not dealing with street thugs anymore. If this is a global network, we're outnumbered."

"I'm not letting this go," I snap back. "We have what we need. We can stop this."

"Do you trust me, Alexei?"

"Of course I do," I answer without hesitation. "With my life."

"Then listen to me," Dmitri says. "I'm not losing you. Not to this. We'll take down Sergei first. Then, we'll regroup and plan to infiltrate the Broker network. But if you try to do both now, you won't make it out alive. You understand?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to breathe. "Fine," I say through clenched teeth. "But we don't let this go. After Sergei—"

"We'll get them all," Dmitri promises. "But not until we're ready."

I nod, even though he can't see it. "Okay."

"Good," Dmitri says. "Stay safe. I mean it."

"Yeah. You too," I reply, and then the line goes dead.

Dmitri is always right. Charging in now would be suicide. But knowing that doesn't make it easier to sit still.

I shove the phone into my pocket and turn toward the stove. I need to clear my head, and cooking is the only thing that ever helps. I start chopping vegetables, trying to focus on the rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board.

The door creaks behind me, and I turn to see Irina standing there, her eyes still swollen from crying earlier.

"Hey," I say, turning down the heat on the stove.

She doesn't respond, just walks over to the table and sits down.

I watch her for a moment. "I'm sorry," I say quietly, breaking the silence.

She looks up at me, her expression unreadable. "For what?"

"For pushing you earlier . . .. I shouldn't have done that."

She nods slowly and looks away. "It's nothing."

I turn back to the stove, stirring the vegetables. "I know it's not fine, but . . . I just want you to know, I didn't mean to—"

"Alexei," she interrupts me. "Can we just . . . not talk about it right now?"

"Yeah." I turn off the stove. "Of course."

As we sit down to eat, I glance over at Irina, who's picking at her food, not really eating. Her eyes are distant, and I hate seeing her like this.

I push a piece of vegetable around on my plate, then look up at her with a grin. "You know, I've never seen anyone look so serious about eating dinner before. It's almost like you're plotting how to assassinate your broccoli."

Her lips twitch, but she doesn't smile. Not yet. "Maybe I am," she says dryly, stabbing a carrot with her fork. "The broccoli deserves it."

"Okay, how about this," I say, leaning back in my chair. "For the next few hours, let's just . . . forget everything. No missions, no Sergei, no mafia bullshit. Let's just be us for a while. What do you say?"

Irina looks up at me, her brow furrowed like she's trying to figure out if I'm serious or not. "And what exactly does ‘just us' mean?"

"It means we eat this perfectly mediocre meal I've cooked," I say, grinning. "Then maybe we talk about something that isn't life-threatening for once. I don't know; we could pretend we're normal people. What do normal people talk about? Weather? Gossip?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Gossip? Really?"

"Why not?" I shrug. "I heard the neighbor down the street might be in a secret relationship with his mail carrier. Scandalous, right?"

Irina snorts, shaking her head. "You're an idiot."

"True," I say, smiling wider now that I've managed to get some kind of reaction from her. "But I'm a charming idiot."

She gives me a look that says she's not buying it, but there's a little more light in her eyes now. "Charming? That's debatable."

"Hey," I say, pretending to be offended. "I've been told I have a certain roguish charm."

"By who?" She takes a bite of her food. "Yourself?"

"Well, yeah. Self-love is important, Irina." I make a show of puffing up my chest.

This time, she actually laughs, and I freeze for a second. Her laugh is rare, and when it comes out, it's like the room gets brighter. It's not something I get to hear often.

"You should do that more often," I say softly, still smiling.

"Do what?"

"Laugh." I lean forward a bit. "You don't do it nearly enough."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "There's not much to laugh about these days."

"True," I admit, "but that's why it's important. You've got a killer laugh, Irina. It'd be a shame to waste it."

Her face softens a little, and for a moment, there's something vulnerable in her eyes. She doesn't say anything, just looks at me, then she shakes her head and goes back to her food.

"Stop trying to flirt with me."

"Who says I'm flirting?" I say. "I'm just making an observation. Your laugh is objectively great."

"Objectively?" She stabs the last piece of broccoli. "Is there some kind of study you're referencing?"

"Of course." I nod. "It's a scientific fact. I read it in a very reputable journal."

"And what journal would that be?" she asks with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"The ‘Alexei Knows Best' journal."

She snorts again. "You're an idiot."

"Maybe . . . but I'm an idiot who's managed to make you laugh twice now. I'd say that's a win."

She looks at me for a moment, then finally smiles. It's a real smile this time, not just a fleeting one. It's small, but it's there, and it feels like a victory.

"Fine," she says, setting her fork down. "You win. For now."

I raise my hands in surrender. "I'll take what I can get."

I watch her finish the last of her meal.

"Tell me about your dad," I say quietly. "You don't talk about him much."

Irina tenses for a second. Her eyes flick toward me, but then she relaxes and lets out a small sigh.

"There's not much to say," she replies. "He was . . . kind. Strong. Always thought about other people first, even when it cost him everything."

I don't interrupt. I can see how much it takes for her to talk about him, and I want her to have the space to do it at her own pace.

"He wasn't like other men." Her eyes drift to the window as if she's looking for something out there. "He believed in doing the right thing, even when it was hard. He always told me that helping others is what gives life meaning." She pauses. "I guess that's why he got involved in all of this. Why he couldn't turn his back when he found out about the trafficking."

"He sounds like he was a good man," I say gently.

"He was." She nods, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. "Too good, maybe. Too selfless. He'd give everything for someone else without even thinking about what it might cost him. I think that's what got my mother interested in him, and that is what ruined us in the end."

The silence stretches between us for a moment, and I reach across the table and brush my fingers against hers.

"If you could go back in time, would you want to stop him?"

Irina doesn't respond for a long while. "Yes . . . but knowing my dad, he would have found another issue to be involved in. Same way Abel did."

"Who's Abel?"

"He was my father's partner, and he found me after it happened." Her eyes glaze over slightly as if she's remembering every detail. "He took me in. He told me that he, my dad, and Bristol were working on the case outside their official setting. After everything went down, he made it his mission to keep me alive."

"Is he still alive?"

"No . . . he died five years ago. Cancer. He fought it as long as he could, but in the end . . . there was nothing we could do."

"I'm sorry."

Irina nods, but her gaze stays fixed on the table, "It's fine. It's life, right? People die. You move on."

Her words are cold, but I can hear the emotion buried beneath the surface.

"What about your brother?" I ask gently. "Do you think he's still out there?"

Irina hesitates for a moment, "I don't know," she admits. "I want to believe he's still alive. I need to know, Alexei. Before anything else, I desperately need to know if he's still out there."

I squeeze her hand gently. "We'll find him, Irina. As long as he's alive, we'll find him."