Chapter 7: Alexei

I'm staring at the ceiling of our makeshift bunk, tracing the cracks with my eyes, pretending they lead somewhere other than where I am. But that's the thing about pretending—you can't do it forever. I roll over, face the wall, and hear Dmitri breathing slowly and steadily beside me. For once, it isn't a snore. He's awake, too.

"We're getting out of here today, Alexei." Dmitri's voice is a rough whisper in the dark.

I nod, though he can't see it. My gut tightens, half with the thrill of it, half with dread. I've been in this factory since I was barely a man, or maybe since I stopped being one. Whatever I am now, it's as much a part of this place as the rust on the machines or the smell of sweat soaked into the walls.

"How?" My voice comes out harder than I mean it to, but it's the only way to keep from cracking.

He shifts on the narrow cot, the creak of the old springs loud in the stillness. "We need something to keep us going, until we get on our feet."

I turn my head just enough to see his outline against the dim light filtering through the grimy window. "What are you saying?"

He doesn't hesitate. "We take the drugs."

I sit up, my heart thudding hard against my ribs. "You're insane. That place is locked down tighter than anything in this godforsaken pit."

"That's why it's perfect. No one would think we'd be stupid enough to try." He's serious, dead serious, and the weight of it hits me like a punch to the gut. "We get the drugs, we can trade them, use them—whatever it takes to keep us from crawling back to this place."

"Are you sure about this, Dmitri?"

The plan we're concocting is insane, even for us.

"What choice do we have, Alexei? We need to get the hell out of this place. And once we're gone, we're going to need more than just your good looks to survive."

I laugh, though there's no humor in it. "You think stealing the drugs is the way to go?"

"We're sitting on a gold mine here," Dmitri says. "You know what they're cooking in the back—the stuff they sell for a fortune. We grab some of it, sell it off bit by bit, and we'll have enough cash to disappear for good."

Two weeks later, we're ready.

The factory is a beast, sprawling and fortified, with metal walls that sweat in the summer and freeze in the winter. The air always smells like burnt chemicals, sharp enough to cut through even the thickest layers of grime. We've been working on the plan every night, whispering in the dark, every detail etched into our minds like the tattoos on Dmitri's arms. He's the only one who knows the inner workings of this place better than I do, and even he looks a little pale as we approach the storage area.

It's not just a room; it's a fortress within a fortress. The main door is thick steel, reinforced with layers of security—electronic locks, a code system that changes every few hours, and a guard stationed nearby who never seems to sleep. Inside, there's another door, the kind you see in bank vaults. I'm half convinced it would take a tank to get through it.

We wait, tucked into the shadow of a massive machine that groans with the weight of decades of work. The guard on duty tonight is one we've watched for weeks—a creature of habit, always takes a piss break right around this time, five minutes on the dot. My pulse hammers as I watch the clock tick down.

Dmitri nudges me, and we move. Silent as ghosts, we slip into the narrow hallway leading to the storage area. The guard's already on his way out, oblivious as he hums some half-remembered tune. I hold my breath, counting each step as we move closer to the door.

Dmitri's hand is steady as he pulls out the stolen code card, swiping it through the reader. The light flashes green, and we're in.

The air inside is cold, colder than it has any right to be, and smells faintly of disinfectant. The walls are lined with shelves, but our eyes go straight to the vault door at the far end. It looms over us, solid and unyielding, like it knows we're here for something we shouldn't be touching.

"This is it," Dmitri whispers, his breath fogging in the cold air. "Let's do this."

He pulls out a small device, something he rigged together with parts stolen from the factory—some kind of makeshift hack to bypass the electronic lock on the vault. My heart's in my throat as he connects it, fingers moving with a surgeon's precision.

Time stretches, until finally, the lock clicks. We both exhale at the same time, and I can't help the small, crazed laugh that bubbles up.

The door swings open, and we're greeted by rows of metal cases, each one marked with a code we've memorized. This is the good stuff, the kind that makes men rich or gets them killed. We've got minutes, maybe less, before someone notices something's wrong.

We start grabbing the cases, loading them into the bags we've brought, the weight of them making my shoulders ache. Dmitri's faster than me, his movements almost frantic. I glance up and catch his eye—there's something wild there, something that wasn't there before.

"Come on, we need to move," I hiss, throwing another case into my bag.

He doesn't argue, just nods, and we're out, slipping back into the shadows.

We're halfway to the exit when we hear it—a voice, sharp and alarmed, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots on concrete.

"Shit," Dmitri mutters, and I feel it too, the cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. We pick up the pace, but it's too late—the guard is on us, his flashlight sweeping the area.

We duck behind a stack of crates, breath held, hearts pounding so loud it's a wonder he doesn't hear it. The light passes over us once, twice, and then moves on.

We don't wait to see if he's gone far. We're up and running, the bags heavy against our backs, feet slapping against the ground. The exit's just ahead, so close I can taste the freedom, but the guard's shouts echo through the corridor, and I know we're not out of this yet.

The final door looms in front of us, our last obstacle. Dmitri slams his shoulder into the push bar, and we spill out into the night, the cold air like a slap to the face. We don't stop running, not until we're clear of the factory's lights, not until the only sound is the ragged gasps of our breath and the rustle of the wind in the trees.

We collapse against a tree, the adrenaline crashing as hard as it had hit. Dmitri's grinning like a madman, and I realize I'm grinning too, despite the fear still lodged in my chest.

"We did it," he gasps, holding up one of the cases like a trophy. "We fucking did it."

I laugh, and it's a real laugh this time, full of the kind of relief that only comes when you've danced with death and lived to tell the tale.

But as I look at the dark outline of the factory in the distance, a part of me knows this isn't over. We've got the drugs, but we're still a long way from free. And the things we've done—the things we've taken—they have a way of catching up with you.

"Let's get the hell out of here," I say, pushing myself to my feet, feeling the weight of the future bearing down on us. "Before they realize what we've done."

Dmitri nods, but his grin doesn't fade. "We'll be alright, Alexei. We've got this."

I want to believe him, but the truth is, I don't know if I can.

***

I hadn't expected this.

Irina had kept me on my toes from the moment we met, always one step ahead, always challenging me. But this . . . the softness in her eyes, the way she leans into me, her lips parting under mine . . . it takes my breath away.

In that moment, I forget about the mission, about the danger lurking in the shadows. All I can think about is her. The taste of her, the feel of her body pressed against mine, the way her hand clutches at my shirt like she'll never let me go.

I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, needing to feel all of her against me. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, a mix of surprise and surrender, and it sends a jolt straight to my groin. I deepen the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers, my free hand coming up to thread through her hair, holding her in place as I explore her mouth.

She kisses me back with an intensity that matches my own, her lips eager, her tongue stroking mine. It drives me wild, makes me want to devour her, to claim every inch of her as my own.

I feel her fingers loosen their grip on my shirt, trailing down my chest, sending shivers across my skin. She explores my body with an inquisitive touch, her hands skimming over my shoulders, my back, learning the contours of my muscles, the feel of my skin. It's a heady sensation, having her touch me like this, and I can't stop the low groan that rumbles in my throat.

Slowly, I guide her backward until the back of her legs hit the edge of the couch. I ease her onto the cushions, following her down, never breaking the kiss. I straddle her, my legs on either side of her hips, my hands braced on the couch on either side of her head.

For a moment, we just look at each other, our lips inches apart, our breaths mingling. Her eyes search mine.

"Are you sure?" I ask, my voice hoarse. I brush my thumb lightly over her cheek. "We don't have to—"

She cuts me off with a kiss, her fingers tightening in my hair, pulling me back to her. "I'm sure," she whispers when our lips part. "I want this. I want you."

I want you .

No one has ever said those words to me like that, with such intensity, such certainty.

"Alexei," her eyes never leave mine. "Come here."

It's a command, a plea, and a request all at once. My control breaks at the sound of my name on her lips, the thread of desire that has been pulling us together finally snapping tight.

I settle myself between her legs, the movement making her gasp softly as she feels the proof of my need pressing against her. I hover over her, our bodies so close that every breath I take is filled with her scent.

I start to lower myself, feeling her body against mine, the softness of her breasts pressed against my chest, the heat of her skin through the thin material of our clothes. Her hands roam my back, her fingers splayed wide, learning the contours of my muscles, the dips and grooves of my spine. It makes me ache to feel her touch on my bare skin.

Slowly, I pull back, breaking the kiss, needing to look into her eyes. "Irina," I say, my voice raspy, my eyes never leaving hers. "Let me touch you."

For a moment, she doesn't respond, just looks at me with those big eyes, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. Then, slowly, she nods. "Okay," she whispers. "Touch me."

Her answer sends a rush of desire through me, and I know I need to go slow, to savor this, but it's a challenge with the way she's looking at me, her lips parted, her body arching up toward mine.

I lean in, my lips brushing hers gently, my hand coming up to cup her jaw. I kiss her slowly, my lips soft against hers, my thumb brushing lightly over her bottom lip. I taste her, take my time exploring her mouth, learning the feel of her lips, the way she responds to my touch.

One of her hands comes up to tangle in my hair, her fingers tightening as I kiss her, her body moving against mine. I can feel her desire, the way she wants to rush this, to consume each other, but I force myself to go slow, to savor every moment.

I pull back, kissing a trail down her jaw, her neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. She gasps, her head tilting back, giving me better access, and I take advantage, sucking lightly on the spot where her pulse beats wildly beneath her skin. I want to brand her, to leave my mark, to let the whole world know that she's mine.

Her fingers tighten in my hair, tugging gently, and I smile against her skin, enjoying the way she responds to my touch. I continue my path down her body, kissing along her collarbone, nipping at the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat. Everywhere my lips touch, her skin blooms, a flush spreading across her chest, down her neck, staining her cheeks a delicate pink.

I want to devour her, to taste every inch of her skin, but I force myself to take my time, to make this good for her. I trail my lips down her body, pausing to pay attention to her breasts.

"Take it off."

The words send a jolt straight to my groin, and I can't deny her anything. Slowly, I sit up, never breaking eye contact as I pull her shirt over her head, baring her body to me.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her. Her breasts are full and flushed in her bra. Her skin is smooth, and her ribs expand with each breath she takes.

"You're so beautiful," I murmur, my eyes drinking her in. "So fucking perfect."

She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing even darker. I lower my head, my lips brushing over one nipple through the fabric of her bra. She lets out a soft sigh at the touch, her hands coming up to rest on my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin.

I mouth her through the fabric, paying attention to one breast while my fingers reach up to toy with the other, tweaking the nipple through the lace until it pebbles, hard and eager. I can feel her desire, the way her body moves restlessly against mine, the way she arches her back, offering herself to me.

I sit up and pull her bra straps down her arms, freeing her breasts. I take a moment to appreciate the view as her nipples tighten even further in the cool air. Then I lean in, my tongue swirling around one tight bud before drawing it into my mouth, sucking gently.

She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, her fingers tightening painfully in my hair.

"Alexei," she whispers, her hips arching off the couch, pressing herself closer to my mouth. "More."

I move to the other breast, lavishing attention on it, my teeth scraping gently over the tight bud before I soothe it with my tongue.

I feel drunk with power, with the knowledge that I can make her lose control like this, that I can make her forget everything but the feel of my mouth on her skin.

I trail kisses down her stomach, each one slower than the last, feeling the tension build between us. My hands come up to cover hers, our fingers lacing together, grounding us in the moment. I can feel her pulse beneath my palms, the rapid beat echoing the desire in my own chest.

When I reach the band of her trousers, I pause, meeting her gaze, giving her one last chance to stop this. But her eyes are dark, filled with the same hunger that's driving me, and there's no hesitation when she nods, just the barest tilt of her head.

I take my time, undoing the button, sliding the zipper down slowly, savoring the way her breath hitches with each movement. Then, with a quick, fluid motion, I tug the fabric down her hips, exposing the smooth skin beneath. She shivers as the cool air meets her skin, her body arching toward me, silently urging me on.

I kiss her again, this time through the band of her panties, my tongue pressing against the damp fabric, tasting her desire. Her response is a soft moan, and her hips lift off the couch, seeking more. The sound sends a jolt of heat through me, tightening the need in my gut, but I force myself to go slow, to make this last.

I suck lightly, teasing her, nipping at the sensitive skin with my teeth, and she gasps. The fabric is wet now, clinging to her, and I can feel the heat of her through it, can smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal.

"Alexei . . .."

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, drawing them down her legs, taking my time as I peel the fabric away from her skin. She lifts her hips to help me, her body trembling with anticipation, and when she's finally bare before me, I just look at her, drinking in the sight of her naked and willing beneath me.

Her breath comes in quick, shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she waits, the tension between us thickening with every passing second. My hands slide down her thighs, feeling the smooth, warm skin beneath my fingertips, and I spread her legs, positioning myself between them.

I lean down, pressing my lips to the soft skin of her inner thigh, letting my breath fan over her heated flesh. She lets out a shaky moan, her hips twitching toward me, and I smile against her skin, savoring the sound. I trail my kisses closer, inch by inch, until I'm hovering just above her core, the scent of her arousal heady and intoxicating.

"Alexei," she breathes, her voice shaky, pleading, and it's all the encouragement I need.

I press my mouth against her, my tongue sliding through her wetness, tasting her, savoring the way she shudders beneath me. She moans, the sounds broken and desperate, and I grip her thighs, holding her steady as I explore every inch of her with my tongue. She's so responsive; every touch, every flick of my tongue makes her body tighten, and her moans grow louder.

I slide one hand up, teasing her entrance with my fingers. I push a finger inside her slowly, groaning at the way she clenches around me. Fuck! She's so tight, so hot and wet that it makes my own need flare even hotter, makes me desperate to give her more.

I curl my finger inside her, finding that sweet spot that makes her cry out, and I focus my mouth on her clit, sucking gently, flicking my tongue against it in quick, teasing strokes. Her hips jerk, her hands fisting in the cushion, and she's so close, I can feel it, can sense the way her body is winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

I add another finger, pumping them in and out of her in time with the strokes of my tongue, feeling the way she trembles, the way she gasps and moans, her body tensing beneath me as the pleasure builds. Her thighs shake, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants, and then she's falling apart, her orgasm crashing over her in waves.

She cries out, her back arching off the couch as she rides out her climax, her body clenching around my fingers. I don't stop; I keep my mouth on her, keep my fingers moving inside her, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she's trembling, limp, and spent.

When she finally collapses back against the couch, her breath coming in ragged gasps, I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I watch her. She's beautiful, flushed and glowing. I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to her stomach, savoring the warmth of her skin and the softness of her body beneath me.

She opens her eyes, meeting my gaze, and there's something in her expression, something soft and vulnerable that makes my chest tighten. I don't say anything; I just slide up her body, pressing a kiss to her lips, tasting the remnants of her pleasure on her tongue as I settle beside her.

But I can't ignore the tightness in my own body, the way my need for her is still burning hot and urgent. She reaches down, her hand brushing against the bulge in my trousers, and I groan, my hips thrusting up into her touch. I want her so badly, need her in a way that's almost painful, and the look in her eyes tells me she feels the same.

I sit up, my body protesting at the movement, and start to undress, my eyes never leaving hers. I shrug out of my shirt, watching as her eyes follow the movement, her gaze flicking to my chest, and I relish the heat that flares in her eyes.

"Alexei," she licks her lips, her gaze falling to my hands as I undo the button on my trousers, "I want—"

"I know what you want, baby," I murmur, my voice rough as I tug down the zipper, freeing myself from the confines of my clothes. I'm already hard, my cock straining toward her, and her eyes widen at the sight of me, her cheeks flushing as her gaze meets mine.

I kick off my pants, eager to join my body with hers, and settle myself between her legs once more. She reaches for me, her eyes fluttering closed as she wraps her hand around my length, guiding me to her entrance.

The feel of her touch, of her hand on me, is almost too much, and I groan, my head falling back as I savor the sensation.

I lean down, pressing a kiss to her jaw, her neck, my lips brushing over her skin as I nuzzle her ear. "You feel so good, Irina," I murmur, my voice low and rough. "So fucking tight."

I position myself at her entrance, the tip of my cock pressed against her, and hold her gaze as I push forward, slowly, inch by inch, joining our bodies together.

Her eyes widen, and I pause, giving her a moment to adjust to the feeling. I can feel her heat surrounding me, tightening around me, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to thrust forward, to bury myself deep.

" Oh ," she breathes, her head falling back as she clutches at my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin. "Alexei, oh, my God."

I freeze, feeling how tight she is, how she clenches around me, and realization hits me. "Is this your first time?" I ask, my voice hoarse as I search her eyes.

She nods, her cheeks flushing, and something twists inside me.

"Fucking hell, Irina," I grit out, my hips twitching forward involuntarily. "You should have told me."

I start to pull out, but her hands are on my hips, her fingers digging into my skin, holding me in place. "Don't you fucking dare," she says, her voice breathy but firm, her eyes flashing with determination. "I want this. I want you."

There's a fire in her eyes, one that matches the flame burning in my chest, and my control snaps. I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her fiercely, pouring all my desire, all my need, into the kiss. One of my hands comes up to tangle in her hair, holding her head in place as I kiss her deeply.

I start to move, slowly at first, gentling myself, trying to go easy, but it's a challenge with how good she feels, with how incredible her body is.

But then she moves, her hips lifting to meet mine, her body seeking more of me.

"Alexei," she breathes, her eyes opening, the spark in them lighting a fire in my blood. "Don't hold back. Please."

I don't need any more encouragement.

I pull back, then thrust forward, claiming her fully, seating myself deep within her. She gasps, her nails digging into my skin, her body tensing around me. And then I start to move, my hips stuttering at first, then falling into a steady rhythm as I find my pace.

I lose myself in the feel of her, the slide of her body against mine, the tight grip of her silken heat. Her hips move to meet mine, her breath coming in quick, needy pants, her body encouraging me to go harder, faster.

I comply, my control shattering at the sounds of pleasure falling from her lips, at the way her body responds to mine, moving in perfect harmony. We fall into a frantic rhythm, our bodies slamming together, the couch creaking beneath us, the only sounds in the room our harsh breaths and the wet, intimate sounds of our joining.

"More," she breathes against my lips. "Please, Alexei. I want—"

I don't need to hear more. With a low growl, I pull out almost entirely before thrusting back into her, going deeper than before. She gasps, her hands tightening on my back, her nails digging into my skin.

I can feel her excitement, the way her body tenses beneath mine, the way her breath comes in short, sharp pants. I want to give her release, to take her to the edge and push her over, to feel her fall apart under me.

I shift my angle, my hips hitting hers in a way that makes her gasp, her nails digging into my back. "There?" I ask, my voice rough, my eyes never leaving hers. "Is that what you need?"

She bites her lip, her eyes searching mine, before she nods. "Yes," she whispers, "There. Right there, Alexei. Don't stop."

I don't plan to.

She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips arching up to meet mine, her nails digging into my back, urging me on.

"Alexei," she pants, her eyes fluttering closed, her body arching off the couch. "I'm close, so close. Don't stop, please, don't—"

That's all I need to hear. I lean in, my lips brushing hers, my hips slamming into hers as I take her over the edge. She cries out, her body tightening around mine, her release washing over her. I feel her walls clutching me, milking me, and it's all I can do to hold on, to keep thrusting as she falls apart beneath me.

"Come for me," I grit out, my own climax building as I feel her body clench around me. "Let go, baby."

Her cry of release tears from her throat, her body convulsing around me as she finds her release, her inner walls fluttering as her orgasm washes over her. The sensation is too much, and with a few more sharp thrusts, I find my own, my body tensing as I spill myself into her, my hips stuttering as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

We lay there, breathless and spent, our bodies still joined, our hearts pounding in time. I nuzzle her neck, placing soft kisses along her jaw, savoring the feel of her beneath me, around me, the way she feels like she was made for me.

****

Waking up alone wasn't exactly the dream scenario I had in mind, but then again, nothing about Irina had ever been predictable. The early morning light is soft, almost too delicate for the weight of what had happened between us last night. I blink against it, still half-immersed in the warmth of the memory—her body pressed against mine, the way she'd sighed my name as if it were a secret she'd been dying to share. But when I reach out to where she'd been, all I find are cold sheets and the faintest trace of her scent.

Of course, she's already up, probably buried in some plan to take down Sergei as if nothing had happened between us.

I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake off the frustration curling in my chest. I should've expected this—Irina isn't the type to dwell on emotions, especially not when there's a mission at hand. Still, I can't help the twinge of disappointment that she hadn't stayed, even for a moment longer.

Sliding out of my bed, which we managed to crawl into before I was inside her again, I pull on my clothes and make my way out of the room. I find her at the table, hunched over a map with that same intense focus that had first caught my eye. The scene is so quintessentially Irina: cool, composed, and entirely in control. It's almost as if last night hadn't happened at all.

"You're up early," I say, trying to keep my tone light, but the tension is there, just beneath the surface.

She glances up at me briefly, her expression giving nothing away. "We have work to do."

I bite back the urge to say something more, to ask her how she feels about what happened between us. But I know better than to push. Irina is a fortress, and if she isn't ready to let me in, no amount of questioning will change that.

Instead, I nod and move to the table, scanning the map she's studying. "What's the plan?"

"We're going to need to adjust our approach," Irina says, as if last night was just another fleeting moment in our twisted mission. She taps the map with her finger. "I got a text this morning. It's going to be a masked ball tonight. That makes it easier for us to blend in."

"A masked ball?" I lean closer to the table, trying to focus on the mission instead of the memory of her body against mine. "That works in our favor. We can move around without drawing too much attention."

She nods, eyes still on the map. "Exactly. We can get closer to Sergei without him knowing it's us. I'll forge the invitation cards; that part's easy."

"Good," I say, watching her, trying to read the thoughts she keeps so carefully hidden. "I've got an untraceable credit card. Dmitri gave it to me for situations just like this. I'll handle getting the clothes and masks."

She glances up at me, her expression neutral. "I can buy my own dress."

I almost laugh, the tension breaking just a bit. "No offense, Irina, but if I leave it to you, you'll end up with something that screams 'undercover operative' instead of 'elegant socialite.'"

Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but she shuts it down quickly. "Fine. Just make sure it's practical."

"Practical, sure," I agree, knowing full well that I'll pick something that'll turn heads, especially mine. I can't resist adding, "I'll make sure it's something that'll look good when you inevitably need to make a quick getaway."

She doesn't respond to the flirtation, her focus already back on the mission. I swallow my frustration, reminding myself that now isn't the time to push for anything more. There's too much at stake, and Irina is all about the mission.

"I'll be back in a few hours," I say, turning to leave, but not before giving her one last look, hoping for something—anything—to show that last night meant more than just a lapse in judgment.

But she's already lost in her world of plans and strategies, as if I never even spoke.

With a sigh, I head out the door, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead: buying the perfect dress for a woman who's as impossible to predict as she is to forget.

I feel completely out of my depth as I walk through the luxurious aisles of the boutique a few hours later. I'm not exactly the type to shop for women's clothing, let alone something as intricate as a ball gown. But when it comes to Irina, I can't trust her to pick something that doesn't scream, "I'm here to kill you." So here I am, holding up a sleek black dress that strikes the perfect balance between elegance and allure.

I pull out my phone, find Dmitri's name on the favorite tab, and dial it. Valentina will be the perfect person to help me. The phone rings twice before he picks up, his face instantly brings a grin to my face.

"Alexei," Dmitri answers. "How are you holding up?"

"Still breathing, still in one piece," I say, keeping it light as I inspect the dress under the boutique's flattering lights. "Irina and I are making progress. I'll keep you updated."

"Good . . . and you're staying focused?"

"Like a laser," I joke, though I'm dead serious. "But listen, I need some advice. How's Valentina? And the baby?"

There's a brief pause, just a hint of hesitation. "They're good. Valentina's tired, but she's handling it like a champ. Why?"

"Can I talk to her?" I ask, already imagining the look on Valentina's face when she finds out why I'm calling. "I need a woman's opinion on something."

Dmitri sighs, probably rolling his eyes. "Alright, I'll put her on."

A moment later, Valentina's smiling face fills the screen. "Alexei! What are you up to?"

"Valentina, just the person I needed," I say, holding up the dress for her to see. "I'm deep in enemy territory—shopping. What do you think of this?"

She laughs, a bright, musical sound. "Well, that depends. Are you trying to make Irina faint or blend in?"

"Why not both?" I smirk, imagining the look on Irina's face when she sees the dress.

Valentina narrows her eyes at the screen, tilting her head. "Hmm, it's nice, but I don't know . . . maybe something a little more daring?"

I blink, taken aback. "Daring, huh? You think she'll go for that?"

"Oh, Alexei, trust me. Irina may act like she's all business, but she's got a side to her that loves a little drama," Valentina says with a knowing grin. "Show me what else you've got."

I rummage through the rack, pulling out a deep red gown with a plunging neckline. "How about this one?"

Valentina's eyes widen, and she shakes her head. "Too much. You're not trying to get her arrested for indecent exposure, are you?"

I chuckle, putting the dress back. "Fair point. Alright, how about this?" I lift a sleek emerald dress with a thigh-high slit.

Valentina raises an eyebrow. "Now that's more like it. But the black one was better. More mysterious, more . . . Irina."

I nod, considering her words. "You're right. The black one it is."

She nods approvingly. "It's perfect. Elegant but with enough edge to suit her. She'll love it."

I grin, feeling more confident. "Thanks, Valentina. I owe you one."

"You owe me about twenty," she quips, her tone teasing. "But I'll let you off easy this time. Just don't forget to send me a picture of her in it. I need to see how this turns out."

"You got it," I promise, tucking the dress under my arm. "And thanks again, really."

"Anytime, Alexei," she says warmly before handing the phone back to Dmitri.

Dmitri's voice comes back on the line, as stern as ever. "Remember, Alexei, Don't get too distracted."

"Distracted? Me? Never," I say with a smirk, but I can hear the concern and it nags at me.

"Alexei," Dmitri says, his tone more serious now. "I know how you get when things get . . . personal. Just be careful. You're not invincible."

I pause. "I know, Dmitri. I'll be careful."

"Good. Keep me updated."

I end the call, already picturing the look on Irina's face when she sees what I've picked out. She has no idea what's coming, and I can't wait to see her reaction.