The following days were a blur of tension and terse exchanges. Dmitry remained bedridden, his strength slowly returning under Alina's careful but detached care. He hated it—the confinement, the feeling of helplessness. But he forced himself to endure, knowing that once he was back on his feet, there would be a reckoning for those who had dared to cross him.
Alina maintained her distance, her interactions with Dmitry strictly professional. She was efficient, methodical, and never let her guard down. Dmitry found himself watching her closely, trying to unravel the mystery of this woman who seemed so impervious to fear or emotion.
It frustrated him, the way she carried herself with such quiet confidence, as if she were untouchable. Dmitry had broken stronger people than her with just a glance, yet Alina didn't flinch under his scrutiny. She was calm, controlled—a fortress he couldn't breach.
And it intrigued him.
"How much longer until I'm back on my feet?" Dmitry asked one afternoon, his voice gruff as he watched her change his bandages with clinical precision.
Alina glanced up briefly, her dark eyes meeting his. "You're healing well. If there are no complications, you should be able to walk in a day or two. But full strength will take longer."
Dmitry smirked, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "I don't have the luxury of waiting for 'full strength.' I have enemies to deal with."
Alina's hands paused for a brief moment before she resumed her work. "And you think rushing back into the fight while still recovering is a good idea?"
Dmitry's gaze darkened. "I don't expect you to understand. This isn't your world."
Alina finished with the bandages and stood, looking down at him with that same unreadable expression. "You're right. It isn't. But if you want to survive, you should listen to those who know better than you when it comes to healing."
Dmitry chuckled darkly, the sound low and dangerous. "You have an interesting way of speaking to someone like me, Doctor."
Alina's gaze didn't waver. "And you have an interesting way of surviving, Mr. Ivanov."
There it was again—that quiet defiance that made Dmitry want to push her further, to see how far she could bend before she finally broke. But every time he tried to crack her cool exterior, she held firm, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
"Why are you here?" Dmitry asked suddenly, his voice quieter but no less dangerous. "Why did you take this job, knowing who I am?"
Alina hesitated for the briefest moment, a flicker of something passing through her eyes before it vanished. "I was asked to help. So I did."
"You expect me to believe that's all there is to it?" Dmitry's eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of a lie. "A doctor like you doesn't just end up in a situation like this by accident."
Alina remained silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she looked away, her voice calm but with an edge of steel. "I have my reasons. Just like you have yours."
Dmitry's eyes narrowed. He knew there was more to her story, but she wasn't going to reveal it easily. Fine. He'd get the truth out of her eventually—one way or another.
"Everyone has secrets," Dmitry said softly, his voice dripping with menace. "Even you, Doctor."
Alina's gaze flicked back to him, her expression cold. "And some secrets are better left buried."
Their eyes locked in a silent standoff, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. Dmitry felt a strange pull toward her, an urge to break through that cold exterior and see what lay beneath. But Alina was like ice—beautiful, dangerous, and impossible to grasp.
For now, he would let it go. But the mystery of Alina Morozov lingered in his mind, a puzzle he couldn't ignore.
Later that evening, Dmitry received a visit from Sergei, one of his most trusted lieutenants. Sergei was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a rough demeanor and a scar that ran from his temple to his jawline—a souvenir from a knife fight years ago. He approached Dmitry with a cautious air, knowing his boss was still recovering but also knowing that Dmitry wouldn't tolerate being coddled.
"Boss," Sergei greeted with a nod, standing at attention by the door. "You're looking better."
Dmitry waved a hand dismissively. "Enough of that. What's the situation?"
Sergei shifted uncomfortably, glancing briefly at Alina, who stood nearby, organizing medical supplies. Dmitry noticed the hesitation and barked, "Speak freely. She stays."
Alina didn't react, but Sergei's discomfort was palpable. He cleared his throat and began. "We've been tracking the men who attacked you. They were hired by someone within our own ranks."
Dmitry's eyes narrowed into slits. "A traitor?"
Sergei nodded grimly. "It seems so. Someone close enough to know your movements, your habits. We're still narrowing it down, but we've got a few names. I'll handle it personally once we have confirmation."
Dmitry's blood boiled at the thought of betrayal. There was nothing more unforgivable in his world than a traitor, and whoever had dared to cross him would pay dearly.
"Find them," Dmitry growled, his voice low and lethal. "And when you do, bring them to me alive."
Sergei nodded again. "Understood, Boss."
Dmitry dismissed Sergei with a wave, his mind already racing with thoughts of revenge. The men responsible would suffer—slowly, painfully. But first, he needed to regain his strength.
As Sergei left the room, Dmitry's gaze drifted back to Alina, who had been silent throughout the conversation. She seemed unfazed by the discussion of betrayal and violence, her expression as calm as ever. Dmitry wondered again what kind of past could make a woman so immune to fear.
"You heard all of that," Dmitry said, his voice softer now but no less dangerous.
Alina glanced at him briefly. "Yes."
"And you're not going to run?"
Alina raised an eyebrow. "Why would I run? I'm not the one you're after."
Dmitry chuckled darkly. "You're an interesting woman, Alina Morozov."
Alina didn't respond, turning her attention back to the supplies she was organizing. Dmitry watched her for a moment longer, then closed his eyes, letting his mind drift to thoughts of vengeance.
But even as he plotted the downfall of his enemies, his thoughts kept returning to Alina to her calm, her defiance, and the secrets she so carefully guarded.
He would uncover them, eventually.