Dmitry paced the length of the safe house's private office, the pain in his side a dull throb that he forced himself to ignore. His recovery had been swift, but not swift enough for his liking. There was still a tightness in his muscles, a slowness in his movements that grated on his nerves. He needed to be at full strength, to return to his empire and reassert his control. The men who had betrayed him would not get a second chance to strike.
But first, he needed answers.
Sergei had made some progress in identifying the traitor, but the list of suspects was still too long for Dmitry's taste. He couldn't act without certainty, not when the wrong move could send his entire organization spiraling into chaos. And yet, he felt the weight of time pressing down on him, a ticking clock that urged him to act before his enemies could finish what they'd started.
Alina entered the office without knocking, her expression calm and composed as always. Dmitry didn't turn to face her, but he felt her presence like a cool breeze cutting through the tension in the room.
"You shouldn't be moving around so much," Alina said in her usual detached tone, but there was a hint of firmness beneath it. "You'll reopen your wound."
Dmitry stopped pacing and glanced over his shoulder at her. "I don't have time to lie around and wait for things to fix themselves."
"You won't have much time for anything if you collapse from blood loss," Alina replied, her dark eyes steady as they met his. "Sit down."
Dmitry's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "I don't take orders, Doctor."
Alina raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And I don't waste my time giving advice to people who won't listen. But if you want to tear your stitches open and bleed out on this floor, be my guest."
Her words, sharp and unapologetic, would have provoked fury in any other man who held the kind of power Dmitry wielded. But instead of anger, Dmitry felt something else—a flicker of respect. He wasn't used to people standing up to him, especially not with such calm indifference. It was rare to find someone who didn't cower in his presence, someone who treated him like just another human being rather than a monster to be feared.
"Fine," Dmitry muttered, lowering himself into a chair with a grimace. "But don't think I'm doing this because you told me to."
Alina didn't respond to his challenge. Instead, she approached him with her medical bag and began checking his wound, her hands deft and precise. Dmitry watched her as she worked, noting the way she focused entirely on the task at hand, as if the rest of the world didn't exist when she was in doctor mode.
"You don't scare easily," Dmitry said after a long moment of silence.
Alina glanced at him briefly before returning to her work. "I've seen worse things than you."
Dmitry's gaze sharpened. "What kind of things?"
Alina didn't answer immediately. She finished rewrapping his bandages, then stood, packing her supplies back into her bag with an air of finality. "Things that don't need to be discussed."
Dmitry leaned back in his chair, studying her closely. He could sense that there was something dark in her past, something that had shaped her into the woman she was today. She wasn't cold for the sake of being cold—she was hardened, scarred in ways that he could only guess at.
"You intrigue me, Doctor," Dmitry said, his voice soft but laced with curiosity. "Most people are either terrified of me or want something from me. But you... you don't seem to care either way."
Alina's expression remained neutral, but Dmitry noticed the slightest flicker of something in her eyes—something he couldn't quite identify. "I'm here to do a job," she said simply. "What you do outside of that is none of my concern."
"Is that so?" Dmitry smirked. "You're not curious at all? About what I do? About who I am?"
Alina closed her medical bag with a sharp click, her movements controlled. "I already know who you are, Mr. Ivanov. And I know what you do."
Dmitry's smirk widened. "And yet, you still stand here, unafraid. Either you're incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish."
Alina met his gaze, her eyes steady and unwavering. "Or perhaps I simply don't let fear control me."
Their gazes locked, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Dmitry could feel the pull between them, a strange mix of curiosity, respect, and something darker—something that simmered beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
"Tell me something, Doctor," Dmitry said quietly, leaning forward slightly. "What would it take to scare you?"
For the first time since they'd met, Alina's mask slipped just a fraction. A shadow passed over her face, her eyes darkening with a memory she didn't want to acknowledge. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by her usual calm façade.
"Everyone has their limits," Alina said softly, her voice laced with a hint of something that almost resembled sadness. "Even me."
Dmitry watched her closely, intrigued by the brief crack in her armor. He could tell that she wasn't immune to fear—she had simply learned how to bury it, how to keep it hidden beneath layers of control and detachment.
But Dmitry had spent his life dealing with people who hid their true selves, who wore masks to protect themselves from the world. And he was very, very good at stripping those masks away.
Before he could push further, Sergei entered the room, his expression grim.
"Boss," Sergei said, his voice low and urgent. "We've got a lead. One of the men who arranged the hit—he's holed up in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city."
Dmitry's eyes gleamed with a dark, predatory light. "Bring him to me."
Sergei hesitated. "Boss, you're still recovering. Maybe it's best if we—"
"I said bring him to me," Dmitry growled, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to see him before he dies."
Sergei nodded quickly and left the room, leaving Dmitry alone with Alina once more. She didn't speak, but he could feel her eyes on him, could sense the judgment in her silence.
"You disapprove," Dmitry said without looking at her.
Alina's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "What you do isn't my business."
"Don't lie," Dmitry said, his gaze flicking to her. "You think I'm a monster."
Alina didn't respond immediately. She watched him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. "I think you're a man who's lost his way," she said quietly. "And I think you enjoy the power too much to ever find your way back."
Dmitry's lips twisted into a cold smile. "Power is the only thing that keeps men like me alive, Doctor. You wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not," Alina replied, her voice soft. "But I do understand one thing—you'll never find peace this way."
"Peace is for the weak," Dmitry said darkly. "And I don't intend to be weak."
Alina didn't argue. She simply gave him a long, searching look, then turned and left the room, leaving Dmitry alone with his thoughts.
As the door closed behind her, Dmitry couldn't shake the feeling that Alina had seen something in him that no one else had—something that even he didn't want to acknowledge.
But there was no time to dwell on it. Not when there was blood to be spilled.