The sun had not yet risen when Dmitry emerged from his room. The house was eerily quiet, the stillness almost suffocating. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on his mind, and the guilt he usually managed to suppress was closer to the surface than ever. Alina's words, like a needle lodged deep in his skin, had refused to leave him in peace.
He made his way to the kitchen, his movements silent and calculated. He hadn't slept, not really. His mind had churned with thoughts of betrayal, power, and the slow erosion of his own soul. He had built his empire on blood and fear, and for the first time, he wondered how much longer he could carry the weight of it.
As he entered the kitchen, he wasn't surprised to find Alina already there. She was sitting at the small table, a cup of coffee in her hands. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and she looked as though she hadn't slept either. But she still held that same calm composure, as if the world could crash down around her and she would remain unfazed.
Dmitry stopped in the doorway, his eyes locking with hers. They said nothing for a moment, just studying each other in the early morning light. The silence between them was heavy, thick with all the things they hadn't said and the strange tension that had grown between them since the moment they met.
Alina was the first to break the silence. "You didn't sleep."
It wasn't a question, just a simple observation. Dmitry walked over to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee, not bothering to respond. He took a sip, the bitter taste grounding him, giving him something tangible to focus on.
"I'm not your patient," Dmitry said after a long pause, his voice low and tired.
Alina watched him quietly, her dark eyes sharp and perceptive. "No, you're not. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop caring about what happens to you."
Dmitry let out a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Why? Why would you care about what happens to someone like me? You've seen what I'm capable of."
Alina's gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. "Because I know that what you've done doesn't define who you are."
Dmitry scoffed, his expression hardening. "You're wrong. In this world, what you've done is the only thing that defines you."
He could see that Alina didn't believe him, but she didn't argue. Instead, she stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of him. She was close now, close enough that Dmitry could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, something light and floral that stood in stark contrast to the harsh world around them.
"You can lie to yourself all you want," Alina said softly, her eyes locking onto his. "But I see the truth. And the truth is, you're not as far gone as you think you are."
Dmitry's jaw clenched, a mix of anger and frustration rising in him. She was pushing him, forcing him to confront things he didn't want to face. And yet, a part of him was drawn to her because of it. She was the only person who had ever dared to see past the armor he had built around himself.
He reached out suddenly, his hand gripping her wrist. His touch wasn't rough, but it was firm enough to hold her in place. He wasn't sure what he was doing—wasn't sure why he felt this sudden need to be close to her. But Alina didn't pull away. She stood there, her gaze steady, her breathing calm.
"You think you know me, Doctor?" Dmitry asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You think you can fix me?"
Alina's expression didn't waver. "No," she said quietly. "But I think you're worth saving."
Dmitry's grip tightened for a moment, his mind racing with a thousand conflicting emotions. He had always been in control—always the one who held the power in every situation. But with Alina, he felt something slipping, something he couldn't control.
And it terrified him.
Abruptly, he released her wrist and took a step back, his expression hardening again. "I don't need saving."
Alina didn't argue. She simply nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Maybe not," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean you're beyond it."
Before Dmitry could respond, Sergei entered the kitchen, his usual stoic expression in place. "Boss," he said, his voice low. "We've got a problem."
Dmitry's attention snapped away from Alina, his mind shifting back into the familiar territory of danger and strategy. "What is it?"
Sergei hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to Alina before returning to Dmitry. "It's Anton. He's gone off the radar."
Dmitry's brow furrowed. Anton was one of his most trusted lieutenants, a man who had been by his side for years. If he had gone off the radar, it meant one of two things: either he was in serious trouble, or he had turned traitor like Andrei.
"Find him," Dmitry said, his voice cold and sharp. "And if he's betrayed me, kill him."
Sergei nodded and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Dmitry stood still for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of Anton's disappearance. If Anton had turned against him, it meant that Dmitry's enemies were getting closer, circling like vultures waiting for the right moment to strike.
Alina's voice broke through his thoughts. "Is that your solution for everything? Kill anyone who crosses you?"
Dmitry turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "In my world, it's the only solution."
Alina's gaze didn't falter. "Maybe it's time to find a new world."
Dmitry didn't respond. He didn't know how to. Instead, he walked past her, his mind already shifting to the next steps he needed to take to protect his empire. But as he left the kitchen, he couldn't shake the feeling that Alina's words, though idealistic and naïve, had struck a chord deep within him.
For the first time in years, Dmitry wasn't sure if he was still in control of his own destiny—or if the shadows of his past were finally catching up to him.
The morning air felt thick with tension as Dmitry left Alina behind in the kitchen. Each step he took toward his office felt heavier than the last. Anton's disappearance nagged at him—Anton, who had fought beside him, bled beside him, a man who had seen the darkest parts of this life and still stood loyal. Or so Dmitry thought.
But this was his world. Trust was fragile, and loyalty, more often than not, was bought with fear. Andrei's betrayal had been one thing, an obvious play by an ambitious fool, but Anton? It shook Dmitry more than he would admit.
He entered his office, closing the door behind him. The dim light barely illuminated the worn wooden desk, the scattered files, and the faint smell of tobacco that clung to the air. He needed to make sense of the situation, but his mind was clouded. Alina's words kept echoing in his head. Maybe it's time to find a new world.
A new world? Dmitry scoffed at the thought. It wasn't possible. There was no walking away from this. He had built his empire from nothing, from the blood of his enemies and the sweat of his own survival instincts. There were no exits for men like him.
But as he sat down behind the desk, his eyes fell on a picture tucked away in a small frame, half-hidden behind stacks of papers. It was a picture of his younger sister, Elena. She had died years ago, an innocent caught in the crossfire of a war Dmitry hadn't even realized he was in yet. The memory of her had driven him into the mafia, fueled his hunger for power, for control. No one would ever take anything from him again. He'd built his empire in her memory, in the hopes of protecting what little family he had left.
And yet, here he was, losing everything anyway. Betrayals from within, threats from outside, and now…now there was Alina.
Alina.
Her presence was an unexpected intrusion into his life, one that he hadn't anticipated. She was supposed to have been just a doctor, a temporary solution to a problem, someone he could dismiss once he healed. But she had lodged herself into his mind, becoming a shadow that lingered even when he tried to push her away.
The truth was, Dmitry wasn't sure if he hated her for it—or if he needed her. That thought was more unsettling than any of the dangers he faced from the outside world.
The door to his office creaked open, and Dmitry tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun beneath his desk. But when he saw Sergei's hulking frame fill the doorway, he relaxed slightly, though the tension in his muscles remained.
"Any news?" Dmitry asked, his voice a growl.
Sergei stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He looked more serious than usual, his expression grim. "We've tracked Anton to a safe house outside the city. But…it's bad, Boss."
Dmitry narrowed his eyes. "How bad?"
Sergei hesitated, and Dmitry knew then that whatever Sergei had to say wasn't going to be good. "He's been in contact with the Solntsevskaya."
The name alone made Dmitry's blood run cold. The Solntsevskaya Bratva was the largest and most powerful crime syndicate in Russia, a group with whom Dmitry had long-standing enmity. If Anton had betrayed him to them, it wasn't just a simple betrayal—it was an act of war.
"That son of a bitch," Dmitry muttered, his hand curling into a fist. He stood up, pacing the room with sharp, angry steps. "How long?"
"Looks like they've been planning this for months," Sergei replied. "But it's worse than that. They're planning to make a move soon—real soon."
Dmitry stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he processed Sergei's words. The Solntsevskaya didn't just make moves on a whim. They were meticulous, calculated. If they were planning something, it meant they were coming for him—and they wouldn't stop until they had him dead or destroyed.
"We have to strike first," Dmitry said, his voice cold and decisive. "Before they have a chance to move on us."
Sergei nodded in agreement, but there was hesitation in his eyes. "And Anton?"
Dmitry's jaw clenched. Anton's betrayal hurt more than he wanted to admit. He had trusted Anton, seen him as more than just a soldier. But there was no room for sentimentality in this world. Betrayal was betrayal, and it had to be dealt with swiftly.
"Anton dies," Dmitry said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want him found and brought to me. I'll handle him myself."
Sergei didn't question the order. He simply nodded and left the room, leaving Dmitry alone once more with his thoughts.
Later that day, Dmitry found himself pacing the safe house again, this time with a simmering anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Every time he turned a corner, Alina seemed to be there, a quiet presence watching him from the edges of his world. And every time their eyes met, she seemed to see straight through him, stripping away the layers of control he clung to so desperately.
He couldn't let her do that. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.
But as the day wore on, Dmitry found himself drawn to her once more. He found her in the living room again, reading one of her medical textbooks. The quiet rustle of pages was the only sound in the room. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway, watching her. She looked peaceful, her focus entirely on the book in front of her. The way the light from the window played on her skin made her seem almost ethereal, like something out of a dream.
It made him feel something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years—something dangerously close to hope.
Without thinking, Dmitry walked into the room, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. Alina looked up as he approached, her eyes meeting his. She closed the book, setting it aside, and waited for him to speak.
He didn't know why he had come here, to her. He didn't know what he wanted from her. All he knew was that for the first time in his life, he felt…lost.
"I don't need saving," Dmitry said quietly, repeating the words he had spoken earlier.
Alina stood up slowly, walking toward him. When she was close enough to touch, she placed a hand gently on his chest. Her touch was soft, warm, and it sent a shiver down Dmitry's spine.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," Alina said softly, her eyes searching his. "You don't have to do this by yourself."
Dmitry's breath caught in his throat as he looked down at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that there was a way out of this darkness, a way to escape the life he had built on blood and violence. But how could he? How could he, after everything he had done?
He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. Alina's hand remained on his chest, steady and unyielding.
"I don't know how," Dmitry admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Alina stepped closer, her other hand coming up to rest on his arm. "Then let me help you."
For a moment, Dmitry stood frozen, his mind racing. He had spent his entire life building walls around himself, pushing people away, never allowing anyone to get too close. But Alina was different. She saw him in ways no one else ever had. And for the first time, Dmitry found himself wanting to let someone in.
Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Alina didn't resist. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest as they stood there in the quiet room, the world outside fading away.
For the first time in years, Dmitry felt something other than anger and fear. He felt something warm, something soft, something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.
And though he wasn't sure what would come next, for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.