Chapter 271

ALINA

Alexander's expression hardened instantly.

“No.”

I blinked.

“…You haven't even heard my argument.”

“I don't need to.”

“You literally do.”

“I really don't.”

He folded his arms across his chest, looking every inch the impossible mafia king who apparently believed discussion was an optional feature.

"Alexander."

“No,” he said flatly.

“I really fucking don't.”

I sighed.

“There it is.”

“There what is?”

“The dictatorship.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“…The dictatorship?”

He actually looked offended.

“That's what we're calling this?”

“Yes.”

He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

“So let me get this straight.”

He pointed between us, voice dripping with disbelief and rising anger.

“Your psychopath stalker may know exactly where we’re hiding, is actively hunting you down like a fucking animal… and somehow I’m the dictator because I won’t schedule a lovely little field trip to the orphanage? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

I stared at him, the sarcasm sharpening into something colder.

“You want me to load you up in a car, drive you straight into potential crosshairs, just so you can play happy family with the kids while Santos is out there jerking off to the idea of finally getting his hands on you? That’s your plan? Brilliant. Truly. Oscar-worthy decision-making, Alina.” he said flatly.

“I'm sure the kids will cherish the memory when bullets start flying because I was too busy playing chauffeur instead of doing my actual job—keeping you alive.”

I shrugged.

“When you say it like that, you almost sound reasonable.”

“Almost?”

“Yes.”

He stared at me in complete disbelief.

“You’re asking to leave a secure location while a homicidal maniac is actively looking for you… and I sound almost reasonable.”

“And you're being a tiny bit controlling too.”

“A tiny—”

He let out a sharp laugh and rubbed both hands over his face.

“Controlling?”

I nodded.

He looked back at me, thoroughly offended.

“Wife, this isn't me dictating what color dress you wear. This is me trying to stop my wife from walking into what could very well be an ambush.”

He pointed at the floor.

“If wanting you alive makes me a dictator…”

A beat.

“…then congratulations.”

He spread his arms dramatically.

“Long live the regime.”

I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile.

“…That was a tiny bit dramatic.”

He stared at me in disbelief.

“You just called my survival plan a dictatorship.”

“I stand by my statement.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose.

“You're testing my patience.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn't aware you had any.”

His jaw clenched.

“Jesus Christ.”

He pointed toward the window.

“Santos is out there.”

“I know.”

“And you're asking me for permission to walk into one of the few places on earth I'd expect him to watch.”

“I prefer to think of it as requesting a small detour.”

“A small detour?”

He laughed again.

“You're unbelievable.”

“I've been told.”

“By me.”

“Mostly by you.”

“Repeatedly.”

“For good reason.”

He looked at me for a long moment before muttering under his breath,

"You know Wife, we can visit the kids when things settle down After Santos is dealt with. After we know you're safe. After we aren't dealing with a possible threat.”

He looked at me, completely exasperated.

“But no.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped him.

“You want to go on a day trip right now.”

I frowned.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, seriously.”

He gestured toward the room.

“We are literally preparing to move because someone who wants to hurt you may have found us, and your solution is to add a detour.”

I crossed my arms.

“It’s not a detour. It’s important.”

“To you.”

“Yes.”

“And that's exactly why it's dangerous.”

I opened my mouth, but he continued.

“Are you trying to make my job impossible?”

I crossed my arms tighter.

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Because that's exactly what it sounds like.”

I tilted my head.

“Your job is protecting me, not imprisoning me.”

His jaw clenched.

“And your job as my wife is not to make me question whether I need to physically tie you to a chair to keep you safe.”

I stared at him.

“You wouldn't.”

A pause.

His expression remained completely serious.

I narrowed my eyes.

“...Would you?”

“Don't test me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“The dictatorship.”

His face tightened.

“Not this word again.”

“Yes, this word again.”

He sighed.

"Alexander, I want to see my kids."

"They are not your biological children."

"They're still my kids."

His expression softened for the briefest second.

Then it disappeared again.

"Wife—"

"No."

I shook my head firmly.

"They've already had enough people walk out of their lives."

My voice cracked despite my best efforts.

“I'm not becoming another one.”

He watched me quietly.

“I'm their guardian.”

A lump formed in my throat.

“I promised them I'd always come back. I’m not abandoning them just because some psychopath has a sick obsession with me. I haven’t seen them in months. They need to know I still give a damn.”

Alexander's jaw tightened.

“Still not an option.”

His voice turned deadly calm.

“It’s important.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a slow breath that looked suspiciously like the last shred of his patience.

“Wife…You're asking me to take you on a field trip to an orphanage while a dangerous enemy is actively after you.”

He gave a humorless laugh.

“That’s not a detour.”

“That’s a suicide mission with snacks.”

I folded my arms.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic.”

“I have to be dramatic because apparently one of us has to be.”

“You have an army.”

“Yes.”

“You have enough guns to invade a small country.”

“Yes.”

“You have trained men whose hobbies include glaring and making people wet themselves.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“…Probably.”

“So use them.”

I shrugged.

“I’m not asking you to take me to a nightclub.”

“It’s an orphanage. Full of children.”

I looked at him hopefully.

“Even Santos isn't psychotic enough to attack an orphanage…”

A pause.

“…Right?”

Alexander stared at me.

Not blinking.

Not smiling.

Just... staring.

“Wife. You're still trying to apply normal human logic to a man who kidnapped you, stalked you, tortured innocent people, murdered without hesitation, and is obsessed enough to burn the world down if he thinks it gets him one step closer to you.”

The room fell silent.

“He isn't unstable.”

Alexander's eyes turned cold.

“He's worse.

He's methodical.

He plans.

He waits.”

And when he can't have what he wants…”

His jaw flexed.

“…he makes sure nobody else can either.”

A chill ran through me.

“He doesn't see children.”

“He sees leverage.”

“He doesn't see an orphanage.”

“He sees the one place he knows you'll never willingly stay away from.”

His gaze locked onto mine.

“To him…”

“It isn't a home.”

“It's bait.”

The word hit me like a punch to the chest.

Alexander stepped closer.

“He's not a man anymore, Alina.”

His voice dropped to almost a whisper.

“He's a fucking maniac. And maniacs don't care who's standing in the crossfire.”

His hand found mine, squeezing it tightly.

“I'll burn cities to protect you if I have to.”

“But I will not…”

His eyes never left mine.

“…hand you to him because you think he'll suddenly grow a conscience.”

I listened to his entire lecture.

Every single terrifying, logical, overprotective word.

When he finally stopped talking, I nodded thoughtfully.

"Finished?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"...Yes."

I smiled.

"No."

He blinked.

"...No?"

"I'm still going."

His jaw actually dropped a fraction.

"Wife."

"Even if it's only for five minutes."

"No."

"I need to see them."

"No."

"They're my kids."

"They're under your care," he corrected automatically.

"They're my kids."

His eyes closed briefly.

I recognized that expression.

He was counting.

Probably to ten.

Possibly to a hundred.

"Wife..."

"No."

"I haven't finished."

"I noticed."

I pointed a finger at him.

"And you..."

His eyebrows drew together.

"...if you have any intention whatsoever of getting out of the doghouse after being a lying bastard..."

He groaned.

"...we are making that detour."

He stared at me.

Then barked out a disbelieving laugh.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Nope."

"I am trying to keep you alive."

"I appreciate it."

"And your response is to blackmail me?"

"I prefer the term 'strategic negotiation.'"

His mouth fell open.

"You are weaponizing my apology."

"I am."

"You are using my guilt against me."

"Correct."

He pointed at me.

"That's emotional extortion."

"I learned from the best."

His hand dropped to his side.

"I spend years building a criminal empire..."

A pause.

"...and somehow the most dangerous negotiator I've ever met is my own wife."

"I'm flattered."

"You shouldn't be."

"I kind of am."

He rubbed both hands over his face.

"I want to keep you safe..."

He dropped his hands.

"And you want to waltz into the one place he could easily target."

I shrugged.

"That does sound like something I'd do."

"Wife."

"I'm kidding."

He gave me a look.

"No, you're not."

"...A little."

He exhaled sharply.

"Wife."

"No."

"He is hunting you."

"I know."

"He is obsessed."

"I know."

"He is unpredictable."

"I know."

"So why are we still having this conversation?"

"Because those children have already had enough adults disappear from their lives."

Silence.

"I promised I'd come back."

His expression softened for a heartbeat.

Then the mafia boss returned.

"No."

I folded my arms.

"Alexander."

"No."

"Alexander."

"No."

"Alexander Dimitri."

His eyes narrowed.

"...Don't use the full name."

"I'll use your middle name too if I have to."

"You don't even know my middle name."

"I'll make one up."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I absolutely would."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It vanished almost immediately.

"I am serious."

"So am I."

"You don't understand."

"No."

I took a step closer.

"I understand perfectly."

"I understand that you're scared."

"I understand that you're trying to protect me."

"And I love you for that."

His eyes searched mine.

"But I also understand what it feels like to be left behind."

My voice softened.

"I won't do that to them."

He was quiet for a long time.

Long enough that I wondered if I'd finally broken through.

Then he sighed.

A long...

Very tired...

Very defeated sigh.

"...Fine."

I blinked.

"...Fine?"

His finger shot up immediately.

"Don't celebrate."

"I wasn't."

"You were about to."

"I absolutely was."

"You smiled."

"I did."

He pointed toward me again.

"My way."

I nodded enthusiastically.

"My security."

"Expected."

"My vehicles."

"Obviously."

"My schedule."

"Fine."

"My men sweep the entire orphanage before you go inside."

I winced.

"The children are going to think the Secret Service has arrived."

"I don't care."

"You'll have snipers, won't you?"

"Yes."

I sighed dramatically.

"Poor Sister Maria."

He ignored me.

"You stay beside me."

"I can manage that."

"You don't disappear."

"I don't disappear."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I become... temporarily difficult to locate."

"There it is."

I grinned.

"You know me so well."

"I have to."

He stepped closer until he was standing right in front of me.

"If anything feels wrong..."

His voice became quiet again.

"We leave."

"No arguments."

"No negotiating."

"No 'just one more minute.'"

I looked into his eyes.

Really looked.

The teasing was gone.

All that remained was fear.

Not fear for himself.

For me.

I reached for his hand.

"I promise."

His shoulders relaxed.

Barely.

But I noticed.

I smiled.

"See?"

"We're getting really good at this marriage thing."

He leaned down and kissed me quickly.

"You are going to be the death of me."

I smiled against his lips.

"Only if you're lucky."

He shook his head.

"Get dressed."

"We leave in thirty minutes."

I gave him a playful salute.

"Yes, sir."

He groaned.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Liar."

"I am."

He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath.

"Stubborn wife..."