Chapter 272

ALEXANDER

The orphanage came into view just after noon.

I didn’t relax.

If anything, every instinct I possessed became sharper, more alert, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

I couldn’t make it look like a military operation.

Not around her kids.

Alina loved this place.

The last thing I wanted was for the children to see a convoy of armed men and think danger had followed her home.

So we did it quietly.

Two SUVs pulled in like ordinary vehicles — nothing flashy, nothing that would draw attention. Another stayed farther down the road, out of sight but close enough if we needed it.

A few of my men had arrived ahead of us, blending in seamlessly.

No suits.

No obvious weapons.

No intimidating presence.

They checked everything without making it obvious.

The rooftops.

The windows.

The entrances.

The exits.

Every parked vehicle.

Every blind corner.

Every possible place someone could hide.

To the children, it probably looked like nothing more than a few extra visitors arriving.

To me, it was the only reason I could take another breath.

My eyes never stopped moving.

The tree line.

The surrounding buildings.

The road beyond the gates.

Every reflection in every window.

Every person who walked too slowly.

Every car that passed twice.

Because I knew better than anyone…

Danger didn’t always announce itself.

Sometimes it smiled.

Sometimes it waited.

And sometimes it came dressed as something harmless.

My eyes swept across the grounds.

Children laughed in the playground.

A woman watered flowers.

Two volunteers carried boxes toward the kitchen.

Leo and Alexis had already peeled off with another team to the new safe house.

Which meant protecting Alina was entirely my responsibility.

Exactly how I preferred it.

I hadn't even put the damn SUV into park.

The engine was still running.

And somehow...

My wife had already opened the passenger door.

“Wife—”

The door slammed shut.

She was already halfway across the gravel.

“What the fuck?”

I killed the engine, slammed it into park, and jumped out, my door banging shut behind me.

“WIFE!”

She glanced over her shoulder, blinking at me with that innocent expression that should’ve come with a warning label.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” I snapped, catching up to her in three long strides and grabbing her wrist before she could take another step.

“We literally just had this conversation.”

She frowned thoughtfully.

“…About our marriage?”

“No.”

“The pink suit?”

“No.”

“You being an overbearing, emotionally constipated control freak?”

“We talked about you staying glued to my side. You get out of the car after me. You wait until I clear the area. You don’t open a door. You don’t walk away. You don’t breathe in a direction I haven’t checked first.”

She blinked.

“…That last one feels a little excessive.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

My voice came out sharper than I’d intended.

“If someone was waiting behind that wall…”

I pointed toward the orphanage entrance.

“…or behind those trees…”

Then toward the tree line.

“…or in one of those parked vehicles…”

I gestured across the lot.

“…you’d have been dead before I even got out of the fucking car.”

She sighed dramatically.

“I walked ten feet.”

“You exposed yourself for ten feet.”

“Alexander—”

“No.”

I cut her off.

“This isn’t one of our arguments where you win by making me laugh. This isn’t about who’s being stubborn. This isn’t about me being controlling. This is about me getting you home alive.”

She opened her mouth.

I beat her to it.

“And before you tell me I’m exaggerating…”

I leaned in slightly.

“The man is fucking obsessed with you. You’ve had nightmares about him. He’s psychotic.”

A long beat.

“So forgive me…”

My voice dropped into something quieter.

“…if watching my wife casually wander into an unsecured area before I’ve had ten seconds to check it makes me lose my fucking mind.”

She looked at me for a long moment.

Then she sighed.

"...Okay."

I narrowed my eyes.

"...Okay?"

"Okay."

She took a small step closer until she was practically pressed against my side.

"There."

"I'm glued."

"Happy?"

I wrapped an arm firmly around her waist anyway.

"No. But now I can actually do my job."

She rolled her eyes.

“You know… If you wanted an excuse to hold me, you could’ve just said so.”

“Haha… very funny,” I muttered, but my grip on her waist didn’t loosen.

She grinned up at me, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“You’re dramatic when you’re worried. It’s almost cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m pissed,” I growled, but my grip on her waist softened despite myself.

“You’re going to give me an ulcer. Or a heart attack. Or both. Probably both.”

Her expression softened just a fraction. She leaned up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to my jaw.

“Poor baby. All that stress from protecting me. Maybe you should take a nap while I go see the kids.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Don’t push it, wife.”

She batted her lashes innocently. “Who, me? I’m an angel.”

“You’re a menace,” I corrected, but I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.

“A beautiful, stubborn, pain-in-my-ass menace.”

“Yet you married me.”

“Biggest mistake of my life,”

She poked my side.

“Liar. You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Whatever you say, hubby.”

I sighed.

“You stay glued to my side. No wandering. No sudden heroics. And if anything feels off — even a little — we leave immediately. No arguments.”

“Okay… okay… Jesus, you’re in a mood today.”

“Wife…”

“Oh stop being a grumpy caveman and let’s go see my kids,” she said cheerfully, linking her arm with mine.

“They’ll love the pink suit story.”

“Don’t you fucking dare…”

“Only if you behave. Now smile — I don’t want you scaring my kids with your murder face.”

“I don't have a murder face.”

She looked at me.

I looked back.

A long silence passed.

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Alexander.”

“What?”

“That expression right there? That’s exactly what I'm talking about.”

I sighed and attempted what I assumed was a normal smile.

Alina took one look at me and immediately burst out laughing.

“Never mind,” she said, patting my arm.

“That looks like you’re trying to squeeze out a particularly stubborn poop. Let’s just stick to your usual expressionless face. It’s less terrifying for the children.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Immensely,” she replied, grinning up at me.

“Now come on, Mr. Murder Face. The kids are waiting.”

I groaned again, but I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.

This woman was going to be the death of me.

And I’d walk into the grave smiling.

ALI!"

The sound practically shook the building.

A stampede.

Tiny feet thundered across the courtyard.

Dear God.

There had to be twenty of them.

Maybe thirty.

They hit her like a tidal wave of tiny humans.

Children wrapped themselves around her legs.

Around her waist.

One actually climbed onto her back like she was a jungle gym, nearly knocking her off balance.

Alina laughed—a real, bright laugh—as she tried to stay upright under the sudden assault of affection.

"Ali!" one little girl squealed, latching onto her leg like a koala.

"You came back!"

"I told you I would."

"You were gone forever!"

"It only felt like forever."

Another little boy frowned, arms crossed like a tiny judge.

“You missed Noah's birthday.”

Her smile faltered.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry. Noah…” she turned toward a boy, maybe ten years old.

“I brought presents.”

The boy folded his arms tighter.

“I’ll think about forgiving you.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you, Noah,” I mumbled dryly.

Then...

Twenty-something pairs of suspicious little eyes slowly turned.

Toward me.

Silence.

One little girl tugged on Alina's sleeve, staring up at me like I'd just wandered out of a fairy tale.

"...Who's the giant?"

Giant?

I looked down at myself.

Fair enough.

Alina smiled innocently.

"This is my husband."

Collective gasp.

"HUSBAND?!"

"No way!"

"Ali got married?!"

"To him?!"

The last one sounded personally offended.

I cleared my throat.

"Yes... that's right."

Old habits took over.

I extended my hand.

"Alexander Dimitri."

Nothing.

Not a single child moved.

Twenty tiny faces simply stared at my outstretched hand.

One little boy leaned toward another and whispered far louder than he intended,

"...What's he doing?"

"I think he wants a high-five."

Alina pressed her lips together, shoulders already shaking.

"Alexander..."

"...Yes?"

"They're children."

"I've noticed."

"They don't shake hands."

I looked at the children.

Then at my hand.

Then back at the children.

"...Right."

Slowly, I lowered it.

Of course they don't.

They're children.

Not rival capos negotiating a weapons shipment.

A little boy squinted at me.

"When did you marry Ali?"

"I—"

I barely got the chance to answer before a little girl stepped forward, placing her hands on her hips as she studied me from head to toe.

"Hmm. I think you could have done better, Ali."

"Excuse me?" I asked.

The girl shrugged.

"Ali's beautiful..You look scary."

Another child nodded seriously.

"Yeah. You look like you tell people to go to bed and they actually listen."

"I do not—"

"You do," the boy interrupted confidently.

I stared at him.

"How would you know?"

"Your eyebrows."

"My eyebrows?"

"They look angry."

Another child stepped closer, examining my face.

"He looks like he wakes up angry."

"I don't."

"You look like you argue with the sun because it's too bright."

Alina made a strangled noise beside me.

I looked at her.

"Are you going to help?"

"No."

"Of course not."

The children continued their inspection.

I reminded myself of one very important thing.

Do not pull out your gun.

Do not pull out your gun.

They are children.

Tiny children.

Not enemies.

Not threats.

Do not intimidate them.

A little girl looked me up and down.

"Does he always wear black?"

"Pretty much," Alina answered.

The girl frowned thoughtfully.

"He has a villain face."

"I do not have a villain face."

"You do. Villains always give this angry, scowly look. Just like that."

She pointed at my face.

Another little boy with messy hair, nodded.

"I think he's trying to scare us."

"I'm not," I said flatly.

"That's just my style."

The children exchanged glances.

One little girl scrunched up her nose.

"It's a boring style."

"Boring? What the fuck—"

Every child turned to stare at me.

One tiny boy pointed an accusing finger.

"Ali! He said the F-word!"

Another little girl slapped both hands over her mouth.

"He swore!"

"We don't use that word here."

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"...My apologies."

A little girl folded her arms.

“You have to put money in the swear jar.”

“I… there’s a swear jar?”

Another boy nodded confidently.

“I think it should be five dollars.”

“No,” another corrected seriously.

“He said a big swear word.”

“Ten dollars,” chimed in a tiny voice.

Twenty little heads nodded in unison.

“But can he even afford it?”

"Of course I can fucking afford—" I stopped myself mid-sentence.

“He just said the f-word again Ali. Now you owe twenty dollars in the swear jar,” one of the kids announced.

I looked at Alina.

She shrugged, clearly amused by my embarrassment—and maybe a little too entertained by my downfall at the hands of tiny human judges.