Chapter 51 Boundaries
Alexander’s POV
I lay in bed with Ezera, stroking her hair softly. “How do you feel?” I murmured.
We had just returned from the hotel.
“Good, now that the bandages have been taken off.” She slid out of bed and grabbed the television remote.
I slid out as well, my feet against the cold tile floor as I walked to her. Her brows pinched as she looked at me. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because I love you,” I said bluntly.
She pressed her lips together. “Well, I feel the same way about you.”
I wrapped my arms around her, and she leaned into my touch. “What is it? You seem like you have something to say.”
“I…,” I paused to take a deep breath. “Shit, this is going to be difficult.” My breath trembled, and she noticed.
“Alex?”
“We have known each other for a long time.”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“We have hated each other most of our lives, and now we are in love. I never want that to change.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and grazed the ring box slightly. “That is why I want us to go to Italy together.”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“No… I mean,” my chest heaved, “I don't want you to be my girlfriend.”
She blinked. “You… you want to break up?”
“Fuck, I'm terrible at this,” I cursed in frustration.
“At breaking up?”
“No, I meant that I want you to be my wife,” I blurted, and her lips parted with shock.
I slid the box out of my pocket and opened it, revealing a diamond ring.
“Oh… Alexander…” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“I'm sorry I'm so messy with my words. I love you so much I don't want to mess this up,” I exhaled sharply. “I don't want you to return to Italy as my girlfriend because I want you to be my fiancée. I want to make you my wife, have kids, and protect you forever.”
Tears clouded her eyes.
“Ezera Storm, will you marry me?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Yes,” she nodded. “Yes… yes, of course. I would be crazy to say no.”
I quickly slipped the ring on her finger and stood up to kiss her. “Thank you for making me the happiest man alive.”
She smiled back.
Damien’s POV
We landed in Russia a few moments ago and rented a hotel suite. Charlotte lay on the bed of the brightly lit room, exhausted from the flight.
My gaze was fixed on her wrapped in that blanket; I wished I could curl in next to her and hold her.
“Here is what he looks like.” Becky, who sat in front of me, placed a photo down. “The Russian Mafia boss, Volkov.”
I gazed at a picture of a man in his early fifties; he had black hair and grey eyes. His face wore a stern look, and subtle wrinkles appeared.
“He is very powerful, so we can't just rush in there and grab her; we need a strategy.”
I placed the photo on the table. “Continue.”
“They are throwing a party tonight at one of his underground clubs.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I'm tired of attending parties.”
“We are in the Mafia; it’s a part of our life.” Her brow rose.
“Having a few whole weeks with my wife with no guns or violence should be a part of mine.” I gazed at Charlotte’s sleeping figure as I spoke.
Becky cleared her throat. “Let's focus on Anastasia.” Her voice was unsteady. “I got a friend to get us invites to the party. It's a plus-two event, so that means we have to go together.” A smile tugged at her lips.
“I'll take my wife.”
Her brow rose. “But… we always do this.”
“I'll take my wife,” I repeated.
Her expression faltered. “You… I… this is not a romantic party, Damien; this is a mission. I know the inside of Volkov’s club like the back of my hand. I should help you.”
She waited for my response, but my silence pushed her to speak more. “I'm a trained soldier, Damien. I'm a better choice.”
“Nobody is a better choice than my wife, but… for her safety, you can come.”
Her face was a mixture of satisfaction and rage. “I heard from my sources that they plan to rip the drive out of her stomach tonight. That means if we fail, she dies.”
I thought for a second. “Prepare a car then,” I finally said. I stood up from my seat and walked to Charlotte to sit beside her. I didn't look back at Becky as she left; my gaze was fixed on Charlotte.
Hours later, we arrived at the underground club. I was dressed in a tux, while Becky wore a lavender dress; it was a floor-length strapless dress. The dress showed too much cleavage, and I didn't need to be told that she wore it for me.
If it wasn't Charlotte, then I wasn't interested.
Oh, and I forgot to mention, it was a masquerade ball, which meant everyone had to wear a mask. How convenient.
Becky and I stood before a table in the dimly lit club; Mafia heads stood in groups and discussed business in Russian, each heavily tattooed.
“Over there,” Becky pointed at a door. “That’s where Anastasia is likely to be hidden.”
I gazed intently at the door. “How do you know that?”
“A tip.” She brought a glass of wine to her mouth.
“You are awfully comfortable drinking wine at an enemy’s base; have you considered if it is poisoned?”
“Yes, a glass of poisonous wine is just sitting here waiting to be drunk by me.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm.
“It has happened before, hasn’t it?”
She placed the glass on the table and moved closer to me. “And you stood by me the whole time I got treated.” Her hand pressed against her chest. “I miss the good old days, the ones where you dared to look me in the eyes."
I moved my gaze to meet hers. “Happy?”
Her hand moved down my chest, and I felt a wave of discomfort. “Becky…”
“What about when we used to kiss?”
I drew closer to her ear as the music grew louder. “We were pretending to be a couple for a mission.”
“We are pretending right now; can I kiss you?”
I looked away. “No,” I replied bluntly.
“Why not?”
I looked back at her. “I have a wife now, Becky; no mission is more important than my loyalty to her.”
She pulled closer, her body pressed against mine, her breasts pressing against my chest. “Come on, Damien…” Her hands finally moved to my dick, and she grabbed it.
I instantly grabbed her finger and twisted it until I heard her bone pop. She gasped in pain, her face turning red. “You broke my finger?” she asked
in shock, her teeth tightly clenched together.
“Your neck follows if you don't watch where your hand goes,” I growled in a low tone.