Chapter 56 Chapter 56 The Bodyguard
I called Ivan’s dad the second I got home.
I don’t even know what I was thinking—maybe I was scared. Maybe I just needed someone who understood danger the way I do.
He promised not to tell Ivan.
Said he’d send one guy. Just one. I could keep him for as long as I needed.
Illia told me he was sending Dimitri. He should be here any minute. Security downstairs has already been notified—no one gets up without calling me first.
My phone rings.
Building security.
“He’s here.”
“Send him up. Thank you.”
Illia asked if I had a spare room. I do. Neither Tish nor Erika wanted to move in, which still annoys me—it would’ve been fun having one of them here.
Now I’m glad I have the space.
The doorbell rings.
I open it.
Dimitri fills the doorway.
Huge. Built like Ivan—broad shoulders, thick neck. Tattoos crawl up his hands and disappear under the sleeves of his fitted black suit. He has three bags with him.
Something about him feels… familiar.
I step aside, letting him in.
“Duchess,” he says with a grin, glancing at the floor. “I’m glad you don’t have marble. I won’t have to worry about catching you again.”
I blink.
“That was you!” I laugh—then stop short. My throat burns, my voice coming out rough.
That morning at Ivan’s place.
I ran across those stupid shiny floors in socks, sliding like an idiot. I almost smashed my face straight into the ground. Dimitri stepped out of nowhere and caught me before I could eat shit.
“How did you get stuck babysitting me?” I ask, trying to keep it light.
“Ivan let me go,” he says casually. “I struck out with him. But I work for Illia, not Ivan. I was already in town on a miserable job. Illia thought I’d be the best fit to protect you.”
He pauses, smirking slightly.
“I have a thing for you. And… you’re technically the reason I got fired.”
My brows shoot up. “Explain.”
“I touched you,” he says simply. “And I might’ve seen something I wasn’t supposed to. Part of a certain elevator video that was meant to be deleted.”
Heat floods my face instantly.
“Don’t worry,” he adds quickly. “I’ll be professional. So—what are we dealing with?”
I swallow.
“My boyfriend… he… hurt me. I don’t feel safe.”
Dimitri’s expression shifts immediately.
Serious.
Focused.
He steps closer, studying me. I pull my hair aside, exposing my neck.
The bruising is deep now—dark purple, ugly.
It only took an hour to bloom like that.
“First,” he says, voice flat, controlled, “why is he still your boyfriend? Second, is this the first time he’s hurt you? And third—how exactly did this happen?”
“He didn’t mean to,” I say quickly. “We were having sex. He lost control. Got too rough. I couldn’t get his hand off me. He’s big—almost 300 pounds right now. He has a fight next weekend.”
Dimitri exhales slowly.
“Mason Jones,” he says. “Has to be. Fedorov just got married last weekend.”
He nods once, thinking.
“Okay. I understand why you want a third party. Someone neutral. Someone who can step in if needed.” He looks at me directly. “Inside here, we’re friends. Outside, you’re my responsibility. I follow, I observe, I intervene only if necessary.”
He grabs his bags, then pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.
“He didn’t lose control,” he says quietly. “He’s a professional boxer. Everything he does is controlled. Calculated. Think about that.”
Then he disappears down the hall.
I don’t respond.
I can’t.
I pour myself another cup of coffee and sit on the couch, pulling my legs under me. The balcony doors are open, cold air brushing against my bare feet.
Dimitri comes back out carrying tools and small cameras.
He installs one in the living room.
Another outside the front door.
Efficient. Quiet. Precise.
When he’s done, he sits beside me, and we go over my schedule.
He tells me about his background—two years in the military back home, working for Illia since he was a teenager. He’s been handling weapons since he was young. Good shot. Trained in mixed martial arts.
“If it comes down to it,” he says, “I can handle Mason.”
I nod, though something about that statement sits heavy in my chest.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-two. Same as Ivan.”
I hesitate for a moment, then sigh.
“There’s something else…”
“I already know,” he cuts in gently. “It was in the files Illia sent. I read everything on the way here.”
Relief washes over me.
I don’t have to say it.
Don’t have to relive it.
Dimitri holds out his hand. “Your phone.”
I pass it over. He sends himself my location, installs tracking software, call recording, extra security layers.
He moves through it all like second nature.
And somehow, I start to feel… safer.
A little.
We talk more—about schedules, boundaries, expectations. I ask about his time off.
“Your days off are my days off,” he says. “If I need leave, someone replaces me.”
My phone buzzes.
Mason.
I stare at the screen for a second, then answer, putting him on speaker.
“Did you sleep?” he asks immediately. “How are you?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have gotten that rough. How bad are the bruises? Does it hurt to swallow?”
I close my eyes for a second.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” I say. “But the bruising is bad. And yes—it hurts. You choked me until I passed out.”
Silence.
Then—
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. You’re just… different. You feel different. I lost control.”
I swallow.
“I know I don’t feel like other girls,” I say quietly. “My body… it’s different. I’ve had reconstructive surgery. I’ve been assaulted before.”
The words feel heavy in the air.
“You triggered me,” I finish. “I don’t feel safe being alone with you right now.”
Silence again.
Longer this time.
“I understand,” he finally says, his voice strained. “Do you want to break up?”
My chest tightens.
“No,” I whisper.
Out of the corner of my eye, Dimitri gives me a sharp what the fuck look.
“Do you want to see me this week?” Mason asks. “Or do you need space?”
I hesitate.
I don’t know.
I know he has the weigh-in tonight.
“I have the weigh-in tonight,” he continues. “Do you want to work out tomorrow? Our usual time… baby, do you want one of my security guys with you?”
“No,” I say, steadying my voice. “I have my own.”
I pause.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”