CHAPTER 309

CHAPTER 309
ALEXANDER

“Please, D-Dimitri… I’m… I’m sorry…”

I clicked my tongue. That pathetic little apology earned nothing but a cold smile. I pulled back and stared at him for a long moment.

“Aww. Poor baby.” My voice was almost mocking, almost amused. “Are you begging?”

His breathing came ragged.
“It’s fucking music to my ears, you bastard.”

I crouched closer, keeping my tone almost conversational. “Go ahead. Beg me. Maybe if you beg nicely enough, I’ll decide you’re worth listening to.”

“Pl…please… no more…”

The words hit something inside me. Not pity. Never pity. A thought.
Alina.

The thought of how many times she must have pleaded with him over the years—please leave me alone, please stop—while he kept finding new ways to stalk and frighten her. 

How alone she must have felt. How terrified. And how many times she must have wondered whether anyone was ever coming for her.

My smile disappeared. “How many times?”
Santos stared at me.

“How many times did my wife beg you to leave her alone?”

Silence. I stepped closer. “How many, Santos?”

His jaw tightened. “She has a fucking sarcastic tongue, Dimitri. She gave as good as she got.”

For a second I simply stared at him. And despite everything, the corner of my mouth almost lifted.

Fuck. Even here—terrified, beaten down, barely holding himself together—he’d somehow managed to remind me of her. 

That mouth. That attitude. That spectacular, world-class inability to keep quiet when silence would have been considerably safer.

Pride hit me first. Of course she hadn’t broken. Of course she’d fought back with the only weapon he couldn’t take from her. Her words.

Then the fury followed, right on its heels. Because that same mouth could have gotten her killed. One wrong insult. 

One perfectly timed sarcastic remark. One push too far. And Santos could have decided he’d had enough of the commentary.

When the hell would she learn that not every bastard deserved the full force of her personality? 

That sometimes surviving meant knowing when to stay quiet instead of delivering a cutting one-liner like she was starring in her own private stand-up special?

Then another thought slipped through, completely uninvited. And, God help me, I almost smiled again. Because that stubborn, infuriating fire was one of the things I loved most about her.

She’d been frightened. She’d been trapped. She’d been completely alone. And somehow she’d still found a way to make a man like Santos regret having ears.

My chest tightened. My wife. Still fighting. Still defiant. Still completely, catastrophically Alina.

I dragged in a slow breath and looked back at Santos. Focus. This wasn’t about what her mouth did to me. It was about what he’d done to her. And he was about to understand exactly how much that had cost him.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “She never begged.” Then his bravado cracked. 

“But I’m fucking begging you.” His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. 

“Please. Let me go.” He swallowed hard. “I won’t touch her again. I swear. I won’t go anywhere near her. I won’t even think about her.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Please.”

I watched him for a long moment. 
“You know what’s funny? You’re begging for the one thing you refused to give her.”

I leaned closer, my voice becoming almost conversational again. “Mercy.”

He swallowed. “Please…”

I shook my head slowly. “You beg beautifully. Almost enough to make me feel sorry for you. Almost.”

My gaze hardened. “But unfortunately for you… I’m not a merciful man when it comes to my wife.”

The door opened behind me.
Dante and Vincent walked in.. Dante took one look at the scene and grinned.

“Having fun without us, boss?”

Vincent cracked his knuckles, already rolling his shoulders. “Rude, really. We brought snacks and everything.”

I stepped back from the chair and wiped my blade clean on the towel Leo had left nearby.

“Have at him,” I said simply.

They didn’t need telling twice. The two of them moved in without ceremony, taking turns with the kind of focused, methodical attention that left Santos far worse than they had found him. 

What had already been a mess became something unrecognisable in short order.

Leo, meanwhile, had pulled a bar of chocolate from his pocket and was leaning against the far wall, looking completely bored. 

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I didn’t look away from Santos as I pulled it out. One glance at the screen was enough.
Rogers: test results are back'

Fuck..I straightened, sliding the phone back into my pocket. 

“He’s all yours,” I said quietly. “Make sure he suffers. I want him alive when I get back.”

Leo gave a short nod and tucked the chocolate away. “Understood. I’ll try not to let the children break him completely.”

I didn’t look at Santos again as I left the room. The door shut behind me with a solid click, cutting off whatever broken sound he might have made.

The walk to my office felt longer than usual. Every step carried the same tight coil of tension I had been living with for days—hope and dread tangled so tightly I could barely separate them. 

Alina was upstairs resting. Our child was still fighting. And I needed certainty. Something solid to hold onto.

Halfway down the corridor, I stopped.
I had never been a man who prayed. Not once. Not in the worst moments of my life — not when I was younger and bleeding out in places no one would ever think to look, not when the world had tried, more than once, to take everything from me at once.

One hand braced against the wall, I spoke under my breath like an idiot.

"Okay. Look." I exhaled slowly, eyes closed, negotiating with a God I hadn't spoken to since I was maybe eight years old, and even then it was mostly bargaining over a bicycle I never got. 

"I know we don't really do this. I know I'm not exactly a regular." I paused. 

"Hell, let's be honest — I'm probably fairly low on your list of people you'd like to hear from tonight. But I'm willing to keep this simple.

You keep her breathing. You keep the baby holding on. That's it. Two conditions. Very reasonable, all things considered."

I paused, weighing my leverage.
"In exchange, I'll behave. Relatively. I'll go to church occasionally — special occasions, holidays, maybe a wedding or two. I'll even attempt the whole forgiveness concept, within reason. I'm not promising miracles on my end either, to be fair."

Another pause. "I'll donate to whatever charity you're currently overseeing. I hear the orphanage could use a new wing. Consider it a signing bonus."

I opened one eye and glanced toward the ceiling. "And before you say anything — yes, I'm aware this sounds like I'm trying to bribe you God." I shrugged, unbothered. "I'm a businessman. It's how I communicate."

I almost nodded to myself before remembering I was, in fact, standing alone in an empty corridor, negotiating with a deity at eight in the morning.

"I don't ask for much. I never have. But I'm asking now, and I need you to actually come through on this one. No fine print. No loopholes. I've read enough contracts to know how those go."

I exhaled again, quieter this time, all the negotiating tone finally draining out of my voice, leaving something rawer underneath it.

"She's everything to me." A beat. I took two steps before stopping again, unable to make myself finish walking away yet. 

"And, uh — if you could throw in a little extra luck for me too, I'd appreciate it." I glanced upward. 

"Because apparently I'm going to be a father. And there's a tiny person in there who's already causing me more anxiety than most of the wars I've actually survived.

Just — keep them safe. I'll handle everything else. Every enemy, every threat, every problem this world decides to throw at us next. That part's mine. I've got it covered. I just need you to handle this one thing, because it's the only thing I can't fix with a gun or enough money."

I felt ridiculous, whispering terms to God like some kind of lunatic in an empty hallway.
I also didn't care, not even slightly.

I cleared my throat and straightened, smoothing down my shirt out of some reflexive need to look composed even in front of an audience of exactly no one.

"Anyway." A final nod toward the ceiling. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Then I walked away before I could embarrass myself any further, though some small, exhausted part of me already suspected I'd be back here again before the week was out, renegotiating terms.

I pushed off the wall and kept walking.
Rogers was already waiting in my office when I entered. He stood behind my desk with a tablet in his hands, screen glowing. He looked up and gestured for me to close the door.

“Boss,” he said.

“Just tell me.”

Rogers didn’t waste time. He turned the tablet so I could see the latest scans.

“The reports came back an hour ago. I’ve reviewed them twice.” His voice was calm, measured, professional. 

“The pregnancy is progressing well. Fetal heartbeat is strong and consistent. Growth is within normal range for this stage. The bleeding has fully stopped, and there’s no indication of further placental stress.”

I stared at the screen, not really seeing the images—only hearing the words.

“The critical window has closed,” Rogers continued. “That doesn’t mean we’re finished being careful. I still want her on modified bed rest for another week, limited movement, no stress if we can help it. But the immediate danger has passed. The baby is stable.”

Stable. The word landed somewhere deep in my chest and stayed there.

I exhaled slowly, the first full breath it felt like I had taken in days.

“You’re certain?”

“As certain as the data allows,” Rogers said. “I’ll continue daily monitoring for now, but yes. Both mother and baby are in a much stronger position than they were five days ago.”

I nodded once, jaw tight. The rage I had carried downstairs was still there, but something else had settled beside it—something quieter and far more powerful.

Alina was going to be all right.  
Our child was going to be all right.

“Does she know yet?” I asked.

“Not yet. I wanted you to hear it first.”

I straightened. “I’ll tell her.”

Rogers gave a small nod. “She’s been asking every time I check on her. Fairly insistently.”

A faint, tired smile almost reached my mouth. “That sounds like her.”

I turned toward the door, already calculating how quickly I could get upstairs. Behind me, Rogers spoke again, quieter.

“Alexander.” I glanced back.

“She’s strong,” he said. “And so is the baby. You did the right thing keeping her still.”

I didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say.

I left the office and headed straight for the stairs, the report still echoing in my head.
Stable. Strong. The critical stage was over.

For the first time in five days, the future felt like something we might  get to keep.