Page 45 of His Stolen Bride

Tracking her was doable, but at the time, I wasn’t sure she was safe under my roof. The gap period she unintentionally caused took eyes away from her, and perhaps that was for the best. In the meantime, Vladimir has been silent. I don’t consider that a good sign.

Truth be told, I’d be lying if I said this was how I wanted things to end.

A boss with a wife looks stable, and a boss without one looks untethered. After Alina vanished, the old men pushed for a remarriage, and the younger men pushed for a public mistress, and I refused both because I would not let anyone pick my weakness for me. My refusal turned into its own signal, and my rivals stopped guessing what I wanted.

I wasn’t married to Alina long, and I didn’t build a life with her, and I still carried the fact that she escaped me. I didn’t miss her for comfort, but because she proved a gap existed where I told myself there was none. I spent the first year hunting her, though I think I did it more for control than love. In the night, I dreamt about forests, and those forests became her eyes. Death came for me constantly in those dreams, but I’d always wake up in her arms, and it’d feel safe.

I found clerks who changed entries, and drivers who moved people without names, and landlords who took cash for silence. I made them talk, and most of what they had was useless because Alina was careful and she understood systems.

She used cash, she avoided patterns, and she didn’t trust anyone long enough to leave a trail.

The Bratva council in Vienna watched me through that year, waiting to see if I would crack. I didn't. I stayed visible and consistent, and I made decisions that benefited the whole network, then I used the extra reach to settle old scores. I refused a new wife, I refused public comfort, and I let the city believe I had ended it, because the moment they saw longing, they’d sell it.

When I learned Lira helped her, I didn't ask why. I executed her, and I purged the rest of the staff who looked at doors too long. The Bratva took that as proof I had handled the problem, and they stopped asking questions to my face.

Karel opens the folder, and he sees the paperwork, the numbers, and the line where he signs his routes back to me. His eyes flick up once as he tries to read my mood, and he fails. "I can make it right," he says.

"You already chose," I reply, and I push a pen toward him.

Outside, Luca sends a single text. Two black SUVs just turned into the lot, and they are moving too fast to be locals. I keep my attention on Karel as I let my peripheral vision take the room. A couple at the window, a man at the counter, two older women sharing soup, and a catering team moving trays between the kitchen and the tables.

Then I hear a woman's voice answer someone in the kitchen corridor, and my body reacts before my brain finishes catching up.

It’s a simple "yes, in a minute", and I’ve heard it in my house at night.

I turn my head, slowly and on purpose, and I see her.

Alina steps out of the kitchen with a tray balanced on her forearm, and the first thing that registers is how beautiful she is without trying to be. Her hair is pinned back, her skin warm against the dull fabric of her uniform, her body moving with the kind of ease that comes from knowing it will be watched whether she invites it or not. She keeps her eyes lowered, but nothing about her is small.

For a second, I lose the room. My hand goes tight under the table, my breathing changes, and I force both back into place. Enzo tracks my focus, and he follows it, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t speak, and that restraint is why he still works for me.

Alina moves past our booth without looking at me, and she sets a plate at a table behind me. A child slips out after her, and he’s small enough that people step around him without noticing. He wraps both hands around her leg, and he says something low, and she shifts the tray and touches his head with two quick fingers.

The boy turns, and his eyes land on me.

Gray. Mine.

The shape is mine too, and the set of his mouth, and the way he holds his stare without blinking. He's not scared of strangers, and he's not curious in a careless way. He's watching.

My chest tightens and my jaw locks, and I don't let my face break. I’ve been shot at, watched men die in front of me, and negotiated with killers who smiled through their lies, and this is still the most devastated I’ve been. Alina follows the boy's gaze, and she looks up.

Our eyes meet, and her control slips for half a second. Her lips part, and her hand pauses on the tray, and then she recovers. She doesn’t drop anything or run. She takes the boy's hand and turns, striding back toward the kitchen door. Karel clears his throat. "Is something wrong?" he asks.

"Sign," I tell him.

He flinches at my tone. He bends over the paper and writes his name fast, understanding he's not the center of this room anymore.

My phone vibrates again.

Luca: They are out. Four men. One is coming in.

The front door opens, and a man steps inside with a cap low and his shoulders squared. He scans the room once, and his eyes move too cleanly for a local. His hand stays near his coat, and he's not here for coffee.

I push the folder toward Karel and close my hand over it. "Leave," I say.

He hesitates, because he wants confirmation that he’ll live.

"Now," Enzo adds, and Karel slides out of the booth and heads for the restroom corridor instead of the door.