Page 12 of Bratva King

“Looks like I won’t be getting any sleep tonight,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled on a faded charcoal t-shirt that had survived years of workouts and countless washes. A pair of black jogging pants followed, along with worn running shoes he'd owned long before he'd started wearing tailored suits every day.

If sleep refused to come, he'd exhaust himself instead, and running had always helped. When he was younger, after arguments with his father, he'd disappear for miles until the ache in his lungs drowned out everything else.

Tonight didn't feel much different, except this time, the person haunting his thoughts wasn't Viktor Volkov. It was a woman with a rifle. Alexei grabbed his phone and keys, then headed downstairs.

The mansion was asleep, and only the muted glow of hallway lights illuminated the polished marble floors. A few members of the overnight staff quietly greeted him as he passed. Outside, the night air carried the cool bite of early morning. He had barely stepped onto the front steps when a voice stopped him.

"Sir."

Alexei resisted the urge to sigh. One of the night security guards was already approaching. Sergei was in his late fifties, broad-shouldered despite his age. Gray threaded through his dark beard, and deep lines framed his eyes.

Sergei had worked for the Volkov family longer than Alexei had been alive. He'd once served Alexei's father, and now he served the sons.

"I'm just going for a run," Alexei said.

"I'll accompany you,” Sergei said.

“That’s not necessary,” Alexei said.

"It's protocol."

"I'll be fine."

Sergei didn't move. "I'll accompany you."

Alexei rubbed a hand over his face. "Sergei..."

"Mr. Volkov."

"I've been running these streets for years,” Alexei pointed out.

"And two nights ago someone tried to kill you."

That shut him up. Sergei folded his arms.

"If Mr. Maksim or Mr. Dimitri discover I allowed you outside alone after an assassination attempt..."

Alexei could practically hear his brothers already. Maksim would spend an hour lecturing him, and Dimitri would never let him forget it. He wasn't in the mood for either.

"Fine," Alexei muttered.

Sergei nodded once. "I'll keep my distance."

"You'd better,” Alexei grumbled.

They started through the front gates. The city felt different at three in the morning, quiet and almost peaceful. Streetlights painted long golden streaks across damp pavement while the occasional taxi drifted through otherwise empty roads.

Alexei settled into an easy jog. The familiar rhythm soothed him almost immediately, and all that mattered was his breathing, footsteps, and heartbeat. Everything else faded. Alexei gradually increased his pace. The estate disappeared behind them, and a park slipped past on his left. A row of expensive townhouses blurred on his right.

He glanced over one shoulder. Sergei remained behind him, still running and looking determined. The older man's breathing had become noticeably heavier, however.

Alexei couldn't help smiling, and Sergei caught the look.

"Don't."

"What?" Alexei drawled.