Page 20 of Bratva King

Instead, he quietly turned the brass handle. The hinges barely whispered as he eased the door open just enough to look inside. Soft afternoon light spilled through the windows, bathing the room in warm gold. The curtains stirred lazily with the breeze carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forest.

Natalia lay exactly where he'd left her, and she was sleeping peacefully this time. The color had begun returning to her face, replacing the ghostly pallor she'd worn when he'd carried her back here after the shooting. Her dark hair spread across the pillow in tangled waves, hiding part of her face.

She had curled onto her side, just like she always used to. His chest tightened unexpectedly. At thirteen, she'd slept exactly the same way whenever the Morozov and Volkov families gathered at either estate.

She would disappear onto whatever sofa or guest bed she happened to find after exhausting herself running around with him all day, knees tucked toward her chest, one hand curled beneath her cheek.

She'd always looked impossibly small, both then and now. There was one huge difference, though. Natalia wasn't thirteen anymore. She wasn't the stubborn little girl who stole baked treats from unsuspecting cooks and insisted she could outrun every bodyguard assigned to watch her.

She was a woman now, a very dangerous one who undoubtedly carried enough scars to fill several lifetimes. Alexei leaned one shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he quietly watched her breathe.

He moved his gaze to the faint bruises decorating her jaw, the bandage wrapped around her shoulder. Alexei studied the tiny crease between her brows that remained even in sleep, as though years of danger had taught her body never to truly relax.

Finally, he settled his gaze on her lips. Without thinking, his fingers rose to touch his own. His thumb brushed across his mouth. Memory struck with startling clarity. He thought of the kiss he’d stolen from her, how impossibly soft they were, how sweet she tasted.

He hadn't planned it. Hell, Alexei still couldn't explain why he'd done it. Perhaps because he'd thought he might lose her despite finally finding her again, or maybe some part of him had wanted to kiss her for ten years.

He tightened his jaw. "She tried to kill you." The voice in his head was calm and practical. Alexei looked back toward the sleeping woman.

"She saved me too," he murmured quietly.

Actions mattered, and people didn't willingly die for targets they simply intended to murder later. Natalia stirred, and Alexei froze. Damn it. Had he spoken too loudly?

She shifted beneath the blankets, brow furrowing as she made the faintest sound of discomfort. His muscles locked, and he hoped she didn’t wake. The doctor had been adamant. Sleep was the best medicine she could receive.

After several long seconds, Natalia merely rolled onto her other side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow. Her breathing steadied again. She was still asleep. Alexei released the breath he'd been holding.

"Good," he whispered.

Satisfied she hadn't awakened, he carefully backed out into the hallway. The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind him. He deliberately assigned Natalia the room adjoining his own, because one shared wall separated them.

If she cried out in pain, or if she attempted a reckless escape, he would hear it immediately. That decision had gone over about as well as throwing gasoline onto an open fire. Maksim had nearly exploded, and Dimitri had simply looked disappointed.

Neither reaction had surprised Alexei. He sensed someone behind him before they spoke.

"What is it?" Alexei asked without turning.

Footsteps matched his own as he started down the corridor. Dimitri fell into step beside him. Unlike Maksim, whose emotions arrived with all the subtlety of artillery fire, Dimitri approached disagreements quietly. That sometimes annoyed Alexei.

"You've been in there how many times today? Five? Six?” Dimitri asked.

Alexei shrugged. “Does it matter?”

"Brother,” Dimitri muttered.

Alexei already disliked that tone.

"You haven't seen this woman in over ten years,” Dimitri pointed out, although Alexei didn’t need reminding.

"I am aware,” he said.

"And somehow you've already become—” Dimitri searched for the appropriate word. "—attached."

Alexei didn't answer.

"Maksim and I are concerned,” Dimitri said.

Concerned was one way of putting it. Earlier that morning Maksim had slammed both hands onto Alexei's office desk hard enough to crack the wood.