CLAIMED BY THE RUSSIAN TYRANT

18

Alexei hissed as Old Man Murray, the estate's doctor, pulled the stitch tight, drawing blood.

“Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid once this heals, it will scar really badly,” Murray said, dabbing a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic over the raw flesh. The sting intensified, biting deep into his cheek.

Curse Anastasia, Alexei thought bitterly. Curse her straight to hell.

They were in his study, the warm glow of a chandelier fighting the shadows while snow lashed at the windows. Alexei was stripped to the waist, sweat glistening across his broad chest and shoulders.

“What does it matter? I'll just grow out my beard as usua—”

“I don't advise keeping any facial hair at this time,” Murray interrupted. “You don't want hairs getting caught in the wound or aggravating the stitches. That's a straight path to an infection.”

Alexei wanted to protest. He wanted Murray to understand his dilemma. How important his facial hair was not just to strike fear in people, but to remind him of who he didn't want to be. Who he didn't want to see when he looked in the mirror.

Just then, the heavy doors to his office slammed open.

Xander walked in with a thick stack of folders clutched in his hands.

Murray wisely gathered his medical bag and excused himself.

Xander sat down uninvited in front of the desk.

“I have Ambrose locked in the cold room. What should we do with him?”

“Let him go,” Alexei said simply, taking a slow sip of his vodka.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“You heard me. Let him go. I have no use for him. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to kill him. He's worked for the Morozovs for years.”

“But he doesn't obey you. He tried to help the Sokolov girl escape.”

Silence.

“Boss,” Xander started slowly, “I don't want to be the one to say it, but you're acting out of character.”

Alexei spared him a glance. “Am I?”

“Since you covered Maximo's debts for her sake, you haven't been acting like yourself. That wasn't even part of the plan. Maximovich Holdings was supposed to go bankrupt without your interference.”

More silence.

“What you said on the day she stormed your office, about letting her go—that was a lie, wasn't it? You have no intentions of ever letting her go, do you?”

“She goes free once Maximo pays back—”

“But he won't, and you know it. The man is on his deathbed. What are you really up to, Alexei?”

Damned if he knew. What he did know was that he had no intentions of ever letting Anastasia go. Not now, after he’d been able to talk to her about her passion. And especially not now that he’d found out she’d never been kissed. He still couldn’t believe that. The woman was a storm. He didn’t know how to behave when she was around.

“What if she tries to run away?” Xander interrupted his train of thought, leaning forward. “With that Mirov boy.”

“She won’t try anything stupid. Not with her sister here. She's smarter than that.”

“But what if?” Xander insisted.

“Then we just have to cut off her legs.”

“You want to cut her legs off?”

“Don't you understand a metaphor, Xander?”

“You mean a simile.”

Alexei chuckled dryly, reaching out to pick up a file.

Inside was a grim casualty report from the recent incidents in Yakutsk—the mine explosion and the violent fallout that followed.

“Two of the families we sent compensation to lost their children this morning from severe burns,” Xander said. “The other is alive, but barely.”

Alexei swallowed another mouthful of vodka.

“I assume they'll want me to go and see them,” he murmured.

Xander nodded slowly.

“Yes. Most of the families are furious. They're threatening to rally a protest over the commoners dying in our mines every month. Some are whispering that your hands are tied up in unclean things, and that this whole disaster is punishment for taking Sergei's empire.”

At the mention of his mentor, Alexei stiffened. He stood up, walked over to the French doors, and shoved them open.

The biting Yakutsk wind rushed in, instantly raising goosebumps across his sweat-slicked skin.

He stood there in the freezing draft, gazing out over the vast expanse of his domain. The snow-glowing properties, the bundled figures moving through the frost, the suffocating wealth surrounding him on all sides.

Sergei.

The most feared man in all of Yakutsk.

It must have been a great shock for the people when Sergei handed his entire empire over to the bastard child of a w***e on his deathbed.

No matter how many billions Alexei commanded, no matter the custom fur coats on his back or the iron-fisted rule he maintained, the people of Yakutsk would always whisper behind his back. To them, he was still just the w***e's son who had stolen the legacy of the only man who ever showed him kindness.

“Let them say whatever they want,” he said, his voice cold as the wind. “You can't put a muzzle on the whole city.”

“But a full-scale rally could choke our labor supply,” Xander warned. “We'll lose the workers we need to keep the shafts running.”

Alexei couldn't deny that. They needed bodies in the mines.

“When are they planning this protest?” Alexei asked, flicking a lighter to ignite a cigar.

“Our informant doesn't have an exact date yet, but it won't be anytime soon. A massive blizzard is hitting us next week and the week after. The roads will be completely impassable.”

Alexei fell silent, exhaling a thick cloud of grey smoke. Without turning around, he asked, “You’ve known me since we were nothing but ice and dirt, Xander. What would you do, in my place?”

A heavy pause settled over the room.

Xander weighed the question. “I say we hunt down the ringleaders. The ones putting ideas of strikes into the workers' heads. And teach them a harsh lesson.”

“It's always blood and bone with you, isn't it, Xander?”

The brute-force approach would work under normal circumstances, but not now. For the first time in his life, Alexei found himself hesitating to unleash absolute violence.

“And what about Emilio's guns?” Alexei asked, changing the subject. “Any news?”

“None of them were recovered in the rubble. If Emilio can exercise a little patience, the men will dig them out within a month.”

Alexei didn't have a month.

And he certainly didn't want Emilio breathing down his neck, especially now that the bastard knew he was harboring Anastasia.

Between the striking miners, the missing guns under his mines, Emilio's pressure, and the volatile vixen in his guest wing, his life was a powder keg.

He needed to stomp out these fires.

His head was pounding too hard to think clearly.

“Tell the miners to come to the estate for a gathering.”

“You mean like a feast?”

“More like a party. We don't need violence. What we need is to talk to them.” Alexei stubbed out his cigar. “I'll deal with Emilio and his damn missing weapons later.”

“Got it.” Xander stood up, striding toward the door. He paused. “Oh, and Natalia?”

Alexei didn't turn. “What about her?”

“I saw her on my way up here.”

Alexei huffed. “Natalia is away at university in Saint Petersburg. Are you sure it was her? Besides, if she were here, Yelena would have said something.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the heavy office doors burst open.

A young woman with dark hair tied in pigtails, dressed in a sharply tailored maid's uniform, bolted into the room without breaking stride. Her cheeks flushed bright pink as she threw her arms around Alexei's bare, freezing back, burying her face into his spine.

Xander took the swift opportunity to slip out.

“Kegan! Oh, Kegan, you're finally here!” the girl squealed.

Alexei froze. The familiar, nostalgic scent of snow and citrus hit him instantly.

He turned around slowly.

The bundle clinging to him had barely reached his hip the last time he saw her. Yelena’s granddaughter, a scrawny, frail child running errands in the cold.

This girl was tall, her head nearly reaching his collarbone, carrying the undeniable curves and weight of a grown woman.

“You're crushing me.”

Natalia immediately pulled back, her brown eyes wide.

“You have no idea how much I've missed you! The maids said you were back, and I just couldn't wait another second to see you!” She reached up, her soft fingers brushing against his stitched cheek. “Oh, I know I might sound totally silly, but you look so handsome without your beard! It makes you look ten years younger!”

Alexei smacked her hand away good-heartedly. “I’m still an old man. Do well to remember that.”

Natalie chuckled. “Oh don’t be silly. Did an enemy do this to your face?”

“An enemy is not a wrong word,” Alexei muttered, putting space between them.

Natalia noticed the half-smoked cigar still burning in the ashtray, snatched it up, threw it out the open window, and slammed the glass shut.

“Honestly, I will never understand why you insist on standing half-naked in front of a freezing window like a complete lunatic! You're going to catch pneumonia and die. Now, come sit down right this second.”

Alexei couldn't help the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Who would ever believe this bubbling, high-speed chatterbox was the child he used to tolerate?

“Are you seriously ordering me around right now?”

“Well, obviously!” Natalia beamed, bouncing lightly on her heels. “Is there a problem? Because I happen to have, like, total professional expertise now—well, almost—since I've picked up so much nursing knowledge, and I'm officially on duty to take care of you! So you're going to sit in that chair while I run down and brew you the most magical herbal tea to dull that nasty stitch pain, and then we can catch up on everything!”

He didn't want tea. He wanted silence and a chance to talk to Anastasia, albeit reasonably. Which made no sense. He didn't owe her any explanation.

He sank into the chair, letting Natalia bounce around him, her chipper voice prattling on about the absolute importance of winter health, how she had miraculously mastered the grand piano just to play for him one day, how she practiced her English every single night just so she could sound sophisticated for him, and how she had rescued a stray dog last year purely because it reminded her of how fiercely loyal he was.

Despite the blinding throbbing behind his eyes, a genuine smile tugged at Alexei's lips. Some things truly never changed. Natalia was just as relentless, cheerful, and entirely inescapable as she had been when she was small.

“What about your university studies?” he interrupted gently, trying to ground her runaway train of thought.

Natalia stopped dead in her tracks.

Her expression turned instantly sheepish, flushing a deep crimson.

“I asked you a question.”

“I… um, well, you see…” She shifted uncomfortably, voice dropping low. “I… I don't really need school anymore.”

Alexei narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm totally done with school,” Natalia blurted out, puffing out her chest and trying to square her shoulders to look much older and wiser than she was. “I'm a woman now, Kegan!”

“You're eighteen.”

“Yes! A full-grown woman!” She lifted her chin, defiant. “I'll be nineteen in eleven months!”

“And that medical degree you're halfway through earning means nothing?” Alexei tried to reason.

“I want to dedicate my life to running this estate. I want to help you—assist you with everything and in every way. We both know Mistress Marina is never going to get better. Please make me the Mistress of this estate.”