Page 94 of The Lazarov Bratva

Kristof is silent, letting the words pour from me.

“We’re leaving, I get that, but I told you I’d never even left the state! Leaving to another country where I know no one, where I know nothing and don’t even speak the language, leaving behind everything I’ve ever known, it’s terrifying! Sure, maybe part of me thought I’d get to go home, but that we’d go home together, y’know? It would be me and you, and life would be there, but now you’re plucking me right out of everything I’ve found comfort in and I’m scared. I’m even scared of flying, I think? I don’t know, I can’t tell.”

An iron tang washes over my tongue, and pressure fills my ears.

“It wasn’t you.” Still, I talk. It’s the only thing distracting me from the fact that I am in the sky in a tin box. “You’ve been such a comfort to me, shown me things I’ve never dreamed of and unlocked a bold part of myself that I didn’t even know was there, but when I told you how I was feeling, you immediately accused me of betraying you! How fucked up is that?”

The jet shudders and silences my tirade of unchecked thoughts. I whimper, and then suddenly, Kristof’s hand is on mine.

My eyes water. I’m too scared to blink. Kristof’s no longer in his chair. He crouches before me, and only when I focus on him do I realize the flight is quite smooth now.

“You’re right,” Kristof says. “Alena, I am sorry. When I heard your shock at leaving, it translated to me that all along, I had been right and trusting you was a mistake. When I decided that, nothing you said made sense and felt like excuses, and I… I am sorry. I am. I should have listened to you with the same respect that I ask of you.”

“Yeah,” I snap, finally blinking and letting those tears slip down my cheeks. “You should have.”

“I’m sorry,” Kristof says, reaching for my cheek and stroking away the tears.

“Do you forgive me?”

30

KRISTOF

You’re a fucking idiot, Kristof.

There’s no excuse.

I’ve been tense, stressed about the search of my home and the collapse of one of our highest-earning clubs. Seamus had taken my information and gone all out. There was absolutely nothing left to salvage in a way that’s almost admirable, but it provided the distraction I needed for a few days.

That didn’t save me from taking the brunt of Aleksander’s fury.

Alena is right. I heard what I wanted to hear and didn’t listen to her.

She stares at me with shining eyes, her hands like claws tearing into the armrests, and silence lingers between us as I wait for her response.

“Maybe,” she murmurs after a moment.

“Don’t give in too easily,” Nastja remarks, appearing around the seat with a glass of vodka in one hand. “Make him work for it.”

I shoot her a glare, and she smirks at me, continuing toward the front of the plane. Turning back to Alena, I see her cheeks are pink and she bites slightly on her lower lip.

“Maybe you should work for it,” she says.

Bold.

“Alright.” I unclasp her from the seat and take her hand, slowly helping her to her feet.

I resist the urge to tell her there’s nothing to be afraid of in terms of the jet. Only her safe journey can assure her of that. Instead, I tangle our fingers together and lead her through the jet, past where Ivan is buried in his laptop with a beer in hand and through to the living quarters where several rooms are hidden behind sliding doors. I take Alena to the main bedroom and close the door behind us.

“I’m sorry, Alena. I’m so… so used to people working against me that I think it’s just a reflex to assume you’d been lying all this time.”

Alena scowls and opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand.

“It’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have, but I did and I am sorry.”

She huffs softly, removing her hand from mine.

“You need to trust me,” she says. “I’ve followed all the rules. I’ve proved I can be obedient, and I’m falling so hard for you. But if you don’t trust me, then this is just…” She shrugs one shoulder, wandering around the small room and taking everything in.

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