Page 43 of Imperfect Desires

Alina nods once. “Understood.”

She turns to leave, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Her gaze flicks toward me—just for a second.

Our eyes lock.

And my pulse stutters.

I see the flicker of tension beneath her carefully composed expression. The memory of our last encounter—the way her body felt beneath mine.

She turns and walks out of the office.

And I’m left sitting there, my chest tight, my hands curled into fists beneath the table.

15

Lev

Why are these parties always so bright?

The ballroom is a sea of glittering glass and polished steel, filled with men in tailored suits and women in silk and diamonds. Chandeliers drip with light overhead, casting fractured shadows across the marble floor. The scent of expensive perfume hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the low murmur of voices and the soft strains of classical music.

It’s the opening of Viktor’s new hotel—the crown jewel of his growing empire. The guest list is a careful balance of power: Russian Bratva, Greek Elliniki, Columbian Cartel, and Italian Mafia. A precarious truce held together by a shared interest in wealth and control.

I stand at the edge of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey. My back is to the wall, my gaze sharp beneath the low lighting.

I’m not mingling. I never do.

I prefer to watch from the shadows, reading the room the way I was trained to. Who’s talking to whom. Whose smiles don’t reach their eyes. Whose hand lingers too long on someone else's arm.

It’s supposed to be business. Viktor wants us to project strength tonight—to remind everyone that the Makarov name holds power far beyond Moscow. And has claimed its place in the underworld of New York City. But my attention isn’t where it should be. My gaze keeps sliding towards Alina.

She is standing across the room, her back to me, wearing a dark red dress that shimmers beneath the crystal light. It’s fitted and low-cut at the back, the thin straps resting on her smooth, bare shoulders. Her long black hair spills down her back in soft waves.

She’s laughing at something her current admirer said. Her head tilts back slightly, the curve of her neck exposed.

My jaw tightens to match my grip on the whiskey glass.

I’ve been doing my best to avoid her since she started pulling away from me. But it’s been hell. Seeing her every day at Viktor’s estate, passing her in the hallway, and hearing her quiet voice when she speaks to Viktor has been pure torture.

I’ve told myself it’s for the best. That this distance is necessary. That I’m protecting her—from myself and freeing her to have the kind of future she was born to have.

But it doesn’t feel like protection now. It feels like punishment. And the worst part is—she’s finally stopped looking at me. For years, Alina watched me like I was the only thing in the room. But now? Her gaze skims past me like I’m nothing. Like I never mattered. It’s exactly what I wanted. So why does it feel like my heart is stopping?

A flash of movement catches my attention, and I see the same Greek who had flirted with Alina at Yelena’s wedding. He’s standing too close to her now, his hand brushing against her bare arm as he leans in. He’s tall, dark-haired, and polished. The kind of man who grew up with money and influence and knows precisely how to wield it.

My jaw sets hard. The glass in my hand trembles.

He says something, and Alina laughs again.

Not a polite laugh. Not a fake one. A real laugh. The kind that makes her eyes brighten and her mouth curve.

My pulse spikes dangerously.

I tell myself to stay calm. There’s nothing wrong with Alina talking to him; after all, her twin sister is married into their organization. This is what these alliances are for: strength through connection.

But the sound of her laughter slips under my skin like a knife. I move closer, partially concealed behind a potted palm, just close enough to hear the conversation.

---