All-in-all, Alexander supposed things could have gone worse for him. The ballroom wing of Rosewood might have been turned to ash and brimstone, but he’d managed to track down Tatiana Valentina the night of the party and had engaged in…his most wicked whims and desires with the youngest Bratva tsarina. Her brother had no clue, of course, and the thrill that occupied Viktor’s absence filled Alexander with a queer sense of satisfaction. Providing the young Russian whore managed to stay away from her brother for just a bit longer (which wouldn’t be a terribly impossible thing to accomplish, given how closely she was watched by her handlers), Alexander was confident he’d be able to win her trust and favor. Frightening the young blonde in the woods had been more accidental than purposeful, but upon reflection, Alex felt that their natural predator and prey instincts had taken over.
And who was he to deny the beast that prowled in his soul, desperate to be unchained and unleashed upon the world?
Presently, Alexander was earning some well-deserved rest by lounging in the grand suite he’d been gifted, prowling from one room to the next before seating himself in the plush armchair situated in his bedroom chambers, just by the fireplace, as he reached for a ledger he kept by the bedside table and flipped through it. He’d have to call Raymond up to his suite later to sort through things and make sure the numbers he’d jotted down for account numbers based back in Dublin were accurate, but for now, Alex was simply content to spend the afternoon decompressing from the double life he’d been forced to endure ever since stepping foot in Rosewood’s stone and ivy-covered halls. Or, at least, he had intended on relaxing until he heard the front door to his suite snick open. Immediately, Alexander was alert, shoving the ledger back into his nightstand and padding his way over to his bed, where he reached under the mattress, flipped a silent mechanism beneath it, and reached into the faulty backing he’d drilled into the bed frame to extract his pistol.
No one had the key to his room. No one would dare to enter his room without knocking first. Unless..but no. No. It was impossible.
Alex checked the magazine on his gun, clutching it in one hand as he made his way through his bedroom out into the hall, his footsteps quiet and even against the carpeting, when he heard a piece of glass shatter against the ground, like a plate being knocked on the floor. He stilled, his muscles tense and his eyes narrowed, as he strained to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. He’d ambush them, then, or lure them into a false sense of security; it was easier to open fire and ask questions later. It was as Alex was recreating a mental floor plan of his flat, attempting to anticipate the particular placement of hands and feet as his aggressor eventually came into view, that a familiar voice rang out through the thick tension of his apartment. But no, surely… Cocking his head slightly, Alexander prowled into the main living quarters, finding none other than Kamali Shava standing before him. Tall, ferocious, imposing–among some circles, she was noted as Kamali Barrett.
Not among her own, of course, but that was neither here nor there.
Alexander straightened, his gun sliding into the holster at his hip as he stepped into Kamali’s full view. She was beautiful, in that lethal sort of way; once upon a time, their tenacity and passion had brought them to each other’s beds, despite the loveless marriage they’d tumbled into. As he gazed at Kamali now, his eyes flashing with both intrigue and anger, he found himself wondering how they’d never managed to kill one another before now.
“Sweetheart, what an unexpected surprise,” Alexander purred, his voice low, dark, and dripping with sarcasm as he appraised the woman standing across from him. He glanced at the shattered mug that laid between them, his gaze dragging up her frame to her face once more. “Such a temper. If I didn’t know any better, Kam, I’d say you were jealous. If you wanted my attention, you needed only ask.”
Ah, there he was. Her dearly beloved, whose death would mark their parting far sooner by being within her proximity. Kamali was almost pleased to see his face again, and perhaps under different circumstances, they could have been cordial to one another. But she was right and throroughly pissed with him, so that option was wiped completely out of the realm of possibilities. “That should be my line, dear. Or have you forgotten all the basic courtesies that I strived so desperately hard to ingrain in you?” Oh yes, those particular lessons had been the basis for many, many renovations in the home they had once owned together. But giving the infuriatingly familiar nickname he used with her, clearly they hadn’t stuck. She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
She hadn’t always been this outwardly hostile to Alexander. There was once a time when she had respected his ambition, had gone even so far as to find certain parts of him admirable, and there was no denying that there was something that occasionally burned between them. But a pair of sharks as dangerous as they were simply couldn’t thrive in the same waters, and so she had made the decision for the both of them before her fantasties of using him as her new anatomical doll became anything more than that. A twisted way of showing love, perhaps, but far more care and consideration than any of her other past flames had been given. Kamali had even taken the time to inform him of her whereabouts, not for seeking her out, but to avoid her at all costs. Practically a truce wrapped up in a tidy, two hundred and fifty word letter. And here he was waltzing around like there was nothing distinctly wrong about any of it. Honestly, the nerve.
“Jealous? Hardly.“ Kamali rolled her eyes as she made her way around the island, placing clear space between them while subtly slipping a stray kitchen knife out of sight. She might have left the mafia life behind her, but she always did have clever hands. A handy trick when dealing with difficult people. “Annoyed would be far more accurate. You don’t see me galavanting my way through the Bronx. I deserve at mimimum that standard of respect.” And when Kamali did have to fly back to America, she was at least considerate enough to inform someone about it. “Yet here I am, coming home after a long trip overseas only to find you and the drunken oaf making a mess of my abode. How else should I react?”
But the dungeon mistress wasn’t there to have some heart-to-heart with Alexander, nor was she really there to lecture him on proper etiquette. She was there to get answers. Proper ones, for his appearance and everything else that was going on. “I’d like to know two things precisely. Why the fuck you’re here on my turf and what your involvement was with that little fireworks show from the other night.“ There were at least a few possibilities that she had in mind, but she wanted to hear it straight from the asshole’s mouth, but there was no way in hell that he wasn’t linked in part to the mess from the party. “And do tell the full truth of the matter, darling. You know how much I detest it when you beat around the bush.” It was just like being back in New York City, Alexander rushing into some bloody operation and leaving her to clean up the bloodbath that followed. Fucking typical.
