Page 50 of A Dangerous Proposal

His jaw tightened as he pushed open his door, but a flash of wide blue eyes and soft, pink lips intruded on his focus.

Madison.

Again.

His grip on his control wavered for a split second before he forced the image away. Alex couldn’t afford to be distracted. It was too dangerous. He hadn’t seen her in two weeks, but the memory of her lingered like a brand on his skin, too often consuming his attention during a time he needed to remain razor sharp.

Mikhail had made himself comfortable in Alex’s desk chair while Sergei sat sprawled in the chair opposite. The two bodyguards by the door gave him a nod as he passed them.

His brother stood, not acknowledging Alex’s arrival, and walked across the room to where Alex’s most recent art acquisition hung. Mikhail’s tailored suit clung to his broad frame and, thankfully, didn’t immediately scream bratvapakhan. Maybe this visit would fly under the radar after all.

“Zdravstvuy, brat,” Mikhail waved his hand at the painting. “This is nice.”

Alex strolled to his chair, hiding his irritation. “Misha.”

Mikhail moved closer, eyes sweeping over the office before turning to Alex. His gaze fell on a football in a clear display box behind Alex, and his eyebrows rose. “A football. How… American. Your mother must be proud.”

Alex refused to rise to the bait. Mikhail had been an adult when Alex was born. That, along with his illegitimacy and the way they were raised, had prevented them from ever being close.

“I don’t believe she follows sports,” Alex drawled.

A muscle ticked in Mikhail’s jaw, and his eyes turned flinty. He looked so much like their father in that moment Alex’s blood ran cold.

“His record must remain clean.” His father boomed. Alex watched stone-faced as blood dripped from Mikhail’s nose. Learning of Alex’s participation in the rival warehouse attack and Alex’s bullet wound had enraged their father.

His father wasn’t upset because his son was injured, but because Mikhail had defied his orders.

Mikhail’s jaw flexed, but he remained silent. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Alex had asked to go along, too aware of the divide between himself and the rest of the men in his family. At twenty-one, he knew he would never be accepted unless he engaged in the same violence and bloodshed that was common in all their lives.

“Did you accomplish what you wanted?” Alex realized his father’s rheumy, blue eyes were on him.

He lifted his chin. As much as his father demanded obedience, he abhorred weakness. “Yes.”

A chuckle turned into a cough, and he didn’t miss the look Mikhail exchanged with Sergei. Their father wasn’t well, and it was only a matter of time before Mikhail would be the one issuing orders.

Alex wasn’t stupid. He had no intention of getting on his eldest brother’s bad side.

“How did he do?”

“Well.” His brother’s compliment surprised him.

Alex wasn’t sure it’s how he would have described their night. He had hesitated when the first shots rang out, and one of his father’s men had been forced to shoot the leg of a man who had snuck up behind Alex. The man writhed on the floor—Alex knew his duty and immediately fired. A normal person probably felt bad after something like that, but all Alex felt was numb. In their world, it was kill or be killed, and if he showed any hesitation again, he would become a target himself.

His brother clapped him on the shoulder when the doctor finished stitching the flesh wound closed. “Women like scars, bratan.”

His father grunted. “You’re lucky it isn’t somewhere that will show.” His father was obsessed that Alex be presentable as a respectable member of society, and that meant the tattoos that decorated his father’s and brother’s necks and hands were not an option for him. Obvious bullet wounds didn’t fit either.

Shaking off the memory, Alex asked, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Mikhail?”

In a flash, Mikhail’s mood shifted. Which might have been reassuring, but his brother’s mercurial moods were more than a little unsettling, and Alex’s nerves twitched under his skin.

“Straight to business, eh? I admire that.” He moved to the leather sofa along the wall, sitting with the ease of someone who never questioned his authority, no matter where he was.

He leaned back, stretching out. “It’s about Koval International and its subsidiaries.” Mikhail raised a brow, his lips curling into a cold smile at Alex’s silence. “You’re smart, Alexei. You know what needs to be done.”

Alex kept his face impassive, but inside, his mind was racing. He couldn’t afford to offend Mikhail, but he couldn’t bend either—not on this. “What exactly are you asking me to do? Uncle Sergei wasn’t specific.”

Mikhail’s gaze hardened, and the smile disappeared. “You know what I’m asking. Our businesses, the real estate division in particular—are very profitable. But they can do more for the family.”

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