CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

ALEXEI

I was in my office, the heavy oak door framing a picture of stoic control. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes, each a silent testament to the Pushkin legacy.

Yet, I couldn't focus on the crackling flames or the comforting aroma of pipe tobacco. My mind, usually a battlefield of strategic maneuvers and calculated risks, was consumed by the memory of her kiss.

Zoey. Her lips, soft and yielding beneath mine, had ignited a fire within me, a wildfire that threatened to consume the carefully constructed walls I'd built around my heart.

I poured myself another glass of amber liquid, the rich burn of the vodka offering a poor substitute for the lingering warmth of her touch.

My fingers traced the rim of the crystal glass, the echo of her name resonating in the stillness. Little sparrow. The nickname had slipped out, a possessive murmur against her ear, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating persona I pre