CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ALEXEI

The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension as Yaz and I faced the person responsible for the attacks on Zoey and Yelena. The room was adorned with the trappings of luxury—a stark contrast to the malevolence that emanated from the man seated across the table.

"Alexei Pushkin," he sneered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I fixed him with a cold, unyielding stare. "You know exactly why we're here."

Yaz, standing at my side, exuded an air of silent menace. His presence alone was often enough to unsettle even the most composed adversaries.

The man leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "Ah, the protective husband. How's your dear wife? Recovering, I hope?"

My jaw tightened at the mention of Zoey. "You're playing a dangerous game, and you're going to pay for it."

He chuckled, a sound devoid of remorse. "You see, Alexei, in o