In The Arms of Ivan Dimitri

IVAN SERGIO DIMITRI POV...

I adjusted the cuffs of my black suit, the fabric pristine as always. My hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. The text from Martakis had come hours ago, which meant they would be arriving any minute now.

Kostas appeared at my door. "Sir, the car is ready."

I gave him a brief nod before stepping into the dimly lit hallway. Egor was already waiting, his stance rigid, his ever-watchful eyes scanning me for the slightest change in demeanor. I halted in front of her room.

Alfred greeted me with a curt nod before stepping aside, allowing me entry. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed her delicate features in warm light. She was still asleep, her breaths slow and even, her chest rising and falling beneath the silk sheets.

I knelt beside the bed, brushing my fingers over her cheek. Such softness—so fragile in comparison to the world she was now entangled in. But fragility was a luxury she could not afford.

My lips pressed into a thin line as I stood, shaking off the thought.

I turned to Alfred. "Wake her up and have her ready for our guest."

"Yes, Don."

As I descended the stairs, Egor's voice broke the silence.

"Don, I don’t think it’s a good idea letting her stay here."

I slid my gaze toward him, unimpressed. "What could you possibly be afraid of?"

His jaw tightened. "She’s dangerous."

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. "Nothing will happen. She’s walking into my territory. If she tries anything, it will be the end of her."

I stepped into the waiting car, Egor following in another. The drive to the airport was silent, tense. The kind of silence that held weight.

A vibration in my pocket. A text from Martakis.

They’re here.

The moment I stepped out of the car, I spotted her.

Samira Aharif.

She moved with calculated grace, her dark eyes sharp with amusement as she approached, flanked by Martakis and twenty Iranian men. The scent of jasmine and oud trailed behind her as she removed her sunglasses with deliberate ease.

"Ivan Dimitri," she purred, her lips curling into a slow smile. "After so long, I finally get to see you in person."

I regarded her with cold indifference. "I can’t say the pleasure is mine."

She chuckled, the sound rich and teasing. "I already like you." She scanned the area briefly. "Oh? No wife?"

"I don’t bring her to business deals. You’ll meet her when we arrive."

"Good. I need rest—I’ve been stuck on that plane for eleven hours," she sighed, running her fingers through her dark hair.

I gestured toward the car. "Shall we?"

She grinned. "What a gentleman."

As the car pulled away, silence lingered until she finally spoke.

"Why are you so interested in meeting my wife?" I asked, my tone deceptively casual.

She shrugged. "I don’t know. I just have a feeling she must be an angel."

An angel?

"You have quite the reputation, Ivan," she continued. "For a man like you to have a wife… she must be remarkable. Or exceptionally resilient."