His Lisichka [MXM]

47 - Is His.

Ivan's jaw clenched as his men fanned out across the city, scouring every corner for Emily.

Oliver had said he would leave him.

He had said it twice, as if repeating it would make it true.

Leave him.

Ivan exhaled a puff of his cigar, the bitter smoke swirling in the dim light. He wasn't letting Oliver go—not even if he was on his last breath.

Oliver was his.

Is.

From the first time they'd made love, Ivan had made it clear: there would be no going back.

No "breaking up."

No other lovers.

Just Oliver and him for however life had forbade it.

The doctor had agreed to it then, whispered his acceptance into Ivan's ear with trembling breaths and flushed cheeks. Ivan had smiled that night, certain they understood each other. They were bound by something that went far deeper than lust or romance.

They belonged to each other.

So yes, Ivan understood. He understood why Oliver was scared, why he was furious and heartbroken over Emily.

Ivan accepted that he bore some of the blame for what had happened. But none of that changed how he felt. It didn't mean he didn't care for Emily.

He cared.

More than that, he loved her.

He hadn't planned to. But Emily had a way of slipping through Ivan's armor, just like Oliver had. She'd texted him things over the past few months—small updates, casual observations, little reminders to take care of her father.

"Dad's been extra stressed. I think he misses you, even though he's too stubborn to admit it."

"There's this guy from my English class who keeps asking about me. Should I tell him my dad's scary Russian boyfriend has connections?"

She was cheeky, insightful, and fiercely protective of Oliver, just as Ivan was. Over time, her messages had softened something in him. He found himself watching out for her as if she were his own blood.

Which made this—her kidnapping—a failure he couldn't tolerate.

And Oliver ending things? That had broken him.