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There was nothing in their intel about Alek Lebedev that would indicate he had a history with Illya. But when Gaby's mark entered the cafe, Illya stiffened and stopped breathing. Napoleon watched the color drain from the man's face as it fell into an old mask, all rage, purpose, and so, so cold. Napoleon hadn't seen that face since Berlin. His hand drifted to the table and his fingers tapped. A tick. A tell. Napoleon didn't know the memories, the humiliation coursing through Illya, but he could read the man well enough.
"Peril?" Napoleon's eyes darted between his partner and the conversation they were supposed to be monitoring across the street. Gaby was laughing, charmed and charming, her hand lingering on the old man's wrist. Illya's whole body seemed coiled now. "Peril."
Illya did not respond to Napoleon, showed no sign of even hearing the man. His eyes were riveted to Lebedev. He did not even seem to hear the conversation transmitting from the bug in Gaby's watch, loose nuclear materials and a good price for a beautiful woman. A further meeting scheduled, the location more secluded. Illya heard none of this, lost as he was in boyhood shame and focused as he was on keeping his body in place.
Lebedev stood, kissed Gaby's cheeks. Napoleon grabbed Illya's wrist to keep him in place. "Peril. Who is Alek Lebedev?"
Ruddy and balding, the mark walked away from the cafe. He had a slight limp.
"My mother's pimp." His accent was more pronounced than usual - a dark, round sound that escaped from his constricted throat.
"Shit."
Illya went to stand up, clearly planning to go after Lebedev as he made his way down the street and away from his meeting with Gaby. He spared a glance for the hand on his wrist.
"Let me go, Cowboy."
"No."
Illya stood abruptly, nearly knocking over their table and espressos. Napoleon stood, too, and tightened his fingers. He pulled Illya's wrist but the man kept moving, out the patisserie door and into the street. If Illya went after Lebedev it would ruin months of infiltration and leave the weapons out on the market. Even the scene they were causing on the otherwise quiet sidewalk posed its risks to the operation.
By now, Gaby saw them and knew something was wrong. She crossed the street to join them, anxiety clear in the set of her mouth and brow. Illya made to surge forward and Napoleon wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling his back flush to Napoleon's front.
Still, he kept moving, pulling Napoleon along until, "Illya, no. Heel."
Napoleon's command was unmistakable. Dominant. And Illya could do nothing but abide. He stopped moving and fell back against Napoleon as though a marionette whose strings were cut. Napolean tightened his hold and brought his other hand up to his soulmate's shoulder. Despite his loose muscles, Illya's eyes hardened with the betrayal, his breath panting. "I will never forgive you."
Gaby, witnessing the scene, stopped so abruptly she nearly stumbled. Her hand went to her mouth. She may be unmarked but she knew a submissive's response to his dominant. A furious sub but one still unable to go against his dominant's command.
Napoleon held Illya, trying to match breaths and slow his racing heart down. Despite Illya's best efforts, it worked. "I'm going to let you go. But you may not follow Lebedev. You cannot go after him with so much on the line." His words were quiet in Illya's ear but still bore the weight of command. The moment Napoleon dropped his arm, Illya flung himself away and ran down the street in the opposite direction of the mark. He did not look back.
Gaby came back to herself with a visible shudder. "What happened to Illya?"
Falling back on old crutches, Napoleon tightened his tie and straightened his posture, "He knew Lebedev. Not my story to tell."
She took in the information, nodded, and moved on, "I didn't know. You idiots didn't need to be shy on my account."
"We're not," Napoleon stopped, did not continue the sentence. A pause and his shoulders sagged with defeat. "We're not."
He closed his eyes as the impact of the scene nearly brought Napoleon down. This had proven all of Illya's fears right. Regardless of the fact that Napoleon just saved a months-long operation. Illya would never forgive him. Any hope Napoleon had of one day winning his soulmate over were lost.
Gaby was a smart girl. She could imagine how Illya would feel about being a submissive. How hard he would fight giving in to a dominant, even a soulmate so glaringly perfect for him as Solo. Her shock gave way to pity, which she tried not to let Napoleon see. She threaded her arm through his elbow and said, "Come, let's go to the hotel. You know he'll come back. He just needs time."