I let my gaze pin him. "That's patience. Something you should learn before your temper costs us all."
Roman's fists clenched, but he didn't respond. He muttered something under his breath about the family tearing itself apart faster than any enemy.
Through it all, Emilia stood rigid. I knew this world was crushing her innocence, piece by piece. But I also knew she was steel buried under all that softness. I could feel it when her breath slowed, and she lifted her chin again, eyes gazing steadily at the men surrounding her.
She whispered so low only I could hear, though her lips barely moved. "Could the mole be my father?"
I stiffened, my hand tightening on her waist. My brothers looked over, curious at her whisper, but I didn't repeat it. That question wasn't for them; it was for me.
And I had no answer yet. The meeting dragged on long into the night. Maps were folded, files closed, glasses drained, and refilled. But no one left the table.
The word 'mole' hung over us like thick smoke. Mikhail's pacing grew worse, his boots striking the floor like gunshots. Roman massaged his temple, already calculating which of our allies could be entreated. Konstantin hadn't moved at all. He sat still, a storm building within him, his eyes fixed on the flame of the candle as if it whispered secrets.
And Emilia... stayed pressed at my side. She hadn't run. Hadn't asked to leave. That was something.
Roman broke the silence first. "If there's a leak, it's not from this table. That means someone lower, someone with ears in the street."
Mikhail barked out a bitter laugh. "Or maybe higher. You think the Vipers don't have politicians in their pockets? You think the senator hasn't sold us out already?"
The word senator sliced through me like a knife. Romano.
I felt Emilia flinch against me. Her breath caught, soft but sharp, like the sound of glass breaking. She looked at me, her wide brown eyes searching for an answer.
I gave her none, not here. As I stood, I pulled her gently back into the chair I had just vacated. "Stay," I ordered, my voice low and dangerous. Then to my brothers, "Keep talking. I'll hear your plans when I return.”
I walked out, shutting the heavy door behind me. The hallway stretched long and dark, my footsteps echoing. I needed a cigarette, and maybe a bullet through someone's head. Preferably Romano's.
"Viktor!" Her voice was too loud, echoing against the walls around us. She hurried after me, her small frame nearly swallowed by the corridor.
Spinning around, I caught her wrist before she could speak again. I pressed her back against the wall, one hand braced beside her head. The other gripped her chin.
"What did I tell you about following me?"
Her chest rapidly rose and fell, but her voice didn't shake as she spoke.
"You think my father's the mole, don't you?"
Her eyes burned with something fierce. It was fear, but it was also more than that. Anger and desperation.
I leaned close, so close I could almost feel her lips.
"I think your father is a coward who sold his soul to every devil who offered him a coin. I think he'd slit his own daughter's throat if it bought him another election."
She swallowed hard. "Then why not kill him already?"
And for a moment, I just stared. No one, not even my brothers, had asked me that so directly.
My hand slid from her chin to her throat, not choking, just holding. Claiming.
"Because dead men are useless. Alive, your father is leverage. Alive, he's bait. He drags the snakes out of hiding. And until I decide otherwise, he lives."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her pulse beat fast against my palm.
Finally, she whispered, "You're using him. Just like you're using me."
That struck deep. I felt the fury rise, sharp and hot. Slamming my fist into the wall beside her head, the plaster cracked under the blow. She gasped, but she didn't move.
I lowered my mouth to her ear. "You are not him. Don't you ever compare yourself to that worm of a man."
