I walked to her, slowly. She backed up until her spine met the wall. I caged her there, one hand braced above her head, the other catching her chin, and forcing her to look at me. My voice was a whisper, but it cut like steel.
"If he thinks this gets you back... he's wrong."
Her eyes shone with tears. She shook her head. "Viktor, I don't–"
"Don't cry," I snapped. "You don't cry for them. Not for your father, not for Romano. Not for anyone who touched this war, you hear me?"
Her chest trembled, but her voice was steady. "And for you? Do I cry for you?"
I stared at her, the fire in her gaze, and the way she stood even while breaking. My throat tightened for the first time in years.
"No," I said roughly. "You don't cry for me either, but you don't leave me, ever."
Her breath shook, and then she whispered the one thing that tore through every wall I had.
"You have me."
The words landed like a brand, and I lowered my head close to her skin.
"Good, because I’ll never let go."
************
The office changed in minutes after, and Dimitri's folder was still open, papers bleeding across the table like an open wound, but I didn't waste time staring at them. My men flooded back in at my signal, faces hard, guns visible under their jackets. The room was no longer a meeting room; it was a war room.
"Lock everything down," I ordered, my voice low, cutting through the air. "Secure the channels, rotate the guards. Every asset, every safe house, nothing without my word."
Then, phones came out, boots shifted, and orders moved like electricity. This was my element, chaos turning into command.
Emilia stood by the wall, her arms crossed, and the folder still clenched in her hands. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned. She was no bystander, not anymore.
I walked to the head of the table, scanning the maps and lists spread out, but my attention dragged back to her like a chain pulling tight.
"Trace the leak," I snapped at Dimitri. "I want the source, I want the name, I want their blood."
"Yes, boss."
I looked back at her. "You shouldn't be here," I said.
But she lifted her chin. "Maybe not, but I'm already in this, aren't I? You made sure of that."
The room hushed for a beat. My men didn't look at her, but I felt the shift... somehow respect, confusion, or maybe fear. No one ever spoke to me like that.
I strode toward her, closing the space in two steps. "You think I dragged you into this?"
"You admit it!" She fired back. "You said I was leverage. That means you pulled me into this from the start. You made me a target."
Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away. I caged her against the wall again, my palm landing flat beside her head. "I made you mine," I said, each word carved in stone.
Her eyes glistened. "If my father paid you back, if he begged you, would you have let me go?"
The room stilled, and men pretended to work, but every ear tilted out.
I didn't blink, but instead I said, "No, even if he paid ten times, I'd never give you back."
Her breath caught, a sound between a sob and a laugh. She shook her head. "You're not even pretending. You just say it, like stealing me is... natural to you."
"It is," I said. "I never meant to lie. I never meant to let you go."
