The agreement hung in the warehouse like a contract signed in invisible ink. Not forgiveness for what had been done to my father. Not absolution for the exile that had destroyed him. But acknowledgment that moving forward mattered more than dwelling in past mistakes.
Alexei nodded once, sharp and final. "Then let's get your grandfather back and end this."
Thecompoundfeltdifferentwhen we got back. Same marble floors, same security protocols, same expensive furniture that cost more than most people's cars.But somehow, it didn’t feel safe anymore. Not since Anton had stormed it.
Nikolai led me straight to his bedroom, his hand never leaving my lower back. Protective. Possessive. The kind of touch that said mine even when everything else was chaos and uncertainty.
The door closed behind us with a soft click that somehow felt final.
"Sit." Not Daddy voice, but close. The gentle command of someone who needed me stationary so he could think, could plan, could calculate the seventeen moves that would keep everyone alive.
I sat on the edge of his bed—California king with sheets that smelled like sandalwood and safety. My bad knee was screaming now after standing in that warehouse for over an hour, but the pain felt distant. Like it was happening to someone else's body.
Nikolai paced. Three steps to the window, turn, four steps to the closet, pivot. The same pattern he'd used this morning in his study, except now his movements carried more weight. More desperation.
"I'm going to the warehouse." His voice came out flat, controlled, but I could hear the edges fraying. "I'll tell them I'm offering myself in exchange for Mikhail. That I'm the valuable one, not you. That whatever leverage they think they have with you is meaningless compared to having the Besharov Pakhan."
The words hit like ice water. He was going to trade himself. Going to walk into a Belyaev stronghold and offer himself up like a sacrifice, like that would solve anything, like Anton would just accept the swap and let everyone go.
"That's—" I started, but my throat closed around objections I couldn't articulate. Because part of me—the scared part, the Little part that was still hovering at my edges despite being forcibly suppressed all day—wanted to agree. Wanted Daddy tohandle this. Wanted to hide in this bedroom while he made the terrible choices so I didn't have to.
"It's the only option." He stopped pacing, kneeling in front of me so we were eye level. His hands found my knees, gentle despite the tension radiating through his entire body. "Anton wants leverage. Wants to control the Besharov organization. Having the Pakhan is better leverage than having—"
"Your half-sister?" The words came out bitter. "The illegitimate Belyaev heir who he wants to marry or murder?"
Nikolai's jaw clenched. "You are not going near him. I don't care what blood might be in your veins. I don't care what claims he thinks he has. You are mine, and I will burn everything to ash before I let him touch you."
The declaration should have been romantic. Probably was romantic, in the brutal way bratva men showed love—through threats of violence and possessive pronouns and the willingness to destroy everything for the person they'd claimed.
But it was also stupid.
"If you go—" My voice shook. "If you offer yourself instead of me, he'll just take you and still demand me. You know that. You're too smart not to know that."
I watched the truth land in his grey eyes. The recognition that I was right, that his plan had holes big enough to drive trucks through, that strategic thinking was being overridden by the desperate need to protect me.
"Then we both stay here." His hands tightened on my knees. "We fortify the compound. We let the Volkovs and Kostya and Maks handle negotiations. We—"
"Let Mikhail die because you were too busy protecting me to save your grandfather?"
The accusation hung between us like smoke. Cruel, maybe. Definitely unfair. But true enough that Nikolai flinched like I'd struck him.
Little Sophie was crying somewhere deep inside me. Begging Daddy to make this stop. To keep her safe. To choose her over everything else because that's what Daddies did—they protected their little girls from the monsters.
But another part of me—the part that had survived my father's death and the auction and learning my entire genetic history was a lie—was doing different math.
Anton wanted me specifically. Not as leverage but as the thing itself. As proof of his claim, or as competition to eliminate, or as the half-sister he could force into marriage to consolidate power. The Volkovs had confirmed it. Ivan's analysis had confirmed it. Everyone in that warehouse had confirmed what I already knew in my bones.
This was about me. And hiding behind Nikolai wouldn't solve it. Would just get him killed while Anton found another way to take what he wanted.
I looked at Nikolai—at his grey eyes that had watched me with such careful attention since the auction, at the hands that had held me while I was Little, at the face that had become synonymous with safety. With home. With the kind of love I'd thought died with Sergei.
And Little Sophie—scared, crying Little Sophie who just wanted Daddy to fix everything—made a grown-up decision.
"You're right." I forced the lie through lips that didn't want to form it. "We should stay here. Let the others handle it. Keep me safe."
Relief flooded his expression, so profound it hurt to witness. "Thank you. God, Sophie, thank you. I know it's not—I know you want to help, but—"
"I trust you." Another lie. Or maybe a truth twisted into something tactical. I did trust him. Just not with this. Not when his love for me would get him killed.
