For me.
The man who owned me, who collared me, who made me kneel, now stands stripped of everything that made him powerful. Just flesh and bone and whatever words he's brought to save us both.
30 - Alexei
Twelve guns aimed at my chest. The cold concrete bites into my bare feet, sharp gravel digging into skin that’s never known this kind of vulnerability. Chicago afternoon sun burns my shoulders, and I keep my hands raised, palms open, showing everyone I have nothing. Just flesh and bone and the truth that’s been eating me alive since I found it.
The guards keep shouting. "On your knees!" "Don't fucking move!" Their voices overlap, creating chaos, but I tune them out. None of them matter. Only her.
Sofia stands frozen on the steps, and Christ, she looks destroyed. Hollow eyes, tangled hair, the same clothes from when she walked away from me on that dark street. But she came outside. She's HERE, and that's all that matters.
"I have something to tell you," I call out, keeping my voice steady despite the guns tracking my every breath. "Something about your father's death that changes everything."
Nico appears behind her, hand settling on her shoulder. Protective. Assessing. His hazel eyes take in everything: my lack of weapons, my exposed state, the insanity of walking into enemy territory in nothing but boxers. A breeze cuts across the driveway, and I feel every inch of exposed skin prickle. Sweat rolls down my spine despite the cold, pooling at the waistband of boxers that suddenly feel like the only barrier between me and complete humiliation.
Dante materializes in the doorway, silent as always, those dark eyes seeing too much. Understanding too much. Then Luca pushes through, and his pale eyes are bright with violence.
"Shoot him," Luca says, voice casual as discussing weather. "Or I can carve him like I carved his brother."
"WAIT." Sofia's voice cracks but carries command. The guards hesitate, looking between her and Luca, confused about the chain of command.
She walks down the steps toward me. Each step deliberate, careful, like she's approaching something that might shatter. Or explode. The afternoon light catches her hair, turns it gold, and my chest tightens at how beautiful she is even wrecked.
She stops ten feet away, and my body responds like it always does: instant, violent need that makes me want to drop to my knees for different reasons. Even now, surrounded by guns, I notice how the afternoon light makes her skin glow, how her breath catches when she looks at my exposed chest. Close enough to see the goosebumps on my skin, the vulnerability of standing nearly naked before men who want me dead. Her eyes scan my body, noting every exposed inch, and something flickers in her expression. Not desire. We're past that. Recognition maybe. Of what this gesture means.
"Why are you here?" she asks.
"Because you need to hear the truth. And your family needs to hear it too."
Her lips twitch, just slightly. "You couldn't have put on pants?"
Despite everything—the guns, the shouting, the weight of what I'm about to reveal—I almost smile. "I needed you to know I wasn't here to fight."
Alessandro steps forward from behind Dante, and I notice the careful way he moves, the protective stance. His wife Emma must still be recovering from the shooting. Of course shewouldn't be here for this confrontation. Not when she nearly died because of the violence between our families.
"This is insane," Alessandro says, but there's something in his voice. Not quite support, but not condemnation either.
A car screeches up the drive, tires spraying gravel. Black sedan, moving too fast, braking hard. The door flies open before it fully stops.
Marco.
He storms out, takes in the scene: me surrounded by his men, Sofia standing too close, his brothers arrayed like they're watching theater. His face goes white, then red, then something darker. He must have gotten word about what's happening and rushed here.
"What the FUCK is he doing here?"
He pushes past the guards, gets in my face. Close enough that I smell his cologne, see the murder in his dark eyes. Close enough that he could grab a guard's gun and end this before I speak a word.
"You have ten seconds to explain why I shouldn't let my men turn you into Swiss cheese."
"Because I have information about your father's death. The truth. Not the version we've all believed for eleven years."
His jaw tightens, muscle jumping. "My sister already told me the truth."
"She told you what she believed was true." I keep my voice level, fighting the urge to step back from his rage. "She was wrong. We were all wrong."
"You kidnapped her. Tortured her. God knows what else."
"Yes."
