"For what?"
"For walking into my family's compound in your underwear."
The laugh that rumbles through his chest is real, unguarded. "For you? I'd do it again."
"In just underwear?"
"Completely naked if necessary." His hand slides down to cup my ass, pulling me tighter against him. "Though the shrinkage would be unfortunate."
I laugh, really laugh, for the first time in days. "I love you."
"I love you too."
The words settle between us, around us, through us. Three words I never thought I'd say. Never thought I'd hear. Never thought I'd believe.
But here, in this obscenely expensive hotel room, wrapped in satin and in each other, still sticky with sweat and cum, they're the truest things we've ever said.
I close my eyes, letting his warmth and heartbeat lull me toward sleep. No Russian words clawing at my throat. No boy in a garden begging me to promise. No father's last smile haunting me.
Just warmth. Safety. Him.
Outside, the world waits. My brothers, probably planning contingencies. His organization, probably fracturing without clear leadership. The complicated mess of our intertwined families.
But tonight, none of it matters.
Tonight, there's just this room. This bed. This man who burned his father's legacy to save me from drowning in guilt.
And three words that change everything: I love you.
For the first time in eleven years, Sofia Rosetti sleeps without ghosts.
32 - Sofia
The main meeting hall of the Volkov compound fills with men who’ve killed for family. Every captain, every lieutenant, every man of consequence stands witness to what’s about to unfold. We arrived here this morning from the Langham, Alexei insisting we return to face this reckoning in his seat of power. I stand at his right hand on the raised platform, the Weapon in a designer dress with a blade strapped to my thigh, while whispers ripple through the assembled crowd like poison through water.
"The Rosetti girl." "Mikhail's killer." "His whore."
The whispers cut but I keep my chin high, noting who meets my eyes and who looks away. The Weapon always calculating even as the woman endures their judgment. Years of building my composure have led me here, and I will not let it crack now. This is the moment I was born for.
Kaz kneels bound in the center of the hall, bruised and bloodied but still defiant. The same man who tied me to a chair with zip ties in that warehouse, now facing his own judgment. The irony isn't lost on me. Behind him, eight surviving traitors line the wall with their hands tied, men who chose the wrong side and now await their fate. I can feel the weight of history in these walls. They've seen blood before, but never a Volkov judging Volkovs while a Rosetti stands at his side.
Alexei's hand brushes mine as he steps forward. A brief contact that sends heat through me even here, even now, surrounded by his men's judgment.
"You all know why we're here," his voice cuts through the murmurs, cold and commanding. "Kazimir Volkov led a faction against me, kidnapped a woman under my protection, attempted to execute her without my authority."
"She deserved—" Kaz starts from his kneeling position.
"SILENCE."
The word cracks like a whip through the space, and even bound and on his knees, his cousin goes quiet under the weight of that single word.
Alexei holds up the documents. Viktor's files, the proof that changed everything. The papers rustle in his grip as he addresses the room. "For eleven years, we believed Sofia Rosetti led my brother to his death." Murmurs of agreement, old rage stirring. "We were wrong."
The silence that follows is absolute.
He doesn't explain. Doesn't summarize. Just passes the documents to his nearest captain.
"LIES!" Kaz screams from his knees, face contorting with rage. "He's lying to protect his whore—"
