"He'd say you telegraphed slightly on the third shot. Shoulder tension." I'm not sure why I'm talking about this—about Dante, about technique—except that it feels true. This is how I process. Details. Analysis. The clinical framework that keeps everything manageable.
Alexei turns to study me, something shifting in his expression. "You're thinking about them."
"I'm always thinking about them."
He doesn't offer platitudes. Just waits, his thumb still moving over my knuckles in slow circles.
"Nico held my hand," I say. "When you were showing Marco the documents. He just… reached over and took it. Didn't say anything." My throat tightens. "He always knows what I need before I do."
"He loves you."
"They all do. Even Luca, in his way." I think of Alex unable to meet my eyes. Dante's silent understanding across the room. Marco's fury that was really just grief wearing armor. "And I walked out."
"You walked toward something. That's different."
"Is it?"
He doesn't answer. We stand in silence for a long moment, watching his men move through the compound below. Cleanup crews, guards returning to posts, the ordinary machinery ofpower resuming after violence. The sun has begun its descent, painting everything amber and gold.
"What happens now?" I ask eventually.
"Now we rebuild. The family, the business, everything Viktor corrupted. But I need you, Sofia. Not as a trophy or possession, but as a partner."
He turns to face me fully, and his voice drops to that register that makes my body respond even after everything we've witnessed today. "The wife, if you'll have me." His thumb traces my ring finger, and I shiver at the promise in that simple touch.
“Are you asking me something, Alexei Volkov?”
"Not yet." His pale eyes hold mine, and I see it there—the future he's imagining. "Someday, when there's no blood on the floor and no ghosts in the room, I'll ask properly. On my knees, if you want." His lips curve, just slightly. "Someday. But only if you want it. Only when you're ready."
"Ask me someday," I tell him, my pulse jumping at the heat in his eyes. "See what I say."
His hand slides from mine to my waist, pulling me against him. I go willingly, pressing my cheek to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Steady. Strong. The heart of a man who just executed traitors and is already thinking about rings.
"I don't deserve you," I murmur into his shirt.
"Probably not. I don't deserve you either." His chin rests on top of my head. "We can be undeserving together."
Later, as we stand together watching the sun set over the compound, his arm around my waist, holding me against his side, I can't help thinking of my brothers.
"I'll miss them," I say. "Every day."
"I know."
"Marco used to check on me at night. After the massacre, when the nightmares were worst. He'd just sit in the doorway until I fell back asleep. Never said anything. Just… was there."The memory surfaces sharp and specific, and I let it cut. "He was twenty-two, carrying seventeen funerals, and he still sat in my doorway."
Alexei's arm tightens around me.
"Nico taught me to shoot. Luca taught me to fight dirty. Dante—" My voice catches. "Dante taught me to listen. To read silence. He'd spend hours just sitting with me, signing stories, and I learned that words aren't everything." I press harder against Alexei's side, needing his warmth. "Alex used to sneak me gelato after dinner. Said it was our secret, like I didn't know he did it for all of us."
"Sofia…"
"I'm not asking you to fix it. I just need to… say it. Out loud. That I had all of that, and I walked away. Maybe someday they'll forgive me and I can be part of the family again."
"Maybe. Time heals. Or it doesn't. But you won't face it alone."
I think of the empty chair at the Rosetti table, the one that waits for a sister who chose love over blood. Marco gave me a choice. Them or him. And I chose Alexei. The grief of that sits heavy even as I stand here pressed against the man I love, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt.
I carry all of it now. My father's death, Mikhail's love, my brothers' faces when I walked away, Viktor's cruelty, Alexei's redemption, my own impossible choices. Blood memory, my mother used to call it. The things we carry in our bones.
