My heart stops.
A figure walks up our driveway. Alone. Hands raised above his head. And he's in nothing but boxer shorts. Pale skin exposedto the afternoon sun, every inch of him vulnerable, showing everyone he has no weapons, no backup, no plan except this insane gesture.
Alexei.
My body betrays me instantly. Nipples tightening beneath my wrinkled shirt, that familiar ache between my thighs. Even now, even surrounded by guns and family fury, my body responds to him like he's already touching me. The memory of his hands on me at the lakehouse floods back, making my skin burn.
He keeps walking despite the guards screaming at him to stop, to get on his knees, to identify himself. His pace never changes. Steady. Determined. His hands stay up, but his head is high, those pale eyes scanning, searching.
Looking for me.
"Is that—" Luca reappears in the doorway, drawn by the noise.
"Volkov," Dante signs, and there's something in his expression I can't read.
"He's insane," Alessandro breathes.
"He's in love," Nico says quietly.
Everyone turns to look at him.
"Only reason a man walks into enemy territory like that. No weapons. No backup. No leverage except hope." Nico's eyes find mine. "He's banking everything on you."
My feet are moving before I decide to move. The Weapon in me screams that this is a trap, that no one is this stupid, this vulnerable. But the woman knows better. Knows what it costs him to walk nearly naked into the heart of Rosetti territory where every man has orders to shoot Russians on sight. His exposed chest makes my mouth go dry. The vulnerable plane of his stomach, the definition of muscles I've traced with my tongue, now offered up to my family's bullets.
Nico catches my arm at the door. "Sofia—"
"He came for me," I say, my voice stronger than it's been in days. "Unarmed. Alone."
"It could be a trap."
"It's not." I know it in my bones, in the place where I knew Mikhail loved me even when I couldn't remember his face. "It's not."
Dante crosses to us, signs quickly. "Let her go."
"Dante—"
"If he wanted to hurt us, he wouldn't announce himself in his underwear. He's either brave or stupid or desperate. Maybe all three. But he's not here to attack." Dante's eyes meet mine. "Let her go."
I tear away from Nico's grip and run. Through the house I've known my whole life, past portraits of dead family members, past the dining room where Papa held court, past memories that blur with speed. My bare feet slap against marble, then rough stone as I burst through the front door into the afternoon sun.
The light blinds me for a moment, hot against my face. When my vision clears, I see him properly. The gravel bites into my bare feet, sharp and real. Alexei stands in the middle of our circular drive, surrounded by at least a dozen guards with guns trained on him. His boxer shorts are dark blue, leaving everything else exposed.
The guards are screaming at him to get down, to comply, to stop moving. He ignores them all, head turning slowly, searching.
Then he sees me.
Everything stops. The guards' shouting fades to white noise. The sun seems to pause in the sky. Even the wind holds its breath. My pulse pounds so hard I feel it in my fingertips.
He stops walking. Just stands there, hands still raised, surrounded by men who'd love nothing more than an excuse to shoot him. And he smiles.
Not the cold smile I remember from those first days. Not the predator smile from when he had me trapped. This is something broken and hopeful and terrified all at once. A smile that says he knows exactly how stupid this is and he's doing it anyway.
"Sofia," he says, and my name carries across the space between us like a prayer.
I stand on the front steps of the home where I learned to be a weapon, where I learned to lie, where I learned that love can cost everything. Behind me, I feel my brothers watching. Dante's stillness. Nico's protective concern. Alessandro's confusion. Even Luca has appeared, drawn by the insanity of a Volkov making himself this vulnerable.
Alexei waits in the crosshairs of a dozen guns, nearly naked in the afternoon sun, everything exposed and defenseless. The sunlight makes his skin glow, highlights every place I've kissed, every place I've marked. No cards to play except the truth he's about to offer.
