He smirks like he’s finally won something.
“His name is Leonid Kuznetsov.”
My grip around Elena’s hand tightens so hard she squeezes back—reassuring me.
“Leonid was a desperate man,” Viktor continues. “A man with nothing left to lose. A man who made stupid choices for stupid reasons.”
Then he shrugs. “He has a daughter, you know. Teaches kindergarten. If you want your revenge to be… poetic.”
Elena gasps—small, soft, horrified.
My Dove.
Her mask cracks, shatters for an instant.
And I squeeze her hand once—A promise.
A vow.
We don’t hurt the innocent. But I don’t say it aloud. Because I need Viktor to think I'll do anything to anyone.
Instead, I stand. Slowly. Deliberately.
I reach out my free hand and shake Viktor’s, gripping him hard enough that he knows exactly how thin the thread holding me back is.
“Thank you for the information,” I say coldly. “If you need anything further from our family, direct your communication to Dante.”
Not me. Never again me. And never—ever—through Elena.
I shift subtly, positioning my body between Viktor and my wife, shielding her with my frame as I guide her toward the door.
She is shaking.
Rocco falls into place behind us.
And as we leave that gilded, rotten house, I make a silent vow:
No one in that family will ever lay a hand—or a word—on my wife again.
Chapter 29
Ifeel sick.
Not physically—though my head still aches when I move too quickly—but somewhere deeper. Lower. Heavier.
In the parts of me Alessandro has slowly stitched back together these past weeks.
Because someone from my side did this. Someone from my bloodline.
Someone who should have been loyal to my father—and instead, attacked Alessandro’s family.
Attacked me.
And Dante…
Dante is powerful. Ruthless. Protective.
Would he see this as betrayal? As weakness? As enough reason to call off the marriage?
