He reached out suddenly, with his fingers brushing my jaw. "You're not afraid?" he asked quietly.
I met his gaze. "Should I be?"
He didn't answer. His thumb lingered near my lips before he pulled away, with his eyes unreadable. Good, let him wonder, let him try to guess where my fear went, because the truth was my fear died the day Giovanni did.
I pushed back my chair and stood, smoothing my dress like nothing had happened. "You should get some sleep," I murmured. "You'll need your strength to hunt ghosts."
He didn't move, just stood there staring at the photo, then at me.
"Mikhail," I said, pausing at the doorway. "You built your empire on fire and ashes. Maybe it's time you learn what it feels like to burn."
And with that, I walked away, slow and deliberately unshaken. He thought he saw defiance. But what he didn't see was what I made sure he wouldn't see, and that was the tremor in my hands once I was alone. Because the photo wasn't just a threat, it was a reminder. That every emperor falls, especially the one I was sleeping beside.
**********
The city outside was quiet, but inside me, nothing was still. I sat by the window, with my legs folded beneath me.
Mikhail had gone to his office downstairs.
But now, sitting in the empire of that same Russian man, I didn't know what to believe anymore. Because the monster I'd come here to destroy had protected me with his own body. He'd taken bullets meant for me. And when he looked at me, God, when he looked at me, there was no victory in his eyes. Only something raw, human, and broken.
I pressed my palms to my face, exhaling hard. "Get a grip, Isabella," I whispered. "He's not the hero, he's just another liar wearing a different suit."
But the word felt hollow. Because deep down, I knew what terrified me wasn't the thought of him being my enemy, but the thought of him being innocent.
If Mikhail hadn't killed Giovanni, then who had? And where did that leave me, a daughter built from deceit, and a wife built on revenge?
I walked to the mirror, and the woman staring back didn't look like me anymore. Her eyes were colder, and her smile was sharper. She looked like someone who could destroy kingdoms just to uncover the truth buried under their ruins.
Maybe that's who I was now. Not Marco's daughter, not Mikhail's wife, just Isabella, the woman who would stop choosing between men and start choosing herself.
The clock struck three, and the room felt colder and emptier. I grabbed my coat from the chair, slipped my pistol into the inner pocket, and checked my reflection one last time.
By morning, I would see Liza. She'd know things my father wouldn't tell me, and things Mikhail couldn't. The truth was out there, and I was done waiting for men to feed it to me in pieces.
I turned off the lights and stood at the doorway, the city's reflection still flickering in the window behind me. The ground beneath me might have cracked, but I'd learned something important: that even on fractured ground, I could still walk.
***********
The next morning came with fog and silence. Mikhail was already awake, standing by the window, with his shirt half buttoned, and his jaw was tight.
"You're not leaving the house today," he said without looking at me.
I slipped on my earrings slowly. "You don't get to decide that."
His voice dropped low. "After last night, I do."
"Then you'll have to chain me," I said, picking up my coat. "Because I'm going."
He turned, with his eyes sharp. "Where?"
"To see Liza."
"No."
"Yes," I said calmly. "You can send your men if it makes you feel better.
He didn't answer, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. Finally, he called Yuri. "Follow her, and don't let her out of your sight."
