I can hear Zakhar's controlled breathing. The faint creak of Maksim's chair as he sits motionless behind his desk. The thunder of my own pulse in my ears.
My throat is dry. My hands are trembling. I clench them into fists to stop the shaking, but it doesn't help.
The words are there. Waiting to be spoken. Waiting for someone to make them real by saying them out loud.
I can't hold them back anymore.
"Victoria has been working for Eryan Nis?" The question tears out of me, disbelief and horror tangled together. "All this time? Is that actually possible? Or is Luan just playing mind games?"
Maksim's expression is carved from stone. "It's possible he's trying to manipulate us. Trying to drive a wedge between—"
"What does he gain?" Zakhar interrupts, and his voice carries that particular calm fury that means he's barely holding himself together.
The logic is sound. Brutal, but sound.
Luan had no reason to lie about intel we could verify. No reason to connect Victoria to those properties unless the connection actually exists.
"Her routine," Zakhar continues, each word precise and controlled. "I thought it was odd. The way she insisted on going to the same places. Almost religiously. Maison Lyra. The pilates studio. The spa. The salon. Same locations. Like clockwork."
My mind flashes back. Victoria in her workout clothes, heading to pilates. Victoria mentioning lunch at Maison Lyra. Victoria saying she needed a spa day or hair appointment.
I thought it was just her being peculiar. Rich girl habits. The kind of routine wealthy women maintain because they can.
"And the day of the Krasniqi ambush," Zakhar adds, "she went out anyway. Against our explicit instructions. Risked her safety.For what? A hair appointment? A pilates class? Or passing information?"
The pieces start clicking together. Each one a small betrayal I didn't recognize until now.
"I went with her to pilates once," I hear myself say. My voice sounds strange. Distant. "It was weird. The instructor seemed surprised. Almost like it was odd to have people there for pilates classes."
The memory takes on new meaning now. The way Katarina looked at Victoria. The private conversation they had before class. The way Victoria tried to dissuade me from coming.
I thought she was embarrassed. Or wanted privacy for her workout. Normal reasons.
But what if it wasn't normal? What if those visits had nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with meetings I wasn't supposed to witness?
"She's always on her laptop," I continue, memories cascading now. "And whenever I walk into a room, she closes it. Fast. Like she doesn't want me to see."
I thought she was checking emails. Shopping online. The kind of private browsing everyone does.
But what if she was passing informations? Communicating with the organization we've been hunting for months?
The pattern becomes impossible to ignore.
Victoria weaved a web of lies. Drew us in with her intelligence and beauty and fierce independence. Made us trust her. Made us want her. Made us fall for her.
All while she was an infiltrated asset. Working for Eryan Nis. Stealing from us. Attacking us. Playing us like instruments she'd tuned specifically for this purpose.
The betrayal is so complete, so devastating, I can barely process it.
I look at my brothers. See the same hurt and rage I'm feeling reflected in their eyes.
Zakhar's jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His hands are fists on the armrests of his chair. His entire body radiates with contained anger.
Maksim looks like he's been carved from ice. His expression is perfectly controlled, but I can see the fracture lines. The way his fingers press against his scarred knuckles. The particular stillness that means he's seconds away from explosion.
We all fell for her. All let her past defenses we've maintained for decades. All believed she was real instead of an elaborate con.
And last night. Last night I practically told her I loved her. Not in those exact words, but close enough. Told her she was the best thing that ever happened to us.
