Alexei leans forward. "What does that mean?"
"We helped women escape. Trafficking survivors. Abuse survivors. Women who wanted to fight back. We gave them new identities. Gave them training. Jobs. Purpose." I'm talking faster now. Words tumbling out. "We created legitimate businesses.Maison Lyra. The pilates studio. The spa. The salon. They make real money. Employ real staff. And they're cover."
"Cover for what?" Zakhar asks.
"Help." I look at him directly. "Katarina's daughter was trafficked and killed. Now Katarina teaches self-defense to survivors under the guise of pilates classes. The restaurant has a phone in the women's bathroom. Direct line to the shelter. For women who need to disappear. The other businesses serve similar functions."
I stand. Need to move. Need the men to understand the scope of what we built.
"Eventually, we got intelligence on shipments. Girls being trafficked through Chicago. Women being sold. And we couldn't just stand by." My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists. "So we created the Eryan Nis persona. Someone separate from the legitimate operations. Someone who could steal from criminals and traffickers to fund rescuing their victims."
Silence. They're all staring at me.
"Jelena was trafficked herself. She has tactical knowledge. Military training from before she was taken. Maia is a computer genius. Can hack any system. Others have different skills. Drivers. Linguists. Forgers."
A laugh escapes me. Self-deprecating. Bitter.
"We call ourselves the Furies. The Roman equivalent of Erinyes. Greek goddesses of vengeance. Hence the dissimultaion to Eryan Nis."
I'm almost out of breath. Almost out of words. Almost out of courage.
The men sit frozen. Processing. Their faces unreadable.
I've told them everything. Exposed the truth I've guarded for years. Handed them the power to destroy not just me, but dozens of women who depend on secrecy for survival.
The silence stretches. Heavy. Suffocating.
I wait for judgment. For rage. For rejection.
But they just sit there. Staring at me. And I have absolutely no idea what they're thinking.
33
ZAKHAR
Victoria is Eryan Nis.
The thought settles into my mind with startling clarity.
She didn't infiltrate our organization. She built her own from trauma and rage. Turned violation into purpose. Turned helplessness into the kind of power that saves lives instead of destroying them.
My hands unclench. The combat-ready tension in my shoulders eases by degrees.
I don't feel betrayed. The word doesn't fit what's moving through my chest, this expansion of understanding that makes me recalibrate everything I thought I knew about the woman sitting three feet away.
Admiration. Respect. And love. The kind that doesn't ask permission or wait for convenient timing. The kind that sees someone's worst scars and saysyes, this one, exactly as she is.
This woman trembling in the armchair, exposed and terrified of our judgment, is stronger than half the operatives I've commanded. More committed to protecting the vulnerable than any government agency or legitimate organization I've encountered.
She turned her personal hell into a war against evil. And she's been fighting and winning.
The silence stretches. Heavy. Loaded with everything we're all processing.
Maksim breaks the quiet first.
"If your targets are only sex traffickers and abusers," he says, voice carrying that particular controlled precision that means he's already thinking three moves ahead, "then why did you attack Éclat?"
The question cuts clean.
