More silence. But not uncomfortable. This is the silence of men who've survived together, who know each other's thoughts before they're spoken.
"I kissed her," Alexei admits first. His voice is different now. Softer. Uncertain in a way I've never heard from him. "I couldn't help myself."
"I did more than kiss her." Zakhar's jaw tightens.
They both look at me.
"Last night," I say simply.
We sit with that truth. Three men, bound by decades of brotherhood, all caring for the same woman.
"This could destroy us," Zakhar says. Stating the obvious. The thing we're all thinking.
"Or make us stronger." Alexei drops back onto the couch, some of his usual energy returning. "Think about it. The three of usfound each other. We built everything we have because we stood together."
He leans forward, eyes intense.
"Victoria fits," he continues. "I don't know how to explain it, but she fits with us. Maybe the same way we fit with each other. Not conventional. Not normal. But real."
I think about that. About the way she looked at me this morning, vulnerable and fierce at the same time. About the way she kissed me, inexperienced but hungry to learn. About the way she told me her darkest secret and trusted me to hold it.
"Three against the world," I say slowly. "Becoming four."
Zakhar is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods, just once.
"We don't pressure her," he says. "We don't force anything."
"Agreed," Alexei says immediately.
Zakhar takes a slow breath. "Agreed."
I reach for my vodka. Raise it.
"To Victoria," I say. "And to whatever comes next."
They lift their glasses. We drink together, the way we've done a thousand times before. But this time feels different. This time feels like a beginning rather than a continuation.
We are united. In protection. In purpose.
The threat is still out there. The ghosts of Ivan Valkov still haunt us. The mystery of who's reviving his legacy still demands answers.
But we'll face it together. The three of us, and the woman we've all chosen.
Four against the world.
23
ALEXEI
The house is quiet when I walk through the door.
My knuckles throb. My cheekbone feels like someone took a hammer to it. Blood has dried in the creases of my hands, some mine, most not.
Another wild goose chase. Another lead that went nowhere.
The guy I met at the underground fight club didn't know shit about the Valkov tattoo or who might be using it now. Just another street hustler selling rumors for cash, hoping I wouldn't notice he was lying through his missing teeth.
I noticed.
