I show Sergei the text. His jaw tightens.
“He might not be waiting for the gala,” he says quietly, steering Mila back toward the door. “Go finish your puzzle, sweetheart. I need to talk to Izzy.”
She leaves, the piece clutched like treasure. The second the door closes, Sergei’s on his phone, dialing Andrei.
“I need eyes on Matthew Ashford. Twenty-four-seven. If he moves, I want to know before he takes a breath.” Pause.“Because he just bought enough firepower to start a war, and my wife’s the target.”
My wife. The words shouldn’t send heat spiraling through me, but they do.
He hangs up, grey eyes finding mine. “We’re moving up the timeline. Can’t wait for the gala, if he’s planning to hit us first.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we stop playing defense.” He moves to the desk, pulling up a different map—Matthew’s brownstone on the Upper East Side. “We go to him. Tonight. End this before he gets the chance to make his move.”
“That’s—” I search for words. “That’s actually insane. Break into his house? Kill him on his own turf?”
“You wanted him to know it was you. Wanted to see his face when his world ended.” Sergei’s smile is cold. Lethal. “What’s more personal than showing up in his home?”
My pulse kicks up, adrenaline already flooding my system. “Wesley would have to disable the security. We’d need a way in that doesn’t trigger alarms?—”
“Already thinking three steps ahead. That’s my girl.”
The praise makes me warm, a dangerous combination when we’re planning murder.
“Andrei can position men around the perimeter,” I continue, mind racing. “Make sure no one interrupts. We go in quietly, handle Matthew, make it look like—what? Suicide? Home invasion?”
“Suicide.” Sergei pulls up crime scene photos on his laptop—old Bratva hits staged to look self-inflicted. “Gun in his hand, note confessing to Richard’s murder. Guilt finally caught up with him.”
“That’s—” I stare at the photos, at the clinical efficiency of death. “No… That’s too perfect. Too poetic, even. I want it public. His reputation is everything to him, and I want him to face public humiliation.”
“As you wish.” He closes the laptop. “But we need leverage. Something to make sure he doesn’t fight back. Something he values more than his own life.”
“He doesn’t value anything, except power.”
“Everyone values something.” Sergei’s eyes meet mine. “We just have to find his pressure point.”
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Wesley:Found something. Matthew’s been wiring money to an offshore account. Not his usual ones. This one’s newer. Personal.
I show Sergei. “Hidden assets? Emergency fund?”
“Or blackmail.” He’s already texting Wesley back, demanding account details. “If Matthew’s paying someone to stay quiet, that’s leverage we can use.”
“And if it’s not blackmail? If it’s just money he’s hiding from the investigation?”
“Then we take it anyway.” His smile is sharp. Predatory. “Hit him in the wallet before we hit him with a bullet. Make him feel the loss before he dies.”
The ruthlessness should disturb me. Should make me question what we’ve become, this partnership built on violence and revenge.
But all I feel is satisfaction that someone finally sees Matthew for what he is. And has the teeth to do something about it.
“At the gala, then.” I move closer, hands finding his chest again because I can’t seem to stop touching him lately. “We end Matthew Ashford.”
“At the gala.” His hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “But first, you eat. You rest. You prepare mentally for what comes next. Because once we do this,kotyonok, there’s no going back.”
“I crossed that line the day I proposed to you.”
“No.” His forehead drops to mine. “You crossed it the day you pulled the trigger to protect Mila. The day you became exactly what they tried to destroy. Dangerous. Powerful. Mine.”
