"Someone who will only hurt you."
Tears spill down her cheeks. She doesn't wipe them away.
"That's not good enough," she says. "You don't get to just—to walk away without explaining. I deserve more than that. I deserve—"
"You deserve everything." My voice breaks despite my best efforts. "Everything I can't give you. A normal life. A man who doesn't lie about who he is. A future that doesn't end in violence."
"What are you talking about? What violence? Misha, you're scaring me."
I step closer, cupping her face in my hands. She flinches but doesn't pull away. Her tears are warm against my palms.
"Forget me," I say. "Finish medical school. Become the doctor you're meant to be. Fall in love with someone who deserves you—someone kind, someone normal, someone who can give you the life you want."
"I want you."
The words shatter me.
"You want the man I pretended to be." I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in one last time. Jasmine and coffee and something uniquely her. "He doesn't exist, Bianca. He never did."
I kiss her.
It is desperate, devastating—a goodbye disguised as contact. She kisses me back with the same desperation, herfingers clutching my shirt, her body pressing against mine like she can hold me here through sheer force of will.
I pull away before I lose my resolve entirely.
"Goodbye, Bianca."
I walk out the door without looking back. If I look back, I will stay. And if I stay, I will get her killed.
Behind me, I hear her sob—a raw, broken sound that will haunt me for years.
I keep walking.
The months that follow are a blur of violence and strategy.
The Benedetti-Morozov alliance falls apart before it can form—we make sure of that. Carmine's organization continues its slow collapse, hemorrhaging money and men. The war Dmitri predicted never materializes, but smaller conflicts flare constantly, keeping us busy, keeping me distracted.
I throw myself into work. Take the most dangerous assignments. Volunteer for interrogations that leave my knuckles split and my shirts stained with blood that isn't mine.
Dmitri watches but says nothing. He understands, in his way. He's never loved anyone outside the family, but he knows what it looks like when a man is trying to outrun his own heart.
I don't look for her. Don't check her social media, don't request surveillance updates, don't drive past her apartment at night.
For six months, I'm clean.
Then Dmitri gets married.
Kira Sloane—a woman he claimed through circumstances as complicated as my own situation with Bianca. I watch himwith her, watch the way he softens, the way he looks at her like she's oxygen and he's been drowning for years.
I recognize that look. I've worn it myself, once.
The night of their real wedding, I stand at the edge of the celebration and watch my brother dance with his wife. She is smiling, radiant, so different from the frightened captive she'd been months ago.
Love has transformed her. Transformed both of them.
I excuse myself early, citing security concerns. No one questions it—they never do.
In my car, in the darkness, I pull out my phone and type her name into the search bar.
