Vartan wasn't wrong. This obsession had already cost me—my focus, my judgment, potentially the security of my entire organization. A smarter man would have found another way. A stronger man would have let her go.
But I'd never claimed to be smart or strong when it came to Gabrielle Blanchard. I only claimed to be hers—whether she accepted it or not.
***
Semyon found me on the terrace an hour later, nursing a vodka I hadn't tasted and watching the sun sink toward the horizon.
My middle brother was calmer than Vartan, more measured in his approach. He settled into the chair beside me without speaking, content to sit in silence until I was ready to talk.
"Vartan thinks I've lost my mind," I said finally.
"Vartan thinks everyone has lost their mind. It's his default position." Semyon accepted the glass I poured for him. "Though in this case, he may have a point."
"Not you too."
"I'm not here to lecture you, Vasily. I'm here to understand." He swirled the vodka, watching the light play through the liquid. "You've never done anything like this before. Never let anyone get close enough to compromise your judgment. So what is it about this woman?"
I didn't answer immediately. How could I explain something I didn't fully understand myself? The way she'd looked walking past that restaurant window—bright, alive, completely unaware of the predator watching her. The loneliness I'd recognized in her because I carried the same weight. The desperate, irrational certainty that she was mine and I would destroy anyone who tried to take her from me.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I saw her, and something... broke. Or maybe locked into place. I can't explain it."
"And now?"
"Now she's here. Safe. Mine to protect."
"Yours to imprison, you mean."
I turned to look at him. Semyon's expression was unreadable—the same careful neutrality he brought to every negotiation, every strategic analysis.
"She would have died," I said flatly. "Pankratov's people had her under surveillance. They were building a file, learning her patterns. If I hadn't taken her—"
"You might have warned her. Helped her disappear. There were options that didn't involve making her a prisoner in your fortress."
"She wouldn't have survived on her own. She doesn't know our world, doesn't understand the dangers. The only way to guarantee her safety was to bring her here."
"And the fact that it also guaranteed you'd have access to her?" Semyon raised an eyebrow. "That's just a fortunate coincidence?"
The words struck closer to home than I wanted to admit. I drained my vodka and poured another.
"I'm not going to force myself on her," I said. "I'm not a monster."
"No. But you are a man who's accustomed to taking what he wants." Semyon stood, setting his untouched glass on the table. "Be careful, brother. She's not one of your business acquisitions. You can't just absorb her into your empire and expect her to accept it."
"She'll adapt."
"Or she'll break." He paused at the door. "And if she breaks, what will that make you?"
He left me alone with the question and the darkening sky.
***
I waited until after sunset to go to her.
The hallways of the estate were quiet, most of the staff having retreated to their quarters for the evening. I passed guards at regular intervals—my men, loyal to the death, each one aware that the woman in the east wing was to be protected at all costs.
Her door was unlocked. I'd given orders not to bolt it from the outside—I wanted her to feel like a guest, not a prisoner, even if the distinction was largely semantic.
She didn't look up when I entered. She was sitting on the floor by the French doors, her knees drawn to her chest, her eyes fixed on the moonlit sea beyond the glass. The food Yelena had brought sat untouched on a side table—fruit, cheese, bread, a bottle of wine that hadn't been opened.
