“It’s about exposing every secret.”
Another line. “Every lie.”
Another. “Every deal he’s made.”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“Destroying him completely.”
I studied him.
Searching.
Looking for ego disguised as justice.
Looking for personal hatred disguised as strategy.
“And that just happens to align perfectly with your personal vendetta against Vasquez,” I said dryly.
Ruslan’s expression didn’t shift.
“I told you,” he replied calmly. “I have no personal interest in that man.”
My voice sharpened. “Really?”
“Don’t you want answers?” His brows drew slightly together.
He stepped closer — not aggressively, but deliberately.
“Don’t you want to know why your biological father orchestrated the plane crash that killed your mother and your little brother? Don’t you want to understand why he did it? Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want him to pay for what he took from you?”
Silence.
The men along the walls remained statues — weapons steady, eyes moving but bodies unmoving.
“Why he faked his death?” He pressed. “Why he abandoned you at fifteen?”
“Why he let his lawyer throw you out of the house like you were disposable?”
His tone softened — but only slightly.
“You’re telling me you’re not curious about any of it?”
The room felt heavier now.
Ruslan exhaled slowly.
The breath sounded controlled — but something inside it cracked.
“You need those answers, Elena.”
His gaze shifted to me. “Even if you don’t see why yet.”
He stepped closer. “Let that need drive you.”
His eyes darkened. ““You’re an FBI agent. You have access, leverage, and resources. You could help me dismantle him — politically, financially, strategically — in every way possible.”
I looked away briefly — processing the implication.
