Yet now Yannis was approaching thirteen.
Next year he would step into adolescence.
His voice would deepen.
His independence would expand.
His opinions would become stronger.
Soon — dangerously soon — he would be old enough to question everything around him.
And when that time came —
Would he want to leave California with me?
Would he choose New York?
A new environment?
A new identity?
Or would he feel attached to the only home he had ever known —
His father’s mansion.
The grounds where he had learned to ride bikes and play freely without fear.
I couldn’t trap him in my decisions.
He deserved autonomy.
He deserved choice.
My life could not revolve around protecting Ruslan’s empire indefinitely.
At some point, I needed space to breathe.
To build something separate from the chaos that had defined my survival.
And then there was my sister.
The ache never dulled.
It didn’t fade.
It simply became familiar.
Six months ago, I had finally gathered the courage to tell my six brothers everything.
The calls had been encrypted.
Secure.
But emotionally devastating.
I told them how she had been captured.
How an Italian mafia boss had manipulated circumstances to force her into marriage.
