“Then sleep, love.”
His hand never stopped moving.
Slow circles. Reassuring.
Endless.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I allowed my body to relax fully against his.
My body felt heavy — but my thoughts were restless.
“How about my sister?”
The words escaped softly into the quiet space between us.
Ruslan’s breathing shifted slightly.
I lifted my head from his chest and searched his face in the dim light of the lamp beside the bed.
“Please...” My fingers tightened against his shirt. “Tell me there’s a way to save her.”
His hand, which had been resting protectively on my waist, stilled.
Completely.
He didn’t respond immediately.
His single eye studied mine — assessing not only my words but the desperation behind them.
“There is one path forward that gives us a real chance,” he said quietly.
My heart jumped — hope and fear colliding.
“What path?”
“We relocate to Italy.”
The answer landed heavily.
“I start fresh there — build a new faction from the ground up.”
His jaw tightened as he explained.
“It won’t take long. I still have old alliances. Old debts owed to me. Men who remember loyalty.”
His fingers traced slow lines across my back again — grounding himself as much as me.
“Once I’m established, I can begin peeling back the layers — find out who she’s married to, which family truly holds power, and where we can apply pressure.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Being on Italian soil puts us closer — physically closer — to wherever your sister is.”
My chest tightened.
“It increases our chances of seeing her. Of making contact.”
