He wasn’t admitting failure for sympathy. He was presenting a strategic argument.
He needed me. Not emotionally. Functionally.
His eyes lifted fully to mine — raw.
Unshielded.
“Elena...”
For the first time since this conversation began, his tone lost its command.
“If not for me, then for Yannis.”
He leaned slightly forward. “Come back.”
“I know you love him as much as I do.”
The statement attempted to equalize our connection to Yannis.
But love had never been equal between us.
I felt the weight of the request settle deep in my chest.
The idea of stepping foot back inside that cursed estate triggered instinctive resistance.
Spaces that held trauma embedded into the architecture.
Returning there meant confronting ghosts I had fought to escape.
But Yannis —
Yannis was not the estate.
He was not his father.
He was a child.
Carrying abandonment in a body too small to process it.
The thought of him struggling alone in a system built to compensate for my absence twisted something deep inside me.
Guilt. Concern. Maternal instinct.
And then —
There was the mission.
Professional logic cut through emotion.
Access to Ruslan’s estate meant proximity. Proximity meant surveillance opportunities. Unrestricted movement inside his territory.
The chance to plant concealed cameras.
Audio devices. Network intrusion tools. Keyloggers. Access points.
Physical surveillance assets disguised as ordinary objects.
Close contact increased the probability of capturing evidence of criminal coordination.
