“We made an agreement with him,” he said carefully. “One we have to honor.”
The words landed like stones against my ribs.
“Without his resources, Elena... we wouldn’t have found you.” His voice thickened. “He pulled strings across three countries. Brought in intel we couldn’t access. Men we couldn’t reach. Weapons we couldn’t acquire fast enough.”
My chest caved inward.
It felt like ice spreading beneath my skin—slow, suffocating.
No.
No, no, no.
I shook my head violently, the motion sending dizziness spiraling through me. I tore my hands free from Dario and Ethan’s grip and stumbled back a step, nearly losing my footing on gravel slick with melted frost and blood.
The others watched.
They all smelled like smoke and iron.
Like battle.
Like the price they had paid for me.
I loved them for it.
But this—
This was something I couldn’t accept.
I could not go back to Ruslan Baranov.
The name alone felt like swallowing glass.
How could I call him my husband?
The man who had condemned me to prison for a crime I hadn’t committed.
The man who had known—known—I was innocent and still let it happen because he wanted revenge for his sister and late wife. He believed my imprisonment would finally bring him the peace he craved.
Not once had he visited me during the nine months of hell and torture I survived in prison.
Not the first week.
Not the first month.
Not when the bruises were still fresh and my voice was still intact.
Not when it disappeared.
I had written to him.
God, I had written.
Letters with shaking hands, ink smudged by tears I refused to let the other inmates see.
Please, Ruslan.
I’m innocent.
