Nico huffs a laugh. "Steph… everything you need is in that box. Everything to burn them down."
I look between my brother and mywife, one returned to me by miracle, the other handed to me by fate that wants to see what kind of man I’ll become.
"I can’t leave you alone," I say, the words scraping out before I can stop them. I can't. I don't have men here whom I fully trust. Not against my father. It’s not strategy. It’sinstinct.
Oksana exhales like she’s heard this argument from men who didn’t survive it. "I’ll go."
Something breaks loose under my skin—anger and possessiveness twisting into one violent spark. "Absolutely not." It comes out harder than intended, a command cut from stone.
She steps closer, eyes on mine, tired of being told no by men who aren’t me. "Stephano."
"No," I repeat. "I’m not sending you into a city full of El Arquitecto's cartel members without me."
She tips her chin, that lethal patience trembling at the edges. She looks like she's going to argue with me, and I ready myself for a fight, but then the strangest thing happens: she softens, and another sigh escapes her. "Grigori will keep him safe," she says, jerking her head toward Nico. "I promise."
Nico snorts lightly, a spark that is more amusement than the situation warrants glinting in his eyes, paired with something else… calculation. "Great. A Pakhan for a bodyguard. I’m officially more protected than the Pope."
Oksana shoots him a look. "He’s not your bodyguard."
"Right," Nico deadpans. "He’s your personal executioner who occasionally agrees to keep me alive. Much better."
She ignores him completely and turns to me, "Stephano," she says quietly, "he'll keep him safe."
Everything in me rebels—violently—at the idea of letting Nico out of my sight again. Every instinct screams he’s mine to protect, mine to guard, mine to fix. The fear is old, bone-deep, and ugly. But she’s right.
Gustave can’t touch Nico with Grigori at his back. And Grigori would burn continents for her. That’s the part that unsettles me, the mathematics of loyalty. She’s offering her brother’s protection like it’s nothing. Like,Iam something worth that kind of currency. And for a moment, I’m not sure what to do with that. Or what it makes us. Or why she’d choose me in this equation at all.
My jaw tightens. A decision anchors itself inside me with the weight of iron. "We’re getting that drive." That is the truth that sharpens everything else. "Rest," I say to Nico, planning the next steps. "I’ll be here."
"You’d better," he murmurs. Then softer, "You’re the only Conti I trust."
Fuck, that hurts. I wait until he falls asleep. Oksana is scrolling through her phone. She waves when I give her a questioning glance."I'll be there in a sec," it says, like she can read my mind and knows I need a moment. I go out into the hallway and nod at the guards stationed there. Oksana's men—I don’t trust any of mine, not right now, not fully, not with my brother. A dry laugh escapes me. I'm trusting the fucking Russians with my brother's life. Not my father. Not the man who failed us. Who offered my brother as a sacrifice for political currency.
His son! For a kingdom he wanted to control from behind the throne. I inhale. Exhale.
Start counting the ways I can dismantle him.
It doesn't take her long to find me like this.
"Thought I’d find you brooding." She sips a hospital coffee that should be illegal.
"I’m strategizing," I correct.
"Brooding," she repeats, leaning against the opposite wall. She watches me the way she watches the world, like she’s picking the first man to kill if things go sideways.
"You’re quiet," she adds.
"What am I supposed to say?" My voice is gravel. "That my father used my brother as bait? That he tried to murder his own son for leverage? That he lied to me for three years because it made me easier to shape?"
She lifts a brow. "You forgot the part where he would’ve sacrificed you, too, if it served him."
My stomach drops. She's right. I just haven't looked at that angle yet.
"Men like your father don’t distinguish between sons. Only pawns and pieces." She says quietly.
I swallow something sharp. "I’m not his pawn."
"No," she agrees softly. "You’re the man who’s going to topple him."
