I step over Tyler's body, examining the monitors, the printouts, the evidence of his amateur investigation. He's found connections to my shipping operations, traced money through several of my laundering channels, and identified associates who should be invisible. It's impressive work for someone with no training, driven by nothing but desperate love for a woman who doesn't want him.
"What do we do with him?" Lev asks, already pulling zip ties from his jacket pocket.
I look down at Tyler's unconscious form, this foolish boy who came after me armed with nothing but a laptop and determination. He knows too much. Has seen too much. Releasing him would be suicide. One phone call to the authorities could destroy everything I've built.
But killing him would destroy whatever fragile trust Eva is beginning to show. She cares about this boy, even if she doesn't love him. His death would be another wedge between us, another reason for her to hate me.
I make my decision with cold pragmatism.
"We take him to the estate," I say, my voice flat and controlled. "We need to know exactly what he's found and who he's told."
31
EVA
Ihaven't slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see Alexei's face twisted with hurt and disgust, hear his voice cracking as he said,I don't even know who you are anymore.The words loop endlessly in my mind, a recording I can't stop playing. I've tried calling him a dozen times, but every call goes straight to voicemail. My texts remain unread, the blue checkmarks mocking me with their absence.
Roman notices my exhaustion over breakfast, his blue eyes tracking the shadows under my eyes, the way my hands tremble slightly around my coffee cup. He doesn't ask questions, just reaches across the table and squeezes my hand once before returning to his phone. The gesture is surprisingly gentle for a man who kills without hesitation, and it makes my chest ache with complicated emotions I'm not ready to examine.
My phone finally buzzes mid-morning. Megan's text is brief.
Alexei's here. He's okay but won't talk about what happened. Says he needs time to think.
Relief floods through me, immediately followed by fresh guilt. My sixteen-year-old brother is sleeping on Megan's couch, confused and angry, while I sit in a mansion drinking coffee from China that probably costs more than his plane ticket from Russia.
I find Roman in his study, reviewing documents with that absolute focus he brings to everything. He looks up when I enter, and I'm struck again by how devastatingly handsome he is in his tailored suit, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch. Even now, even exhausted and worried, my body responds to his presence with embarrassing eagerness.
"I need to leave early," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Alexei is at Megan's apartment. I have to talk to him."
Roman studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. "Take the car. Security will follow at a distance."
I want to argue about the security detail, but I'm too tired and too desperate to see my brother. "Thank you."
"Eva." His voice stops me at the door. When I turn back, his blue eyes have softened slightly. "Bring him home."
The wordhomecatches in my throat. Roman's estate isn't home, not really. But I nod anyway because arguing would take energy I don't have.
The drive to Megan's apartment feels longer than it should, traffic snarling in the afternoon heat. I watch the city pass by through tinted windows, the black SUVs trailing behind like shadows I can't shake. This is my life now. Security details, and marble floors, and a husband who runs an empire built onblood and violence. No wonder Alexei looked at me like I was a stranger.
Even though he has no idea of my true life.
The sixth-floor walk-up feels impossibly small after weeks at Roman's estate. The stairs are narrower than I remember, the hallway dimmer, the worn carpet more threadbare. When Megan opens the door, her usual sunshine is dimmed by concern and sadness. She pulls me into a tight hug, and I let myself lean into her warmth for just a moment.
"He's on the fire escape," she whispers against my hair. "He's been out there for hours."
I find Alexei exactly where Megan said, sitting in the cramped space where I used to drink my Sunday morning coffee and gather courage before video calls home. His blonde hair is messy, sticking up in all directions, and his blue eyes are so like our mother's that my chest aches. He doesn't look at me when I climb out onto the metal grating, just stares at the street below.
"Can I sit?" I ask quietly.
He shrugs, which I take as permission. The fire escape barely fits both of us, our shoulders touching in the tight space. For a long moment, we sit in silence, and I'm transported back to our childhood in Russia, sitting on Babushka's porch while summer rain fell around us.
"I'm sorry," I finally say. "I should have explained everything before you came. Should have prepared you."
"For what?" His voice is rough, angry. "For finding out my sister is living like a princess while Babushka and I struggle just fornecessities? While I withdrew my university savings to try to help?"
The accusation stings because it's not entirely unfair. "It's not what you think, Alexei. I haven't been living in luxury while you suffered. I've been drowning."
He finally looks at me, his expression guarded. "That house has a chandelier that probably costs more than our entire apartment building in Russia."
