"To see Tyler. You can verify for yourself that he's not being tortured."
Her suspicion is palpable, but she follows me down the stairs, through the wine cellar, past the false wall that opens to the soundproofed room beyond. Her tension increases with eachstep, her breathing shallow and rapid. I'm acutely aware of her body behind me, the way her hips sway as she walks, the curve of her ass. Even now, even with everything wrong between us, I want her with a hunger that borders on obsession.
The basement room is exactly as I ordered it, comfortable but secure. A proper bed with clean linens, a television mounted on the wall, and shelves holding books and magazines. A private bathroom with a shower. Tyler Chen sits on the bed, his wire-rimmed glasses intact, looking more bored than terrified as he flips through a paperback.
He looks up when we enter, and his expression shifts immediately to desperate hope. "Eva! Thank God. Please, you have to make him let me go. I haven't done anything wrong. I was just trying to protect you?—"
Eva's gasp cuts him off. She's staring at his face, and I see what she's seeing—the fading bruises around his jaw and temple, yellowing marks from Lev's initial "persuasion" during the interrogation.
She rounds on me, her voice shaking with rage. "You hurt him. You said he wasn't being tortured, but you hurt him."
"Initial interrogation was necessary." I keep my tone matter-of-fact, refusing to apologize for doing what needed to be done. "We had to be certain he wasn't working for Abram Yakovlev, that he hadn't been sent to infiltrate my organization through you."
"He's a graduate student!" Eva's voice cracks. "He was trying to protect me because he cares for me, not because he's some kind of spy!"
Tyler's voice breaks through, desperate and pleading. "Eva, please. I just want to go home. I won't tell anyone anything, Iswear. I'll delete everything I found, forget I ever looked into Sokolov's business. Just please, make him let me go."
Eva turns back to me, and the pain in her expression nearly breaks something in my chest. "This is who you are. This is what you do. You hurt people who care about me, who want to protect me, because you're so paranoid about your empire that you can't see the difference between enemies and innocent people caught in your world."
The accusation hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. I want to argue, to explain that in my world there is no difference, that innocent people become casualties all the time. But looking at Eva's devastated face, at Tyler's terrified expression, I realize she's right. I'm letting my paranoia destroy the one thing I actually care about.
I make my decision with the same cold pragmatism I apply to business. "Tyler will be moved upstairs. Second floor, proper guest room. Guards posted outside, but he'll have the same accommodations as Megan and Alexei. Comfortable. Well-treated. Just… confined."
Eva's eyes widen with surprise. "You're serious?"
"Confined but comfortable," I repeat, my voice hard. "Until I'm certain the threat from Yakovlev has passed, until I know my organization is secure. Then we'll discuss release."
It's not freedom, but it's better than the basement. Tyler's relief is palpable, his shoulders sagging. Eva's expression softens slightly, though fury still simmers beneath the surface.
"Thank you," she says quietly, and the words feel like a small victory.
We're climbing the basement stairs when my phone rings. Katya's number lights up the screen, and my chest tightens with immediate concern. She never calls this early unless something's wrong.
"Sestrichka," I answer, switching to Russian. "Is everything okay?"
"Roman!" Her voice is warm, bright with happiness. "I wanted to thank you for the beautiful gift. The antique music box that plays Tchaikovsky. It's exquisite. Where did you find it?"
My blood turns to ice. "What music box?"
"The one that arrived yesterday." Confusion threads through her words now. "It was postmarked from America, but there was no name attached. I assumed it was from you."
The world tilts sideways. I didn't send any gift. Which means someone else did. Someone who knows about Katya, knows where she lives, and is sending her presents to prove they can reach her anytime they want.
Fear grips my heart with crushing force, not for myself but for the one person in this world I love without complication, without darkness. My sister. Mysolnyshko. The last piece of innocence I have left.
"Katya, listen to me very carefully." My voice comes out harder than I intend, and beside me, Eva stiffens with alarm. "Pack a bag. Essential items only. My security team will be there within the hour. You're coming to America. Today."
"What? Roman, I can't just leave?—"
"You can and you will." I'm already texting Lev with my free hand, issuing orders.
The silence on the other end stretches too long. When Katya speaks again, her voice is small, frightened. "Okay. I'll pack."
I end the call and immediately dial Lev, my mind racing through possibilities, through enemies who might have discovered my greatest weakness. Eva's hand touches my arm, her anger forgotten in the face of my obvious fear.
"What's wrong?" she asks quietly.
I meet her brown eyes, seeing genuine concern there despite everything between us. "Someone knows about Katya. Someone's been sending her gifts. They're coming for her to destroy me."
