“Why?”
“Any more publicity,” Lev warns, “and the authorities will start connecting the Bratva name to the financial wars. If this gets bigger, it becomes an international problem. We can’t afford that. Not now.”
My jaw tightens. “So you want me to sit still?”
“I want you to be smart,” he says. “I’ll back you up when you need me. But we have to be silent.”
I sigh. “Fine. But don’t tell Lukin anything for now.”
“Dimitri, don’t do anything stupid. You—”
I end the call before Lev can finish. I don’t need another warning. I don’t need anyone telling me to calm down.
I know my brothers will always have my back—that’s never in question—but I hate that this Koval mess is starting to drag them into the shadows with me. It’s putting pressure on them, forcing them to go quiet, to move carefully, to clean up traces they shouldn’t have to.
Maybe this part…I’ll have to handle alone.
Well, not completely alone.
Sebastian is more ghost than man. If he chooses to help, he’ll move through this war like smoke, unseen, untouched, deadly. And if he doesn’t…I’ll still burn the Kovals to the ground myself.
I leave the study, fury propelling me down the hall—and nearly collide with Sylvester.
He straightens immediately. “You don’t look happy,” he notes.
“Trace the offshore accounts,” I order. “All of them. And the courier who sent the envelope—I want his name, his residence, his entire family tree if necessary.”
Sylvester nods sharply. “I’m already on it.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Sylvester nods once and hurries down the hall. I turn toward the living room, needing five minutes—just five—to breathe, to think, to stop myself from putting my fist through a wall.
But I don’t make it two steps before I almost ram into Vivian.
She’s standing in the doorway like she’s been waiting for me.
Her hair a little messy, her breathing uneven, eyes red like she’s been crying—but beneath all that?
Fire.
A quiet, steady, terrifying resolve.
“Dimitri,” she says, voice tight but steady, “whoever’s doing this…whoever is pulling the strings…they don’t just want the Rusnaks destroyed.”
She swallows, meeting my eyes without flinching.
“They want both our families gone.”
I notice the tremble in her fingers, the panic she’s trying so hard to hide. She’s scared, but she’s standing. She’s shaking, but she hasn’t folded.
I step closer, until she has to tilt her head up to look at me.
Her chin lifts, stubborn, brave, reckless.
“Then we fight back,” I say, my voice dropping low enough to scrape the air between us.
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.
