“What do you want me to do?”
My answer is quiet but unshakable. “If we’re doing this, we do it my way.”
His jaw tics. “What’s your way?”
“That I stand by you.” I step closer, my heartbeat loud in my ears. “If you’re going to do the press conference, I’m going to be right there with you. We’re a team. You don’t get to pick and choose where I show up.”
His eyes flash with immediate rejection. “No. Absolutely not. That’s going to be the most dangerous place in the city. I can’t allow you to be there.”
“And that,” I say, voice sharp, “is exactly why you shouldn’t be there either.”
He stops breathing, just for a second. I see it—the logic hitting him, the understanding, the fear. We stand there, tension coiled between us like electricity.
Finally, he lifts his chin slightly. “If you’re beside me….” He swallows hard. “I’ll protect you.”
It’s not permission; it’s surrender.
I nod, assured of his protection, knowing he’ll do anything to keep me safe and that I’ll do the same.
Chapter 19 – Dimitri
By noon, Vivian and I are already walking into the same hall we used for our last press conference. The air is electric—buzzing, frantic—reporters shouting, camera lights snapping like gunfire.
Vivian’s hand is in mine. This time, it isn’t for show. This time, I need it. Her warmth. Her steadiness. The reminder that I’m not walking into this war alone.
I squeeze her hand once as we approach the podium, and she squeezes back. It anchors me more than I’d ever admit.
But I’m not stupid. I’m prepared.
I have men posted at every entrance, snipers on the rooftops, and a quiet ring of Bratva soldiers disguised in the crowd. If Charles Deveraux decides to crawl out of whatever hole he’s been hiding in…he’ll die today.
That’s the plan.
Lev stands by the front row, jaw tight.
Niko is scanning every shadow.
Roman looks like he’s seconds away from strangling any person who moves too fast.
And Sebastian—
He’s already texted me that he’s here, though I can’t find him in the crowd. Typical.
The ghost in my machine.
Vivian lifts her chin beside me, fearless, beautiful in an immaculate white dress, and far braver than she realizes. Reporters surge forward the moment they see us together, shouting questions, flashes exploding like lightning.
I guide her to the podium.
This time, we’re standing together—not as enemies, not as a performance—but as a united front against whoever is coming for us.
And I can feel it in my bones. Today, something is going to break.
Together, Vivian and I step onto the podium and face the sea of cameras, microphones, and hungry eyes. Her hand slips from mine only when she needs both hands to brace herself against the podium—chin up, fearless, standing beside me like she was born for war.
I make a show of spreading out a prepared statement in front of me.
A neat stack of papers. Formal. Safe. Predictable.
