"And if those sides happen to align?"
Her eyes narrow slightly. "That would depend on what your side wants."
I take a calculated risk. "My side wants out."
The words hang between us, a confession that could get me killed if shared with the wrong person. But I need to know if the message I left for her in the code was understood—if she's a potential ally or just another Bratva loyalist.
For a moment, she says nothing. Then, "Out of what, exactly?"
"Don't play dumb, Petrov. It doesn't suit you." I step closer, close enough to see the slight dilation of her pupils. "You know exactly what I mean. The question is whether you want the same thing."
Her expression gives nothing away, but something shifts in her posture—a barely perceptible relaxation that tells me I've hit my mark.
"And if I did?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper. "What then?"
Before I can answer, the door to the ballroom opens, spilling light and noise into the corridor. Vadim Petrov's imposing figure appears in the doorway. Quickly, she turns off the white noise. She doesn’t want her father to know that we were having a conversation that she didn’t want anyone to hear.
"Kira," he calls, his accent thickening her name. "It's time for the announcement."
She steps away from me smoothly, her professional mask sliding back into place. "Coming, Father."
As she moves past me toward the ballroom, she whispers, "This conversation isn't over, Rosso."
"I'm counting on it, Petrov," I murmur back.
She walks away, the red silk of her dress moving like liquid fire. I watch her go, my mind racing with new calculations and possibilities.
Kira Petrov isn't just NyxBinary, my digital rival. She's a mirror—reflecting the same trapped brilliance, the exact desperate search for escape. The same willingness to burn everything down to be free.
For the first time since Vito announced this arranged marriage, I feel something other than resentment.
I feel hope.
Dangerous, volatile hope.
CHAPTER 7
Rafa
Just as Ireturn to the ballroom, Vito's eyes lock onto mine from across the room. His expression is clear: get over here now. Beside him stands Vadim Petrov, a stone monolith in an expensive suit, with Kira positioned at his right hand like a perfectly crafted weapon.
The crowd parts for me as I cross the floor. People sense the shift in atmosphere—the convergence of power that's about to happen. The string quartet tapers off mid-note as Vito raises his hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," my brother announces, his voice carrying effortlessly through the now-hushed ballroom. "If I could have your attention for a moment."
Champagne flutes materialize, circulating quickly through the crowd. Someone presses one into my palm as I take my position beside Vito.
"Tonight," Vito continues, "we celebrate not just a business alliance, but a union of families. A bond formed in the old tradition, strengthening ties that have existed for generations."
Vadim Petrov steps forward, his accent thick but his English precise. "The Petrov family and the Rosso family have worked together for many years. Now, we become one family."
He takes Kira's hand, and I notice the way his fingers clamp around hers—not the gentle touch of a proud father, but the vise grip of ownership. She doesn't flinch, but something cold flashes in her eyes.
Vadim guides her forward until she stands directly in front of me. Up close, I can see the finest details of her face—the faint scar above her right eyebrow, the gold flecks in her gray eyes, the perfectly controlled tension in her jaw.
"My daughter," Vadim announces, "Kyrilla Minela Petrov, and Rafael Antonio Rosso, will unite our families through marriage." I can’t help but wonder what Kira’s full name means. Because I’m sure there is a story behind it.
The crowd applauds politely. Politicians smile their practiced smiles. Business associates nod approvingly. No one names what this really is: a corporate merger sealed in blood and obligation.
