I turn to my brother, noting the tension in his jaw, the way he won’t quite meet my eyes. “Then, who do you suggest is manipulating it, brother?”
“Perhaps the very person you’re defending,” my father answers for him. “Rafa Rosso is not just any hacker, Kira. He’s one of the best. Certainly capable of planting false evidence.”
“To what end?” I challenge. “If he wanted to steal from us, why not do it cleanly? Why leave evidence that points back to himself and then make it look fake?”
“To create exactly this situation,” my father says, his voice dangerously soft. “To drive a wedge between us. To make you question your family’s judgment.”
He moves closer, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I’m concerned about your objectivity, Kira. This engagement was strategic, but I wonder if perhaps you’re developing... complications.”
“I know where my loyalties lie,” I say stiffly.
“Do you?” His fingers tighten painfully. “That display tonight suggests otherwise. That kiss wasn’t just for the cameras, was it?”
Heat flushes my face, anger rather than embarrassment. “I was playing my role.”
“Play it too well, and you might forget it’s just a role.” He releases my shoulder. “Remember why you’re marrying him, Kira. Remember who you are.”
“A Petrov,” I recite automatically.
“The Petrov who will give us access to their entire digital infrastructure,” he corrects. “The Petrov who will find proof of their betrayal.”
“And if there is no betrayal to find?”
His eyes harden to flint. “Then you’re not looking hard enough.”
The implications are clear: find what he wants to see, regardless of reality.
“I’ll keep investigating,” I say neutrally.
“See that you do.” He straightens his already immaculate suit. “And remember, loyalty to family comes before all else. Even before the truth.”
As he turns to leave, I catch Alexei’s eye. Something passes between us—a flicker of... what? Concern? Warning? Guilt? It’s gone too quickly to interpret.
“Alexei,” I call as he follows our father to the elevator. “Stay a moment?”
He hesitates, glancing at our father, who nods once in permission.
When the elevator doors close, leaving us alone, Alexei’s massive frame seems to deflate slightly.
“You know something,” I state flatly.
He doesn’t deny it. “Knowledge is dangerous in this family, sestrenka.” He only calls me sister in Russian when he wants me to drop something.
“More dangerous than ignorance?”
His eyes—so like our mother’s—hold genuine concern. “In this case? Yes.”
“Kira.” He steps closer, lowering his voice though we’re alone. “Some questions shouldn’t be asked. Some answers shouldn’t be sought.”
“Alexei—”
“Trust me on this,” he cuts me off, a rare intensity in his voice. “For once in your life, stop digging. For your own safety.”
The elevator arrives again before I can respond. He steps inside, face settling back into its usual stoic mask.
“Father expects results,” he says formally as the doors begin to close. “Don’t disappoint him.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me with more questions than answers.
