"I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to."
The moment stretches between us, charged with unspoken meaning. We're talking about more than Yegor now, more than stolen money or family politics. We're talking about partnership, trust, and choosing each other in a world where such choices carry deadly consequences.
"If we do this," she says finally, "there's no going back. We'll be keeping secrets from both our families. Walking a line that could get us both killed if we're discovered."
"I know."
"And if Yegor realizes we're onto him before we're ready..."
"He won't," I promise, though we both know I can't guarantee that. "We'll be careful. We'll be smart."
"We'll be committing treason against our own blood."
The word hangs heavy in the air. Treason. In our world, there's no greater sin.
But as I look at Kira—brilliant, fierce, beautiful Kira, who's been carrying the weight of this secret alone—I realize I don't care about the cost.
"Then we'll be traitors together," I say quietly.
She holds my gaze for a long moment, and I see the exact instant she makes her decision. The walls she's built around herself don't crumble. They're too strong for that...but a door opens—just a crack, but enough.
"Together," she agrees.
And with that single word, we cross a line that neither of our families would forgive.
We choose each other.
CHAPTER 16
Kira
The address Rafagives me leads to an unremarkable industrial building in the Meatpacking District—the kind of converted warehouse that could house artist studios, startup offices, or, in this case, something far more clandestine.
“Third floor, no elevator,” he’d said when we parted ways at my penthouse. “Facial recognition will let you in once you’re at the right door.”
I climb the narrow stairwell, noting the strategic placement of security cameras and the subtle reinforcements in the door frames. Someone has invested serious money in making this place both invisible and impenetrable.
The third-floor hallway is dimly lit and lined with unmarked doors that give no hint of what lies behind them. I approach the one Rafa specified—3C—and pause as a nearly invisible camera scans my face.
The lock disengages with a soft click.
Inside, I stop and stare.
This isn’t just a workspace—it’s a digital fortress. The main room spans what was probably once two separate units, and the dividing wall was removed to create an open space dominatedby technology that makes my own setup look quaint by comparison.
Six monitors form a curved wall along one side, each displaying different data streams in real time. Server towers line another wall, their soft humming creating a technological symphony. The air smells faintly of ozone and expensive electronics, maintained at the perfect temperature for optimal processing.
“Impressive,” I say as Rafa emerges from what appears to be a kitchenette, carrying two cups of coffee.
“It serves its purpose.” He hands me a cup, and I note he’s remembered exactly how I take my coffee from this morning. “The building officially doesn’t exist in any city database. The power grid shows consumption for a single residential unit. And the internet connection...” He smiles with obvious pride. “Let’s just say it has more bandwidth than most corporations.”
“How long have you had this place?”
“Three years. Built it when I started planning my exit strategy.” He settles into one of two ergonomic chairs positioned at the main workstation. “Vito has no idea it exists.”
The trust implicit in bringing me here isn’t lost on me. This is Rafa’s sanctuary, his secret preparation for a life beyond the Rosso family. By allowing me access, he’s revealing the depth of his commitment to our alliance.
“So,” I say, taking the second chair and immediately noting how our knees almost touch in the configuration, “where do we start?”
