So we stand there, suspended in the charged silence of my workspace, surrounded by evidence of her brother’s betrayal and our own mutual distrust. Too close to ignore the electricity crackling between us, too proud to step away from the precipice we’ve created.
The monitors continue their endless data streams, painting us both in blue light that makes everything feel unreal, like a digital purgatory where truth and lies blend until they’re indistinguishable.
“This is pointless,” she says finally, but she doesn’t move away.
“Completely pointless,” I agree, but I don’t step back either.
Because, despite everything, the evidence against Alexei, despite our mutual accusations, despite the impossibility of anything real existing between us, I can’t bring myself to create distance from the one person who understands exactly how trapped we both are.
Even if she might be the very trap I should be trying to escape.
CHAPTER 18
Kira
The Petrov estatelooms against the gray Moscow sky like a monument to old sins. I haven’t been back since the engagement announcement, and the familiar weight of surveillance and expectation settles over me the moment I pass through the iron gates.
Alexei is in the east wing training facility, as I knew he would be. My older brother keeps a rigid schedule: a 6 AM workout, followed by weapons practice, and then a tactical review with his security team. Creatures of habit make easy targets, but they also make reliable allies.
I find him bench-pressing what appears to be his body weight plus another fifty pounds, sweat darkening his gray tank top as he powers through his set. The scars that map his arms and shoulders tell the story of a life lived on the violent edge of our family business.
“Sister,” he grunts, completing his rep and sitting up to grab a towel. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“We need to talk,” I say, closing the door behind me and engaging the privacy lock. “About Yegor Durov.”
The towel freezes against his neck for just a fraction of a second before he continues his movement. To anyone else, it would be unnoticeable. But I’ve been reading Alexei’s tells since childhood.
“Who?” he asks, feigning confusion as he moves to rack his weights.
“Don’t.” My voice carries the authority I’ve learned to project in boardrooms full of men underestimating me. “Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know the name.”
He turns to face me fully, and for a moment, I see past the careful mask he wears to the brother who used to sneak me extra sweets when my father wasn’t looking. But the expression is gone so quickly, I almost think I imagined it.
“You’re being paranoid, Kira,” he says, his tone gentle but condescending. “Durov was eliminated years ago. You know this.”
“The shell companies, Alexei. Meridian Holdings, Castellan Industries, and Blackwater Dynamics are all registered in your name. All receiving funds from the joint accounts.”
“I register dozens of corporations every year. It’s part of managing our legitimate interests.” He picks up a water bottle and takes a long drink, as if this conversation is merely a mild inconvenience. “You’re seeing patterns where none exist.”
“Fifteen million dollars, routed through companies you personally established. That’s not pattern recognition—that’s evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” His voice hardens slightly. “What exactly are you accusing me of, sister?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m asking for the truth.”
“The truth?” He sets down the water bottle with deliberate calm. “The truth is that you’re letting your engagement to the Italian cloud your judgment. You’re so desperate to prove the Rossos innocent that you’re willing to suspect your own family.”
The accusation stings because it carries just enough possibility to plant doubt. Am I protecting Rafa at the expense of family loyalty? Have my feelings for him compromised my ability to see clearly?
“This isn’t about Rafa,” I insist, though I’m not entirely certain it’s true even as I say it.
“Isn’t it?” Alexei steps closer, using his considerable height advantage to loom over me—an intimidation tactic he’s never used on me before. “You disappear to New York, spend days working with their tech specialist, and suddenly you’re convinced one of us is betraying the family. The timing is... interesting.”
“The timing is irrelevant to the facts.”
“Facts can be manipulated. Especially digital ones.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe your Italian boyfriend is better at this game than you realize.”
The suggestion that Rafa has somehow manufactured evidence against Alexei sends a cold spike of uncertainty through me. Could he have planted the shell company registrations? Created false trails to implicate my family while protecting his own?
