No. The accusation doesn’t align with what I know of Rafa’s methods or motivations. But the seed of doubt is planted, and Alexei knows it.
“I want to speak with Father,” I say, changing tactics.
“Father is busy with more important matters.”
“More important than preventing a war between our families?”
“More important than entertaining the paranoid fantasies of a daughter who’s forgotten where her loyalties should lie.”
The dismissal is final, absolute. I’ve been shut out, categorized as a problem to be managed rather than a resource to be utilized.
“Alexei,” I try one more time, letting genuine concern bleed into my voice. “If you’re in trouble… if Durov has some kind of leverage over you—I can help. We can find a way out of this that doesn’t destroy everything.”
For just a moment, his mask slips. I see fear in his eyes, not for himself, but for me. Then the walls slam back into place.
“There’s nothing to get out of,” he says firmly. “And you need to stop digging before you uncover something you won’t like.”
The warning is clear, though I can’t tell whether it’s a threat or a genuine concern for my safety.
I leave the training facility and make my way through the estate’s labyrinthine corridors, looking for my father. I find him in his study, but he dismisses my concerns with the same patronizing efficiency Alexei displayed.
“You’re seeing conspiracies where none exist,” he tells me, not even looking up from the financial reports spread across his mahogany desk. “Focus on your upcoming marriage and leave the family business to those qualified to handle it.”
The casual sexism isn’t new, but it stings differently now that I’ve experienced what it’s like to be taken seriously as an equal. Rafa might question my loyalties, but he’s never dismissed my capabilities.
I’m heading toward the exit, frustrated and no closer to answers, when a hand catches my arm in one of the side corridors.
“Sestrenka,” Misha whispers, glancing around to ensure we’re alone. “Walk with me.”
My youngest brother guides me toward the conservatory—a glass-walled room filled with our mother’s roses. Due to its transparent walls, this is the only place in the estate where surveillance is considered unnecessary.
“You asked Alexei about Durov,” he says without preamble.
“How did you?—”
“Because I’ve been watching. Listening.” His usually carefree expression is serious, and he is older than his twenty-four years. “Whatever you think you know about what’s happening, it’s worse than you realize.”
“What do you mean?”
Misha stops beside a climbing rose that’s somehow blooming despite the late season. “Durov isn’t just stealing money, Kira. He’s building something. A network, a power base. And whatever he’s building—it’s not just about money. He wants back in.”
“Back into what?”
“To the family. To his old position. To...” Misha’s voice drops even lower. “To you.”
The words hit me like ice water. “That’s impossible. Our father gave the order to kill him and?—”
“Death isn’t real until there’s a body,” Misha interrupts, his voice cold. “And Durov... he always had a thing for chasing what he could never claim.
“Are you saying Father knows? Is Alexei working with him willingly?”
“I’m saying conversations that don’t include either of us are happening. Decisions being made that we’re not privy to.” He touches the rose gently, and I notice his hands shake slightly. “Be careful, sestrenka. Durov has always been dangerous, but desperation makes him unpredictable.”
Before I can ask more questions, he’s gone, slipping away through the conservatory’s back entrance with the same casual grace he’s always possessed.
Twenty-four hours later, Rafa’s workspace
“They’re hiding something,” I tell Rafa as soon as I return to his secure facility. The flight from Moscow was turbulent, matching my internal state perfectly.
