“And if she’s not complicit?”
“Then you’ll be destroying her world,” Sal says quietly. “Forcing her to choose between her family and you. That kind of choice... it changes people. Sometimes permanently.”
The weight of that truth settles over me like a shroud. Either way, what I’ve discovered will shatter something fundamental between us, whether Kira is innocent or guilty.
But I can’t move forward without knowing which version of her is real. The woman who kissed me like I was salvation itself, or the ice princess who dismissed me like a temporary inconvenience.
“Set up a meeting,” I decide. “Somewhere private, secure. And prepare copies of everything—audio, transcripts, and financial records. If I’m going to accuse her family of planning genocide, I better have undeniable proof.”
“And if she’s innocent?” Luca asks. “If you show her this and it breaks her?”
I stare at the screens displaying the evidence of her family’s betrayal, thinking about gray eyes that see too much and hands that tremble only when she thinks no one is watching.
“Then I’ll help her put herself back together,” I say. “Because innocent or guilty, manipulator or victim, I’m not ready to lose her yet.”
“Yet,” Gio repeats meaningfully.
“Yet,” I confirm, though the word tastes like a lie.
Because if I’m being honest with myself—and honesty seems to be in short supply lately—I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to lose Kira Petrov.
Even if keeping her might destroy everything else I care about.
Even if she might destroy me first.
CHAPTER 23
Kira
Zoya’s apartmentin SoHo looks like a rebellion against everything the Petrov family represents. Exposed brick walls covered in street art, vintage band posters mixed with expensive photographs, designer clothes draped carelessly over thrift store furniture. It’s organized chaos with an edge that perfectly captures my youngest sister’s approach to life.
“You look like shit,” she announces by way of greeting, not bothering to get up from where she’s sprawled across her velvet couch, painting her nails electric blue while what sounds like underground Russian punk blares from hidden speakers.
“Thank you for the warm welcome,” I reply, settling into the chair across from her. “It’s nice to see you, too.”
“I’m serious.” She pauses in her nail art to study my face with surprising perceptiveness. “When’s the last time you slept? Actually slept, not that thing you do where you close your eyes for three hours and call it rest.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy fucking your fake fiancé or busy pretending you didn’t fuck your fake fiancé?” Her directness would be shocking if I weren’t used to Zoya’s complete inability to filter her thoughts.“Because either way, you’re doing that thing where you overthink yourself into an early grave.”
Heat floods my cheeks despite my best efforts to maintain composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Please.” She waves her nail brush dismissively. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. Like he’s a puzzle you can’t solve, driving you insane. Also, you’re wearing a turtleneck in seventy-degree weather, which either means you’re having a fashion crisis or someone left marks on your neck.”
I resist the urge to touch the high collar that’s indeed hiding evidence of Rafa’s mouth on my skin. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“But it’s part of why you’re here.” She caps the nail polish and gives me her full attention. “Talk to me, sestrenka. What’s eating you alive?”
The concern beneath her flippant attitude breaks through my defenses. Of all my siblings, Zoya is the only one who’s never expected me to be anything other than what I am. No role to play, no image to maintain—just sisters talking.
“I think Father and Alexei are lying to me,” I admit. “About something big.”
“Duh.” Her response is so casual that it takes me a moment to process it. “They’ve been lying to you for weeks. Months, probably.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.” She examines her nails critically, blowing on them to speed the drying process. “Father’s been having way too many meetings with people who don’t officially exist. And Alexei’s been acting weird—more brooding than usual, which is saying something.”
