“Of course you didn’t. Because admitting you love him would mean admitting weakness. And Petrovs don’t show weakness, do they?” His laugh is soft, knowing. “Except to me. You showed me plenty of weakness when you were twenty-two.”
“I was young and naive.”
“You were perfect. Brilliant and untouchable and so beautifully controlled. Do you know how many nights I spent imagining what it would take to crack that control? What wouldit look like when you finally surrendered? You in my bed, screaming my name.”
“That’s not going to happen.” A dark chuckle escapes him.
“Isn’t it?” He reaches out to touch my face, and I step back sharply. “You’re here, aren’t you? Alone, unprotected, offering yourself as a bargaining chip. If that’s not surrender, what is it?”
“Strategic negotiation.”
“Semantics.” He shrugs, but there’s something hungry in his expression that makes my stomach turn. “Shall we discuss terms?”
“The stolen money gets returned. All of it. The blackmail material against both families gets destroyed. And you disappear—permanently this time.”
“In exchange for?”
“My cooperation. I’ll provide you with intelligence on Rosso operations, financial records, and system access. Whatever you need to build your power base elsewhere.”
Yegor considers this, his pale eyes never leaving my face. “Generous. But not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You.” The word hangs between us like a blade. “Not your cooperation. Not your intelligence. You. Personally. Completely. Body and soul.”
“Absolutely not. I will never be with you.”
“Dissolve the engagement. Disappear with me. We build something new together, surpassing our families’ limited vision.” He ignores my response. His voice takes on an almost hypnotic quality. “Think of what we could accomplish, Kyrilla. Your brilliance combined with my ambition. No more playing supporting roles in other people’s stories.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then both families burn.” His casual tone makes the threat more chilling than any dramatic declaration. “The evidence I’vegathered goes to federal authorities. Your father, your brothers, Rafa, his brother—all of them spend the rest of their lives in federal prison. Their organizations collapse. Their legacies die. And you are mine.”
“You’d destroy everything over a rejected obsession?”
“I’d destroy everything to have you.” The honesty in his voice is terrifying. “I’ve waited five years, Kyrilla. Planned every detail, manipulated every variable. Do you really think I’d let anyone else have what belongs to me?”
The possessiveness in his tone triggers every alarm bell in my nervous system. This isn’t just about power or revenge—it’s about ownership. He sees me as an object to be claimed rather than a person to be convinced.
Which means psychological manipulation might not be enough.
I’m reaching for my weapon when the sound of engines fills the night air. Multiple vehicles are approaching fast, headlights cutting through the darkness like spears.
Yegor spins toward the sound, his own hand moving to the gun hidden beneath his jacket. “You brought backup.”
“I came alone,” I insist, though my heart races as I recognize the lead vehicle.
Rafa’s Audi.
The cars screech to a stop in a semicircle around us, doors flying open as armed figures emerge. But it’s not a Bratva strike team or federal agents.
It’s Rafa, flanked by Luca and Gio, all carrying weapons with the professional competence that suggests they’ve done this before.
“Step away from her,” Rafa calls out, his voice carrying across the pier with deadly authority. “Now.”
Yegor’s laugh is genuinely delighted. “The cavalry arrives! How wonderfully predictable. Tell me, Rafa, how does it feel to know your beloved princess tried to cut a deal without you?”
“Kira,” Rafa’s eyes find mine across the distance, and I see fury there, not at the danger, but at my deception. “What the hell are you doing?”
