“That’s where you’re wrong.” Rafa’s voice drops to something deadly quiet. “Because somewhere between lies, manipulation, and political theater, I started believing we could make it real. I started believing you might actually want to build something together instead of just using me as a convenient escape route.”
“Using you?” The accusation sends fury coursing through my veins. “I’ve done nothing but try to protect this alliance, protect both our families?—”
“Protect your family,” he corrects sharply. “Let’s be honest about priorities here. When Alexei’s name came up in connection with the thefts, you defended him. When your father dismissed your concerns, you made excuses for him. When Yegor offered you a deal, you took it without consulting the one person who’s supposed to be your equal partner in all this.” The one person who has always been true to you.
“Because I knew you’d try to stop me!”
“Damn right I would have stopped you! Because offering yourself to a psychopath isn’t noble, it’s suicidal!”
“How touching,” Yegor interjects, his pale eyes bright with malicious enjoyment. “But perhaps we could focus on more immediate concerns? Such as the fact that I’m growing bored with this domestic drama.”
The reminder of his presence cuts through our argument like ice water. We’re standing here, tearing each other apart while a genuine threat watches and waits for his opportunity.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Rafa tells him without looking away from me. “And this conversation isn’t over.”
“Oh, but it is,” Yegor replies with chilling certainty. “Because you’ve just proven my point beautifully. She doesn’t trust you, Rosso. Not really. Not when it matters. And she never will.”
“Shut up,” I snap, but the damage is already done. I see doubt creeping into Rafa’s expression, see the walls going back up behind his eyes.
“Face the truth, little princess,” Yegor continues, his voice taking on that hypnotic quality that made him dangerous even when he worked for us. “You’re too much of a Petrov to commit to anything outside your blood family, truly. And he’s too much of a Rosso ever truly to forgive betrayal, no matter how noble the intentions. Either way, Moya Printsessa, I’m the only man who will have you. You are mine.”
“I said shut up!” My voice cracks with the force of the words.
“Why? Because I’m right? Because you know that even if you both survive tonight, this moment has destroyed whatever you thought you were building?” Yegor’s smile is as sharp as glass. “You can’t unring this bell. You can’t take back the choice to exclude him when it mattered most.”
“She made her choice,” Rafa says quietly, and the resignation in his voice is worse than anger. “She chose family loyalty over partnership. Just like she always will.”
“That’s not true?—”
“Then prove it.” His challenge hangs between us like a gauntlet. “Right now. Choose. Him or me. Your family’s interests or our future. Because I’m done pretending we can have both.”
The ultimatum freezes something in my chest. Choose. As if the complexity of loyalty and love and survival can be reduced to a simple binary decision.
But before I can formulate an answer, Yegor makes the choice for all of us.
He bolts.
The movement is sudden and explosive—a sprint toward the pier's edge, where a speedboat waits in the shadows. He’s fast—faster than his lean frame suggests, but Rafa is faster.
The tackle comes from the side, driving both men to the concrete with bone-jarring force. They roll, struggling for position. Yegor’s desperation gives him strength that nearly matches Rafa’s training.
“Luca!” Rafa shouts as they grapple. “Restraints!”
Luca produces zip ties while Gio covers them both, weapon trained on Yegor’s center mass. Within minutes, the threat is neutralized—Yegor secured with his hands behind his back, blood trickling from a split lip where his face met the pier.
“The warehouse,” Rafa orders, hauling Yegor to his feet with unnecessary force. “We need somewhere private for conversation.”
Twenty minutes later
The abandoned warehouse that served as our surveillance base now functions as an impromptu interrogation room. Yegor sits zip-tied to a metal chair, Gio and Luca flanking him like armed bookends while Rafa and I maintain careful distance from each other.
The argument continues in the space between us, unspoken but palpable.
“Let’s start simple,” Rafa says, his professional mask back in place. “The blackmail material. Where is it?”
“Safe,” Yegor replies with infuriating calm. “Multiple locations, multiple formats. Kill me, and it all goes public automatically.”
“Locations.”
