This isn't over. I won't let it be.
Saint thinks he can just...dismiss me? Decide I'm too fragile for the game? Treat me like I'm some delicate thing that needs protecting instead of the partner who helped him bring Adrian to his knees.
Fuck that.
And fuck him for being such a hypocrite. The big bad psychopath who's supposed to be so terrible and ruthless, and he backs down the moment Alexei makes a threat? Where's theSaint who beat a man bloody for touching me? Where's the cold calculation, the willingness to do whatever it takes?
He's gone soft. Or worse, he never thought I was capable of handling the danger in the first place, and now he's pulling back.
I think about Bianca. The way she maneuvered through this world with her perfectly manicured nails and her ruthless efficiency. The way she taught me that power is everything, that survival means being willing to do what others won't.
She married my father unwillingly, had him killed, and took over his entire outfit. She was the first woman to do it, and she held onto it until her death.
And they'd only been able to get rid of her by blowing her up.
I always told myself I wasn't like her. That I wanted something different, something softer. A 'normal' life.
But standing here, staring at my reflection, I realize the truth:
I want power. I need it. And if Saint won't give it to me, I'll take it myself just like my mother did.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels like the first clear thing I've thought in days.
I'm having a breakdown. The rational part of my brain is screaming that this is dangerous, that I'm not thinking straight, that I should wait until I'm calmer to make any sort of decisions.
But I'm done being rational. Done being safe. Done being the good little wife who sits in her room and waits for scraps of attention.
I get dressed. Black jeans. A simple sweater. Nothing that stands out.
Then I go find Emmanuel.
I'm going to fuck over Saint and Adrian, and I'm going to do it right under their fucking noses.
They'd never underestimate me again.
"Emmanuel," I say, entering the kitchen where he is drinking coffee. "I need to go to Columbia. I left some books there that I need."
He frowns. "Does Mr. Marini know?"
I nod. "Yes," I say, the lie rolling off my tongue with ease. "He would take me, but he's busy."
His brow inches up. "Just a book?"
"Well," I bite my lip slightly, innocently. "I'm also going to meet Sera for coffee. Her driver can bring me home."
"Sera—"
He and Lyla exchange a look, and I fight not to fold. I need to get out, and I can't do it without Emmanuel.
And this isn't the first time I've ditched a driver. Not even kind of. I can do this. "Sera has guards and a driver. There's no point in you standing around in downtown traffic."
He blinks, processing. "And Mr. Marini knows?"
"Of course," I shrug. "He encouraged me to get out."
It's a lie. A good one. Believable. I see the shift immediately. Because I'm not wrong. Antonio and Saint both wanted me to have a life outside of the compound, which I'm sure Emmanuel knows.
"I'll get the car."
