He doesn’t call me out on it. Just nods slowly and moves toward the kitchen. I follow without thinking, padding my bare feet against the cold hardwood.
He pulls a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water before drinking half of it in one long swallow. I watch his throat work as he swallows, watch the way his hand trembles just a bit as he sets the glass down.
His knuckles are bruised, I notice. Fresh bruises, purple and swollen, and the skin is split in places. Whatever he’s been doing for the past three days, it wasn’t sitting behind a desk.
“Where were you?” I demand.
“Working.”
“Bullshit,” I snap. “You owe me more than that. After what I saw in your office, after watching you almost kill someone with your bare hands, you owe me an explanation.”
He sets the glass down on the counter and turns to face me, leaning back against the granite. The exhaustion in his eyes is deeper than I realized. This isn’t just physical tiredness. This is something else. Something heavier.
“You’re right,” he admits. “I do owe you an explanation.”
“Then give me one. A real one. Not some vague non-answer about work.”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s figuring out where to start. I wait, forcing myself not to fill the silence with more accusations.
“The man in my office,” he begins. “Viktor Sokolov. Do you remember him?”
“Hard to forget someone whose face was turning blue.”
He doesn’t flinch at the bite in my words. “Viktor runs a business. Or he did, until three days ago.”
“What kind of business?”
“The kind that exploits vulnerable women.” He pauses, and I watch him choose his next words with care. “He finds women with secrets. Debt, family problems, past mistakes—anything he can use as leverage. Then he blackmails them into becoming escorts for wealthy clients.”
My stomach turns. “Escorts.”
“High-end prostitution, essentially. The women can’t go to the police because he has enough dirt on them to destroy their lives. The clients won’t talk because they have too much to lose. Everyone stays silent, and Viktor gets rich.”
“That’s… that’s disgusting.”
“Yes. It is.”
“Is that why you attacked him? Because of what he does?”
“Partly.” He pauses, and something dark crosses his features. “He also threatened Anya.”
“Your sister?”
He nods and explains, “He was gathering information on her. Looking for weaknesses, secrets, anything he could exploit. He was going to make her one of his girls.”
The words land like stones in my chest. Anya. Bubbly, outgoing Anya, who welcomed me into the family without question. Who made me feel like I belonged even when I didn’twant to belong. Who showed up at the penthouse with her sister just to help me pick out a dress.
“But you stopped him,” I surmise. “Before he could…”
“I stopped him before he found anything useful, if there even is anything to find. Last week’s raid was supposed to be a message. A warning to stay away from my family.” He looks down at his bruised knuckles. “But he didn’t listen. He came to my office and threatened Anya to my face. That’s when I…”
“Lost control.”
“Yes.”
I don’t know what to say. Part of me understands now. If someone threatened my family that way, would I react any differently?
But another part of me can’t forget the violence I witnessed. The ease with which he wrapped his hands around another man’s throat. The look on his face while he did it.
