“It is.” I look up at her. “Investors are pulling out. Private clients are already speaking to lawyers. Some to the police.”
Her breath stutters. Tears spill over, silent and devastating, and something in my chest cracks open.
“Are you going to get arrested?” she asks, barely audible.
I cross the space between us in two strides and slide my arms around her waist, lifting her clean off the bed and into me until we’re eye level. Her knees part instinctively, drawing closer, and I hold her there, solid, unmovable.
“Hey,” I murmur. “Look at me.”
She does, eyes wet and terrified.
“Your tears hurt me,” I say quietly. “Please stop.”
She nods, trying to breathe through it.
“I know what five years cost you,” I continue, my forehead resting against hers. “I know what I took. But I will not lose you again—to a man who thinks he owns your pain.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, voice breaking.
I kiss her eyes. Her tears. Her temple. Her jaw. Each touch slow, deliberate—absolution, not desire.
“Sorry doesn’t matter,” I murmur against her skin. “Only what we do now.”
She trembles, leaning into me. “What do we do?”
I hold her tighter for a beat, then answer without hesitation.
“We take control,” I say. “I pull my real ledgers. I bring in my forensic auditors. I call in favors with people who owe me more than loyalty.”
Her eyes search mine.
“And Mikhailov?” she asks.
My jaw tightens.
“He thinks this is chaos,” I say calmly. “But it’s exposure. He moved too fast. He left fingerprints.”
I pull back just enough for her to see my face.
“And when this is over,” I add softly, dangerously, “he won’t ever get close to you again.”
Sienna swallows. “Sebastian…he’s smart. He’s dangerous. He has illegal connections. Getting him won’t be easy.”
A slow smile touches my mouth. She’s right.
“Good,” I say. “Because easy never lasts.”
Thankfully, Konstantin is back. He has a lot of resources accessible to him. Both government resources and the black market. He walks the fine line between legal and illegal. Pretends he prefers the law. Lies to himself about it. But when it matters, he always chooses the darker road. This will be a piece of cake for him.
I meet her eyes. “Do you trust me?”
The question hangs there—heavy, loaded, terrifying.
She nods. “Yes.”
“Good.” I release a slow breath. “Then we flip the trap.”
I spread the documents across the table, flattening them with my palm.
