Strong hands catch my arms, steadying me before I can recoil.
“Sienna.”
Sebastian’s voice. Low. Furious. Terrified.
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head too fast, words tumbling over each other. “Sebastian—he—he wants revenge. Not because of business, but because of family history.”
Something in Sebastian changes. The warmth vanishes, replaced by a cold so sharp it steals the air from my lungs.
Behind me, footsteps scrape against concrete.
Viktor Mikhailov appears in the doorway.
He’s smiling, until he sees Sebastian.
Sebastian steps forward, placing himself fully in front of me, his body a shield, broad and unmovable. One arm stretches back, instinctive, keeping me behind him.
“You went after my wife,” Sebastian says quietly.
Quiet—but lethal.
“Now I go after you.”
Viktor’s smirk falters. Just a flicker. But I see it.
My fingers clutch Sebastian’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know whether to come.”
Sebastian glances down at me. Just for a second.
His green eyes soften—only for me. “It’s okay.”
Then his focus snaps back to Viktor. His fingers lace with mine, tight, unyielding.
“Stay behind me,” he murmurs, calm as a promise. “This ends today.”
My breath hitches.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel it—real safety. Not hope. Not denial. Safety.
And in that moment, one devastating truth settles deep in my chest:
I don’t want revenge anymore.
I want him.
Chapter 21 – Sebastian
I don’t wait for Mikhailov to speak. Don’t wait for Sienna’s trembling breath to settle against my back. The fury that had been coiled inside me all day snaps into something sharp, precise—lethal calm. The kind only a Rusnak carries into battle.
I step forward, each movement measured, deliberate, the gravel crunching under my boots like a metronome counting down his seconds.
“You used my wife,” I say softly, my voice steady, cold. “You threatened her. You dragged her into a war she never asked for.”
Mikhailov scoffs, though the tension in his stance is betrayed in the rigid set of his shoulders. “You act as if she didn’t play along. She hated you. I merely gave her a chance to destroy you before you destroyed her.”
