A slow, dangerous pride unfurls inside her. She tilts her face up to me, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re brilliant.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, soft, reverent. “I know.”
She shivers under my touch, and I can feel her pulse matching mine, the quiet thrill of the storm we’ve survived—and the one we’ve set into motion.
“Your husband is one smart fucker.”
Her laughter softens the room, a delicate melody against the hum of papers and documents.
I reach for a sealed envelope. “And this,” I say, voice low, measured, “is for the authorities. It includes enough information to dismantle his secondary operations. Not the family—just him.”
Sienna swallows, eyes wide. “You’re destroying him completely.”
I meet her gaze, calm, unflinching. “He went after you. That’s unforgivable.”
She exhales, a mixture of relief and lingering tension in her shoulders. Her hand lifts to cup my cheeks. “Sebastian, I don’t want blood on your conscience because of me.”
I hold her wrists gently. “This isn’t vengeance, Sienna. It’s justice. For both of us.”
She nods slowly, taking it in.
I release her hands, but not before pulling her close enough to let her feel it—my commitment, my certainty. “Now,” I say, voice lighter, warmer, “I want you to start planning your gallery, your private museum. I’ll make it happen for you. I’m going to support you, in every way possible.”
A smile curls on her lips. She turns to leave, and on impulse, I playfully slap her ass. She laughs, a sound so pure it makes my chest tighten, and walks away, still grinning.
I watch her go, the edges of the room blurred by my focus on her. My heart swells—full, certain, unshakable. I’m in love with her.
The realization doesn’t shock me. I welcome it.
Marko steps back into the room, raising an eyebrow. “Why the smile?”
I roll my eyes, take a slow sip of my coffee, and shrug.
He shakes his head, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Took you long enough to realize it.”
I set the mug down and square my shoulders. “Let’s get back to work.”
We spend the next hour assembling packets, drafting anonymous drops, and coordinating with Lev and Dimitri for dissemination. Every movement feels deliberate, precise, like shedding old skin—moving from darkness into something cleaner, safer. My mind hums with focus, each step a small, perfect strike against the man who tried to ruin everything.
Marko double-checks the encrypted files while I stack the envelopes, each one containing the proof of Mikhailov’s lies, theft, and manipulation. Konstantin’s overnight intel is flawless—communications, financial transfers, forged provenance logs, links to stolen Vatican artifacts—all ready to expose him fully.
Finally, we send the first batch anonymously. I watch the digital confirmations ping in, each one a pulse in the network that will soon collapse under Mikhailov’s paranoia.
“He’ll destroy himself before he even knows what hit him,” I murmur, almost to myself.
Marko glances at me, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Perfection.”
I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the last five years start to lift. Outside, the city moves on, unaware of the storm we’ve set in motion—but inside, everything has changed. Justice isn’t just coming; it’s inevitable.
That evening, I head out with Lev, Dimitri, Roman, and Konstantin. The city lights blur past the windows as we settle into a corner of our favorite bar, a place that’s seen its fair share of victories, but tonight feels different. Tonight, it’s ours.
Vodka flows freely, glasses clinking, the warmth spreading through my chest. I raise mine, catching the eyes of each brother. “To victory,” I say, voice steady, confident.
They meet my gaze and raise their own, grins wide, the tension of the last few days dissolving into laughter and camaraderie. “To victory,” they echo.
We toast, and the sound of glass on glass feels like a drumbeat of finality. Every smile, every laugh, carries the weight of what we’ve survived—and what we’ve won.
Dimitri leans back, swirling the vodka in his glass. “So…what’s next for you and Sienna?” he asks, eyes flicking toward me.
