Timofey. His men.
He wasn’t lying.
They’re not just here. They’re positioned. Controlling movement beyond the estate walls. This isn’t just an infiltration. It’s layered. Prepared.
If I push this, more people will die.
More than already have.
I hate him.
God, I hate him.
But I won’t let him destroy what’s left of my father.
I won’t let him turn his body into a spectacle.
My fingers loosen slowly around the gun. Every movement feels like it costs something.
Piece by piece.
Control. Pride. Power.
Until finally—
I lower it.
The silence that follows feels heavier than the gunfire outside.
“I’ll go with you,” I say. The words taste like ash. “But this ends with me.”
“No.” Anton shakes his head. “Not just you. It ends with you and your child.”
Something inside me snaps—quietly, invisibly—but I don’t let it reach my face.
I don’t give him that.
“Drop the gun,” he says.
I hold his gaze for one second longer. Then two.
Then I let it fall.
The weapon hits the floor with a dull, final sound.
He won’t kill me. Not yet.
He needs me.
That’s the only reason I’m still breathing.
Anton steps forward and grabs my wrist, binding it quickly, efficiently—like he’s done this a hundred times before.My pulse spikes, every instinct screaming at me to fight, to resist, to tear free—
But I don’t.
I force it down.
I let him.
