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I shove him back. He doesn’t stumble, but the force of it makes his eyes widen.

“And you’re so emotionally fucking constipated you didn’t even stop to think what your goddamn funeral would do to Dimitri!” I shout, slashing a hand through the air toward Dima. “Or to me! You wanted to play the noble martyr!”

“Ilya, stop—” Dimitri tries to intervene.

“No!” Tears of fury burn behind my eyelids, blurring the room. “I understand loving someone, okay? I didn’t get it before. I thought you were both pathetic idiots. But I get it now. I fucking get it! And that’s why your plan was absolute garbage!”

Alexei stares at me, his mouth slightly parted. “Because if it were Kento?” My voice rattles the marrow of my bones. “If I had to die to keep that idiot alive, I would never fucking do it! You know why? Because he belongs to me! If I die, I’m dragging him straight into the dirt with me. And if he dies, I’m following him into hell five seconds later! Because I know he wouldn’t survive in a world without me, and I wouldn’t last five fucking seconds in one without him!”

I shove his chest again. “So no, I don’t give a single fuck about your noble sacrifice! And I will never regret changing those files!”

My heart is trying to beat its way out of my body, and apparently my eyes have decided now is the perfect time to start producing tears. Fucking spectacular. I blink the traitorous shit away and look at Dimitri.

Dima is staring at me with his jaw slack, his good eye wide with uncomprehending shock. He looks at me like I have just grown a second head, sprouted black wings, and set the carpet on fire.

Alexei doesn’t move. The fury has completely vanished from his face, replaced by a stunned silence.

I swallow hard.

I just said that out loud.

I just admitted that I love Kento.

I spin around, snatch my jacket off the back of the sofa, and shove my arms through the sleeves.

“Be mad all you want, Lex,” I mutter as I yank the zipper up to my throat. “Hit me if it makes you feel better. But I’m not apologizing, and I don’t regret a single goddamn thing.”

I walk out, letting the door slam shut behind me.

I don’t regret saving his life. I’d hack those hospital servers a hundred times over if it meant keeping Alexei Morozov above ground. But Lex doesn’t play games when it comes to Marco. He doesn’t bend, and right now, he probably hates my fucking guts.

And the thought of losing him makes my chest hurt.

I pull my phone from my pocket. Kento’s name is sitting at the top of my messages. I type quickly, my knuckles pale against the glass:

We have to talk. I will come to you this time. Wait for me tonight.

I hit send, shove the phone back into my pocket, and start walking toward the street.

When I get home, I step through the pedestrian entrance. There are no guards by the gatehouse, and the front door is sitting open two inches.

“Papa?” I call out, pushing the wood back.

“Anton?” I try, my voice climbing an octave, losing its edge.

I look down, and there is a dark smear trailing from the corridor into the formal sitting room. Blood.

I round the archway into the main hall. “Papa!”

Vladimir Solovyov is sprawled face-down on the Persian rug in the center of the room.

I drop to my knees beside him, not caring about the blood soaking through the knees of my jeans. My hands shake as I reach for his neck, pressing two fingers hard into the cold hollow beneath his jaw.

Nothing.

His eyes are half-open, staring blankly at the carved mahogany leg of the coffee table.

“Dad… Dad, wake up. Come on.”