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Z's hand slides down to the small of my back as I push forward.

“You've always prided yourself on legacy, Victor. On blood. On the purity of the Petrov line.” I pause, letting my next words land with precision. “Wouldn't you want to know if your grandson, your heir, isn't being raised by his true mother?”

“You have one minute to convince me this isn't an elaborate game, Miss Rossi.”

“Check your email. Oz is sending the first documents now.”

Oz nods, hitting send on his laptop with a theatrical flourish. We wait in tense silence, the only sound in the room our collective breathing.

“These could be fabricated,” he says finally, though there's a new note in his voice, uncertainty where before there was only dismissal.

“That is just the tip of the iceberg, Victor. I have videos, photos, and financial records. I have enough proof for my claim.”

The line falls silent, and I can almost see Victor sitting in his palatial office, turning over the evidence we've provided, his mind working through all the angles. The silence stretches until I wonder if he's hung up.

“What exactly are you proposing, Miss Rossi?” His voice, when it finally comes, has lost its dismissive edge. Now it carries the careful consideration of a chess master evaluating an unexpected move.

I take a deep breath, feeling Z's hand press more firmly against my back in silent support.

“The political alliance as originally contracted,” I say steadily. “A marriage between me, as the head of the Rossi family, and Dmitri. It's your only way to guarantee true-born Rossi-Petrov heirs.”

Z's hand tenses against my spine, but he remains silent. We've rehearsed this, planned for it, yet the words still taste like ash in my mouth.

“A bold proposal,” Victor says, the faint sound of ice clinking against glass coming through the line. “Especially considering Dmitri is already married to your cousin.”

“My false cousin,” I correct him. “And marriages can be...dissolved when they're built on lies.”

Victor chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “And in return for this generous offer? What do you get out of this arrangement, Miss Rossi?”

"Revenge on the people who did this to me.”

“Your uncle is already dead.”

“Yes, that is he, but I want revenge on the man who held me captive for years. Medically raped me over and over again for your family’s benefit.”

"Who?"

“The Collector.”

“The Collector is a myth.”

“Turns out, he’s not.”

“The Collector,” Victor repeats, a new edge to his voice. “You claim to know his identity?”

“I don't claim anything. I know exactly who he is.” I steady myself against Z's solid presence behind me. “Mikhail Vasilyev.”

The silence that follows is so absolute that I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Even through the phone, I can feel the temperature drop at the mention of that name.

“That's impossible.” Victor's voice has lost all its calculated coolness, replaced by something raw and visceral. “Mikhail Vasilyev is dead. His entire bloodline was wiped out decades ago.”

“Not all of it,” I counter. “Considering I am his granddaughter.” Silence falls again. “Is it safe to assume that I have your attention now, Victor?”

The sound of shattering glass comes through the speaker, followed by rapid Russian that even Z looks startled to hear.

“Proof. I need absolute proof.”

“DNA doesn't lie, Victor. My mother's. Mine. My son's.” I pause, letting the implication sink in. “Your grandson carries Vasilyev blood.”