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“That is impossible.” Victor's voice trembles with barely contained rage. “Elizaveta Rossi was not?—”

“My mother was Elizaveta Vasilyev before she became a Rossi,” I cut in, pressing our advantage while he's off-balance. “Sold by her father to secure protection from your family. A sacrifice he's been plotting to avenge ever since.”

Another string of Russian curses crackles through the line. Z's eyes widen slightly at whatever Victor is saying.

“My grandfather orchestrated everything,” I continue relentlessly. “My abduction. The harvesting of my eggs. The creation of your grandson. All to infiltrate your family from within.”

“If what you say is true...” Victor’s voice is cold, calm—like still water hiding sharp rocks beneath. “Then your own blood betrayed you. Why should I trust you now?”

“Because I want what you want. The destruction of Mikhail Vasilyev. I want my family’s legacy back. I want the power to protect my son. You can give me those things, and I can give you Mikhail.”

A pause stretches across the line, taut with calculation.

“You understand what you're proposing. An alliance against your own blood.”

“Mikhail Vasilyev may share my blood, but he is not my family.” The words burn with a truth I've only recently come to understand.

“You mentioned proof,” Victor says, the sound of a lighter flicking open coming through the speaker. “I want all of it. Every document. Every recording. Every trace of this...conspiracy.”

“Of course,” I reply, nodding to Oz, who's already preparing the secure file transfer. "But I won't send everything electronically. The most damning evidence comes with me, in person.”

“You expect me to bring you to Russia based on partial evidence and your word?” His laugh is sharp, disbelieving.

“I expect you to act in your own self-interest," I counter smoothly. “The safety of your grandson. The integrity of your bloodline. The chance to finally eliminate Mikhail Vasilyev.” Victor says nothing. “This deal is only on the table for twenty-four hours, Victor. Take it, and protect your family’s legacy, or don’t, and live with the knowledge you were sold a bill of goods for a daughter-in-law. The choice is yours.”

“Very well,” Victor says after a long pause, his voice hardening into something cold and final. "A plane will be waiting for you at Hanscom Field in two hours. The pilot will have clearance for my nephews as well."

My heart hammers against my ribs. worked. I catch Z's eye, the slight widening of his pupils the only indication of his surprise.

“Thank you,” I begin, but Victor cuts me off.

“Do not mistake this for trust, Miss Rossi. Consider it...professional curiosity.” Ice clinks against glass as he takes a drink. “And know this, if you are lying to me, if this is some elaborate scheme, I will personally ensure that you suffer in ways that will make your time with The Collector seem like a pleasant memory. Your death will be measured in weeks, not moments.”

I swallow hard, knowing his threat isn't empty. “I understand.”

“Good. Then we have nothing more to discuss until you arrive.” The line goes dead before I can respond.

I lower the phone slowly. "We're in."

“Holy shit,” Talon breathes. “You actually did it.”

Z takes the phone from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine. “That was...” He shakes his head. “You played him exactly how you needed to.”

“Not exactly,” I counter, already heading toward the bedroom to pack. “He’s still suspicious. We need to make sure our evidence is airtight before we get there.”

“How long until your grandfather expects an update?” Oz asks, already moving to his laptop where he's compiling the files we'll need.

“Soon.” I glance at the black tablet sitting on the coffee table, its sleek surface reflecting the overhead lights. “He'll want to know my progress toward eliminating Victor.”

“Then we give him what he wants,” Z says, his expression hardening. “We tell him you're on your way to Russia. Let him think his plan is working.”

I nod. "He'll want video confirmation. Proof I'm following through.”

“So we give him a show,” Talon suggests. “Record something on the plane that makes it look like you're committed to his mission.”

“It needs to be convincing,” I warn. “He's not easily fooled.”

Z's hand comes to rest on my shoulder, his touch steadying. “Then we'll make it convincing.”