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“While Natasha...”

“If we don’t return you, he’ll kill her.” Erik’s voice drops. “Dmitri isn’t... he can’t lose her. And your father knows exactly how to hurt her.”

The pieces click into place. My father wouldn’t harm me—I’m too valuable as his legacy, his blood. But Natasha holds no such protection. She’d just be collateral damage in this war between families.

The realization hits me like cold water, cutting through the whiskey haze. Natasha Blackwood—a woman I barely know—would die because of me. Because of my father. For what? A power play between criminal families?

My fingers loosen around the bottle, and Erik takes it from my unresisting hand. The kitchen suddenly feels too bright, too stark.

“He’ll kill her,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “Just to prove a point.”

Erik nods, his face grim. “Yes.”

The alcohol-induced anger drains from me, replaced by a sick clarity. My father has always been ruthless, but this goes beyond his normal brand of cruelty. This is personal.

“I’ll go back.” I concede. “Of course I will.”

Erik’s shoulders sag slightly. “I was trying to find another way. That’s why I’ve been gone.”

I push off from the counter, steadying myself against the edge as the room tilts momentarily. “What other possible solution could there be? I’m his daughter. I’ll survive. I always have.”

And I have, haven’t I? Built my company, created my own identity, carved out independence despite carrying the Lebedev name. I’ll return to my life—meetings, innovations, and careful navigation of Boston’s tech scene.

But Natasha... she would simply disappear. Another body was never found, and another tragedy was blamed on accident or coincidence. My father’s specialty.

“When is the exchange?” I ask, straightening my spine.

“Tomorrow night.” Erik’s voice is quiet. “The exchange is set for midnight.”

I nod, staring at the floor tiles. “Well, then we should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

As I try to step around him, Erik catches my arm. “Katarina?—”

“Don’t.” I pull away, suddenly unable to bear his touch. “This was always going to end. At least this way, someone doesn’t die.”

The irony isn’t lost on me—returning to my father to save the life of a woman connected to the family that kidnapped me. The convoluted morality of our world would be almost comical if it weren’t so tragic.

22

ERIK

Four hours until the exchange. Each minute feels like a blade sliding between my ribs.

I check my weapons for the third time in twenty minutes. Field strip the Glock. Reassemble. Check the action. Again. The familiar routine should calm me, but nothing does. My hands move with mechanical precision while my mind drowns in fury.

She agreed too easily.

The thought circles like a predator. Katarina—brilliant, defiant Katarina—simply nodded and accepted that tomorrow she would return to her father. To Igor fucking Lebedev.

I slam the magazine home harder than necessary. The sound echoes across my quarters.

“Breaking your gun won't help anyone.” Nikolai leans against my doorframe, arms crossed.

“Get out.”

He doesn't move. “We need to discuss the exchange parameters.”

“We already have. Three times.” I holster the weapon and reach for my combat knife. “Unless something's changed?”