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There’s a choking sound. “What?” he says. It’s interesting to hear so much surprise in my brother’s usually impassive voice.

“You heard me.” I set my bottle down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Yes, but…” He stops, as if considering what to say next. “So soon after Sofia?”

Bozhe moy!

Is he fucking serious?

“You think I cared about that stupid bitch,mudak?” I shake my head. “Anyway, I knew her before the wedding,” I say, drying sweat from my brow with a towel. “Sofia was a mistake. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Stella is here with me, pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Vasya blurts. “Da ty chto?”

“Do I need to explain to you what pregnant means, Vasya?” I snort. “She’s having my child.”

“Well… uh…Pozdravlyayu, brat,” he says. “Congrats. I guess.”

“You can congratulate me when she agrees to marry me.” I push away from the wall and move through the room, skirting training equipment.

“Marry you?” Vasya is still incredulous. “But what about Bobik?”

“She’s met Bobik. They’re crazy about each other.”

“Then what’s the problem? Why are you worrying about the investigation?” he asks.

I rub my eyes, blinking as the sweat on my fingers stings them. “Because she’s Tomas Larkin’s daughter.”

The silence that follows is heavy with implication. When Vasya finally speaks, his voice has dropped to a near-whisper. “Blyad,” he says with feeling. “That could be a problem.”

“Exactly.” I run a hand over the small bristles along my jawline, feeling the tension building at the base of my skull. This investigation into Larkin has been consuming my thoughts, butI can’t afford mistakes. Not with Stella involved. Not with what’s at stake for Bobik. “I want every piece of information triple-checked. Nothing can tie back to us.”

“Konechno.I’ll go through the data again just to be on the safe side.”

“Khoroshiy,” I say, relief washing through me. If anyone can ensure digital ghosts stay buried, it’s my brother. “I need this to be airtight, Vasya. No loose ends.”

“Consider it done,” he says, and I can already hear the clicking resume, faster now. “I’ll call when it’s finished.”

I end the call and return to my office, drawn back to the surveillance monitors. Stella is no longer with Bobik. The feed from her room shows her lying on her bed, a heavy science book propped on her knees. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, one hand absently stroking her belly as she reads.

Something coils in my chest at the sight— a sensation I’m still not accustomed to. Desire, yes, that’s familiar enough. But this other feeling, this tenderness that borders on vulnerability… it’s dangerous. Weakness in my world gets you killed.

And yet…

My feelings for her are stronger now than before her memory loss. Before, she was a challenge, a conquest, the mother of my child. Now, seeing her rediscover the world, watching her form genuine connections despite her shattered memory— it’s awakened something in me that I never thought I’d feel.

I switch off the monitor and move to the window, gazing out over the manicured grounds of the manor. The sun is setting,casting long shadows across the symmetrical gardens. In the distance, the lights of Los Angeles begin to twinkle to life.

My empire. My domain. Everything I’ve built through blood and cunning.

And my greatest fear? That I’ll destroy it all myself.

And worse… that I’m going to be like my father, Rodion.

The thought surfaces unexpectedly, another demon I can never fully exorcise. I see him in my nightmares sometimes— stumbling drunk through our childhood home in St. Petersburg, fists raised, eyes wild with rage. I hear my mother’s muffled cries, feel Diana trembling against me as we hide in the closet, praying the bastard won’t find us.

I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, eyes closed against the memories. The chill seeps into my skin, grounding me in the present when the past threatens to drag me under. My breath creates a small fog on the smooth surface— proof that I’m still here, still breathing, still fighting the ghosts that haunt me.

Behind my eyelids, I see flashes of that cramped closet, Diana’s small hand clutched in mine, both of us shaking in the darkness while our father’s roars echoed through a home that should have been a safe haven.