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“I’ll go get you some water,” I said, heading inside, where I ran into Velma, .“who is that woman ?” I asked.

“That’s Maria Vasilkova—Elif’s confidante, best friend, practically her sister,” Velma replied. “They’ve fought through every battle at this table of wolves for almost seventeen years.”

A friendship spanning over a decade.

“I was the one who called her. Madam needs her now more than ever,” Velma added before walking away.

I watched the two women crying in each other’s arms, and the guilt that had been suffocating me since I heard the news tightened its grip.

I had to do something.

Nikolai

I groaned as I hung up with one of my contacts infiltrated in the Italian mafia—still no news on Roman. It had been almost three days since those damn Italians took my brother, and nothing. Not a single damn update.

“Any news from Sasha?” I asked Grigori as he entered the office from the terrace, where he’d been on the phone with one of his own contacts. Two hours ago, Sasha had left to meet Lorenzo, who had traveled from New York to California for a discussion.

“No, still nothing,” he said, pacing back and forth, nearly tearing his hair out.

“They’ve never had us pinned like this before, those sons of bitches, Niko. They’ve got us by the throat,” he spat, stopping right in front of me, his gaze locked onto mine. And I knew what he wanted to say. I knew he’d be willing to do anything for our family.

“Nikolai—”

“Don’t even think about it,moybrat,” I said, standing up from the chair to face him directly. “We’re going to save Roman. I’ll find a way,” I added, and he just stared at me, jaw clenched, holding back something—something that could lead us into a fight.

He finally stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I sighed, rubbing my face.

Blayt.

I would never hand Selina and Rafael over to that son of a bitch, but Roman—were they torturing him? Was he even still alive?

“Blayt!” I shouted, kicking a chair hard enough to knock it over.

“Niko ?” a small voice suddenly called from behind me. When I turned around, I saw Rafael standing at the doorway, his eyes shifting between the chair and me.

Shit.

“Rafael, come in, buddy. There was a bug on the chair—I was trying to squash it,” I said, quickly setting the chair back up. He stepped forward, scanning the chair, looking for the supposed bug. “Did you want to ask me something, buddy?”

He hesitated for a moment before slowly looking up, pressing his lips together.

“Is Roman coming back ?” he asked. “I saw Elif crying, and Mom too. Will he come back if we leave with Mom…?”

“Rafael,” I cut him off, kneeling in front of him, my brows furrowed. “Why are you saying that?”

He lowered his gaze, his lips beginning to tremble.

“I heard some guards saying that… that it was him who took Roman. He wants Mom and me. But Mom can stay—I’ll go alone so he’ll let Roman go,” he said, his chin shaking, his small body tense as he tried not to cry. His green eyes, filled with fear but also determination, stared at me. Determined to sacrifice himself to save my brother. To sacrifice himself, at eight years old.

I pulled him into me, holding him tightly.

Antonio Rasili was going to die. And it would be a slow, excruciating death—but not before he experienced every horror he’d inflicted on Selina and Rafael.

“Roman will come back, Rafael. And you’re not going anywhere. I will never give my son to the enemy,” I said, and he stiffened against me, pulling back slowly.

“Son?” he whispered, his eyes wide as I nodded, smiling softly.

“There’s no difference to me between you, Andrei, Alexei, or Mikhail,” I told him.