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No. I didn’t.

“Because of me, people are dead. Maybe more than I know.”

“It wasn’t because of you,” he whispers into my ear, arms wrapped around me like steel. “This is war, baby.”

Hours later, we’re all back at the estate. The air is heavy, the grief thick, and we’ve gathered.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Matvei meets my gaze.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Name one thing you could’ve done differently?” His jaw clenches. “If anything,I’mthe one who opened fire.”

Rafail stands, eyes burning. “The one to blame is dead,” he snaps. “Cillian O’Rourke broke the alliance. He was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Her. The woman. Vadka’s wife.

The bartender’s sister.

Vadka isn’t here.

Silence swallows us. Zoya sniffles softly, wiping at her eyes.

“You want someone to blame?” Yana speaks up, voice razor-sharp. No tears, just fire. “Blame his parents. They started this.”

She turns to me. “I combed through that drive you gave us, Anissa. I know everything now.”

Matvei shakes his head, but Rafail cuts him off with a raised hand.

“I swear to god, if you apologize, I’ll deck you myself,” he growls. “Your parents are the assholes. Not you. Was it your fault they put your brother up to this? No. We know the truth now.”

Matvei sinks onto the couch, his head in his hands.

I slide beside him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Rafail is right. It wasn’t you,” I say softly. “It was your parents. It’s time that you let all that go now.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. His breath shudders out of him like he’s exhaling years of guilt. And maybe he is.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m done carrying that shit. They don’t get to own me anymore.”

He tightens his grip around my shoulder.

It feels right. I need this. I need him.

Semyon sits across the room, nursing a drink. His white shirt’s unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“I went through the thumb drive,” he says, voice calm but weighted. “Thank you, Anissa, for having the presence of mind to grab it. It has everything—the Irish’s plans, every plot. There never was an alliance.”

Yana places a steady hand on his shoulder.

Rafail steps forward, his voice like thunder.

“I want to be clear. No one in this house is to carry guilt.” He jabs a finger toward me. “Anissa, you did what you had to do. He would've pulled that trigger. My men confirmed it—there were bombs, and they were wired to his phone. He was not bluffing.”

Why me? Why start a war over me?

Matvei speaks quietly, bitterly. “Turns out it wasn’t just Cillian. My parents were working with him. They’ve been playing us. Playing me.”

My stomach sinks. I still feel responsible.