Page 44 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter thirty-two

Let's Bring Down An Empire

Echo

T he vault floor at Catalyst is silent, the kind of silence that doesn’t just press on your ears, it gets under your skin. This place was built for war. For secrets. For blood. And now it’s the stage for the most dangerous conversation I’ve ever had.

Roman’s coming. I know that by the way my chest feels tighter with every tick of the clock. The missed calls, the barrage of messages, it’s not just anger. It’s fear. Not of what I’ve done, but why.

I stand alone in the center of the room, the lights above casting a cold, sterile glow over the concrete walls. I made sure the cameras were off, the weapons locked up, the exits secured. Roman may be furious, but he’s not stupid. He’ll want answers, and I’m done hiding them.

Minutes later, the door bursts open with the force of his fury behind it. He doesn’t hesitate, his gun is drawn before the sound of his boots even registers on the floor. Roman moves like a man who’s already decided how this ends.

“Don’t fucking move.”

His voice echoes, sharp enough to slice through bone. He crosses the space in three long strides, eyes locked on me like I’m a traitor he never thought he’d have to kill.

I stay still, arms at my sides. I don’t flinch. Not because I’m unafraid, but because I need him to see this isn’t cowardice, it’s strategy.

“You go silent for thirty-six hours,” he growls, rage simmering beneath every word. “Then I hear you’ve been at the Romanov estate? Sleeping in their fucking home? You think I wouldn’t hear about that?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I say, my voice level, steady despite the storm radiating off him.

Roman’s lip curls into something that’s not quite a snarl but close. “Then what the fuck do you call this, Echo? Silence? Disappearing? You think I’m just going to stand here and pretend like you haven’t crossed a line?”

I raise one hand, not in surrender, just to slow him, to give him one reason not to pull that trigger.

“There’s someone you need to see,” I tell him. “But if you’re going to make a decision right now, at least see her first.”

That stops him.

His brow furrows, gun still up, but his stance shifts slightly. “Her?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I glance toward the door on the far end of the vault. My steps are slow, deliberate, as I knock once and step back.

The door opens.

Katya steps through.

She doesn’t hide behind me. Doesn’t cast her eyes down or act like she doesn’t belong.

She walks into that room like it’s hers, like she’s earned the right to be there just as much as Roman or I.

Hair down, shoulders square, lips set in a line that doesn’t waver.

The soft silk blouse she’s wearing is a far cry from battle gear, but there’s something just as lethal in her posture.

Roman stares at her like he’s looking at a ghost. Like something impossible has been dragged into the light.

She doesn’t say a word.

She doesn’t have to.

It’s all written on our bodies, the subtle way she moves toward me, the tension in my shoulders when she’s not at my side, the fact that I let her in here at all.

Roman’s mouth opens, then closes again, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle with blood-stained hands.

“You’re fucking her,” he finally says, not a question but a grim conclusion.

My jaw tightens. “It’s not like that.”

But it is. And we both know it. It’s exactly like that. And more.

He lowers the gun slightly, not out of trust but because it’s pointless to keep pretending this is about one betrayal. This is about all of them. Every rule I’ve broken. Every line I’ve blurred.

Roman lets out a bitter laugh, one that holds no humor. “You’ve completely lost your mind. All this time, you’ve been the one lecturing me about restraint. About choosing the mission over the mess. And now you’re wrapped around her like a leash you want to wear?”

Katya steps forward then, breaking the invisible line between them. Her voice is low but steady. “If I wanted Roman Briar dead, he’d already be in the ground.”

That makes Roman stop.

Not because he believes her, but because he’s finally listening.

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” she says, lifting her chin. “I came here to help you aim.”

His eyes narrow. “So that’s it? You’re Catalyst now?”

“No,” she replies. “I’m not yours. I’m not my father’s. I’m not Echo’s. I’m me. And I know what’s coming.”

Roman’s gaze flicks back to me, this time slower, less anger, more calculation.

“What did Dimitri offer you?”

I step forward, voice grave. “Access. Power. Legacy. If I help them take you out, I become the right hand of the next regime.”

“And instead, you brought me here,” he mutters. “You could’ve sold me out.”

“I still could,” I remind him. “But I didn’t.”

He exhales, eyes dark. “Then say it. Why am I here?”

I glance at Katya.

“To choose whether we fight this together, or die on opposite sides of it.”

The room stills.

Roman watches me like he’s trying to decide if I’m a threat he can reason with, or one he needs to put down. I can see the calculation behind his eyes, the way he’s turning every piece of this over, trying to find the angle where it doesn’t end in betrayal.

But then Katya speaks.

Her voice cuts through the air, clear and unflinching.

“I love him.”

Everything freezes.

Even Roman goes still.

I turn to look at her, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. She’s staring at Roman, like she’s making the confession to the man who’ll judge her for it, not the one she’s giving it to. Her hands tremble slightly, but she doesn’t hide them. Doesn’t try to pull the words back.

“I love Echo,” she says again, softer this time. “I shouldn’t. God knows I shouldn’t. Everything about this… it’s wrong. It’s violent. It’s broken. But I do.”

She finally turns to me then, and the look in her eyes, fuck, it wrecks me. Because it’s not lust or loyalty or the carefully measured manipulation she was raised on. It’s raw.

“We don’t get to pick the families we’re born into,” she says, voice tight, “but I can choose the one I have moving forward.”

My chest goes still, like something in me forgot how to breathe.

She turns back to Roman, stepping into the center of the space like it’s a courtroom and she’s laying down judgment.

“Those children in the cellar? They’re not leverage. They’re not supply. They’re innocent. And if we don’t do something, they die. My father wins. Catalyst becomes his machine, and every ounce of blood he spills will be because we let him.”

A beat passes. Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t stop.

“He needs to pay.”

The silence that follows feels endless.

Roman doesn’t speak.

He just watches her with a look I’ve never seen on his face. It’s not pity. Not anger. It’s something heavier, like he’s seeing her for the first time, not as a Romanov, not as a pawn, but as a weapon she sharpened herself.

Then, slowly, he lowers the gun completely.

“You love him,” he repeats, almost like he’s trying to taste the truth of it.

She nods.

And for the first time since he walked through the door, Roman’s eyes flick to me, not with rage, but something closer to reluctant understanding.

“You better not fuck this up, Kane,” he mutters.

I don’t say anything.

I just take her hand.

Tightly.

Like I never intend to let go.

Roman stares at our joined hands for a long moment. Not with disgust. Not even with disappointment.

With recognition.

That’s what it is, recognition. Like he’s looking at something he’s already lived through. A decision he once made. A line he once crossed.

His jaw ticks, and then he sighs, a slow, tired exhale that seems to deflate some of the anger still bracing his spine.

“I’m no stranger to loving someone I shouldn’t,” he says quietly, not looking at either of us. “It doesn’t go away, you know. That guilt. That weight. Doesn’t matter how right it feels in the dark… when the lights come back on, you still have to face the wreckage.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression then, something old and bruised. His gaze drifts toward the floor like he’s seeing ghosts.

“You spend years convincing yourself you’re doing it for the right reasons,” he mutters. “To protect her. To use her. To save her. Doesn’t matter. In the end, it always feels the same when the world turns on you.”

He finally looks up, locking eyes with Katya. “So if you’re going to choose him, you better be ready to bleed for it. Because there’s no going back after this. Not for you. Not for him.”

Katya doesn’t blink. “I know.”

Roman nods once, like that’s the only answer he’ll accept. Then he turns to me, all softness gone.

“Alright, Kane. What’s the plan?”

It’s a challenge.

A test.

The past few minutes might’ve cracked something open between us, but that doesn’t mean the war is over. Trust, if it’s going to exist between us again, needs to be earned. Brick by bloody brick.

I tighten my grip on Katya’s hand, then release it, stepping forward toward the projection table in the center of the vault.

“We take over from the inside,” I say, tapping the screen to reveal the underground schematics of the estate.

“We isolate the loyalty cells, strip Dimitri of his leverage, and expose the blood supply line. If we make the children disappear, we collapse his hold on the donors. His empire bleeds dry from the root.”

Roman steps beside me, eyes scanning the blueprint.

“And Dimitri?”

“He dies screaming,” I answer. “But not before we rip everything he’s built down around him.”

Katya moves to my other side, her voice quiet but razor-sharp. “He’ll never see it coming. He thinks we’re loyal. He thinks I’m still his little girl.”

Roman glances at her again. “Then I hope you’re ready to break his heart.”

She doesn’t look away. “I’m ready to crush it.”