Page 75 of Gilded Lies

Sofia stumbles backward, her face draining of color. "No… The voice on the phone, you said you were Calabrian. You said you had evidence Emma was a threat to the family."

"Your voice messages were very helpful, little Rosetti." His smile is winter frost. "So concerned about your brother's safety. So eager to believe a Calabrian family would help you expose a 'fraud.' Did you really think that accent was real? I've been practicing it since I was fifteen. Since the night my brother didn't come home."

"Brother?" Marco's voice cuts through the chaos, understanding beginning to dawn.

The Russian pulls out a photograph, aged and creased. Young Sofia and a young boy, playing in a garden. "Mikhail Volkov. He wrote about you in his journal. 'Sofia taught me a new word today. Sofia shared her lunch.' Childish scribblings of a boy in love." His voice never changes tone, which makes it worse. "Then you told your family about the Russian boy following you around, and Luca Rosetti introduced himself."

Sofia's knees buckle. "No, that never happened." She shakes her head, confused. "I… I was just a child! I thought—"

"So was Mikhail. Barely eighteen years old." The man's eyes never leave her face.

"You're Alexei Volkov," Marco says, pieces falling into place. "Viktor's youngest son."

"The only son now," Alexei confirms. "Eleven years I've waited. Eleven years I've studied your family. Your habits. Your weaknesses. And Sofia…" he steps closer, "Sofia's guilt. So easy to manipulate. A few phone calls, the right accent, some inside information, and she opened the door herself. Again."

"I didn't know it was you!" Sofia screams, real terror now. "I never would have—"

"Never would have what? Betrayed your family? But you're so good at it. First you led us to that safehouse all those years ago. Now you've invited us to dinner."

Frances still has the gun raised, shaking now, confused by how the situation has shifted. "Are we doing this or not?"

Alexei doesn't even look at her. "By all means. Shoot him. That was always your purpose here."

Frances aims the gun directly at my chest, the barrel wavering but deadly. "For what it's worth," she says, "this was only supposed to be about the money."

I see Emma move in my peripheral vision. See her decision in the set of her shoulders. "No—"

The gunshot cracks through chaos.

But I'm still standing.

Emma isn't.

Emma's body hits the floor with a sound that will haunt me forever. Blood spreads across her white dress, pooling on the mahogany floor beneath her. She took the bullet meant for me, threw herself into its path.

Something cracks in my chest, I actually hear it, like a rib giving way. The control I've maintained for twenty-seven years shatters completely. My hands shake for the first time since I was fourteen, since the night our father died.

"No!" The word tears from my throat as I drop beside her, pressing my hands against the wound in her chest. So much blood. Too much blood. Gunpowder mixes with her jasmine perfume, creating something that will haunt me forever.

Frances stands frozen, gun still raised, shock replacing her earlier triumph. That's all the opening I need. My gun is in my hand and firing before conscious thought. Three shots, center mass. Frances Hewson crumples like paper, her expression staying surprised as death takes her.

The room explodes into violence. Marco and Nico move in perfect synchronization, taking down Russians with brutal efficiency. Dante shields Ana while returning fire.

I can't look away from Emma, but in my peripheral vision I see Sofia moving—silk over steel, her blade finding targets with Rosetti precision, her evening gown not hindering the precise way she handles the blade. She takes down two Russians with an efficiency that reminds everyone she's a Rosetti, not just decoration, then she drops beside us, trying to help stop Emma's bleeding.

"I didn't know!" Sofia sobs, pressing her silk scarf against the wound alongside my hands. "I thought I was protecting you! I thought—"

"Shut up and help me!" I snarl.

The Russians begin their retreat as more Rosetti soldiers arrive. But Alexei doesn't run. He walks calmly through the chaos to where we kneel in Emma's blood. Sofia looks up at him, mascara streaming down her face, and he reaches out to touch her cheek with one finger.

She flinches, but he captures a strand of her hair, wrapping it around his finger before pulling away.

"Ten years I've waited," he says softly, just for her. "Your debt comes due soon, Sofia. A life for a life. And I always collect what I'm owed."

"Medical!" Marco shouts. "We need medical now!"

Alexei steps back, signaling his men. "This isn't over. The real show hasn't even begun." His eyes find Sofia one last time. "You have something that belongs to me. I'll come to collect it."