Page 98 of Under His Control

I’m about to answer when footsteps echo from the hallway.

Chris walks in and my heart drops.

He looks... fine.

No bruises. No cuts. Not even a torn shirt. He’s dressed like he always is—hoodie, jeans, sneakers.

“Chris?” I step forward, blinking like I’m hallucinating. “You’re okay?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, only shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Anatoly stiffens beside me.

“What the hell is this?” Anatoly asks, voice sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

Damas smiles wider, pleased with himself in a way that makes my stomach twist. “Turns out your brother-in-law had some interesting things to share. About yourheir.”

I freeze. The blood drains from my face.

Anatoly goes cold. “What did you just say?”

Damas strolls into the center of the room, hands relaxed, expression smug. “Don’t worry. It’s all good news—for me. See, Chris was very helpful. Remember when you dropped a little something on the casino floor, Taylor?”

My breath catches.

The sonogram. He saw it. He’d been lying this whole damn time.

“Once I realized it was real,” Damas continues, “everything changed. I know the clause, Anatoly. I know exactly what it means for your little empire. And now I know you’ve got your heir.”

“You’ve already received your share,” Anatoly says darkly. “The properties. The payout. You said you didn’t want the hotel.”

“I didn’t—at first,” Damas says with a shrug. “I didn’t think I had a shot. But people change. Circumstances change.”

He glances at me again—something cold and malevolent behind his smile—a razor edge underneath velvet. “And now that I know theHospitiumwon’t be coming to me, unless, of course, something unfortunate happens before the baby is born...”

Anatoly steps forward, placing himself squarely between us. His voice is steady, lethal. “You’re not taking it.”

Damas lets out a low chuckle. “You think this is just about the hotel? You still don’t get it, do you? I’m sick of being the invisiblebrother, the one with the jokes and the charm and none of the damn power. You got the Bratva. The name. The empire. I got table scraps and a lifetime of playing nice while everyone called me your shadow.”

His smile twists into something even more wicked. “You think you earned it, Anatoly? You didn’t. You were handed everything because you were born first. I’ve always been treated like I never had any say in the matter.”

Anatoly's expression doesn't budge. “You had your chance. Our father offered you a role. You pissed it away on vodka, private jets, and women whose name you didn’t remember the next morning. You gambled your birthright and then got bitter when the house took your chips.”

“Shut up,” Damas snaps, the smile gone, something uglier rising to the surface. “You don’t get to lecture me. You think you’re better? You think just because you’re calm and quiet and look good in a suit, you deserve the world?”

“I earned it,” Anatoly says simply. “Every inch. Every dollar. While you were busy making headlines at clubs, I was negotiating contracts that kept theHospitiumstanding.”

Damas’s jaw clenches. “Shut. Up.”

He pulls a gun from behind his back, and the room tilts sideways.

Anatoly reacts instantly, shielding me without hesitation, like his body was made for it. I grab the back of his jacket, fingers digging in, heart jackhammering against my ribs.

Damas raises the gun, slow and deliberate.

“You’re willing to kill your brother so you can take control of the hotel?” I ask, my voice shaking.

He looks at me—dead calm, his eyes like black glass.