“There’s no one else.”
The silence stretches between us. “Are you going to tell him?” she asks softly.
The question hits harder than I thought it would. I open my mouth. Then close it.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “What would that change? He already controls everything—my work, my safety, my choices. If he finds out, he’ll see me as leverage. Or weakness.”
“Or someone to protect,” she says.
I shake my head. “And what happens when protecting me becomes controlling me? When protecting this baby means pulling me into his world so deep I can’t breathe?”
She doesn’t answer.
I know the risks better than anyone. I’ve spent months chasing this story, wading through threats, gunfire, and secrets buried in marble mansions and blood-stained alleyways. His world is not one a child should ever enter.
“I’m not telling him,” I say at last. “Not yet.”
Amelia nods, though her face betrays her thoughts. “I get it,” she says. “But secrets like this don’t stay secrets forever.”
She grabs a blanket and tosses it over both our legs, just like we used to when we were kids, pretending we were safe from the world. I release a deep sigh.
“Okay,” she whispers. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
22
RENAT
The news slams into me, and for a full second, I can't breathe. Elena's voice trembles on the other end of the line, but the fire in her words is unmistakable. She's uncovered something big. Something that cuts far too close to home.
Bianca.
The name alone is enough to make my jaw clench. I stare at the skyline from my penthouse window, the sun bleeding red into the horizon as if foreshadowing the betrayal she's just laid bare. The Miami heat radiates through the glass, but my blood runs cold as Elena's words echo in my mind. Bianca is laundering money for Francesco Bennato through her interior design firm. Her signature is on accounts tied to his shell corporations, and her showroom is flagged in the records Elena just emailed me.
I grip the phone tighter, the pressure biting into my skin. The implications crash over me like waves against concrete. The woman I once held in my arms while she traced patterns on my chest and murmured about forever has been feeding information to my enemy. He has been laundering his dirty money through the business I helped her establish.
“How long?” I seethe.
“At least six months, possibly longer.” Elena's tone remains steady, but I can hear the underlying tension. She knows what this means to me.
Six months. Six months of Bianca smiling at me across crowded rooms, pretending to want me back while quietly tearing down everything I’ve built. The betrayal sears through my chest like acid.
I don't ask for confirmation. I don't demand to see the proof. I don't have to. Because I know Elena wouldn't bring this to me unless she was certain. And I trust her. God help me. I trust her more than anyone else in my world.
“Send me everything,” I instruct, my voice controlled despite the rage burning through me. “Every document, every transaction, every connection you've found.”
“Already done. Check your email.”
The line goes quiet for a moment, and I can almost see Elena on the other end, sitting in the leather chair in the study, her legs pulled under her, surrounded by documents and evidence that will reshape my understanding of the past year.
“Renat?” Her voice is softer now.
“Da.”
“I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy.”
The ache in her voice almost undoes me. There’s no pity in it, just quiet understanding. Elena knows what betrayal tastes like. She’s lived it. Survived it. And now she’s here, offering comfort to the man who built walls no one else dared to touch.
“It's necessary,” I reply, though the words feel hollow.
