Chapter 30 - Alexei
Twelve guns aimed at my chest. The cold concrete bites into my bare feet, sharp gravel digging into skin that’s never known this kind of vulnerability.
Chicago afternoon sun burns my shoulders, and I keep my hands raised, palms open, showing everyone I have nothing.
Just flesh and bone and the truth that’s been eating me alive since I found it.
The guards keep shouting. "On your knees!" "Don't fucking move!" Their voices overlap, creating chaos, but I tune them out. None of them matter. Only her.
Sofia stands frozen on the steps, and Christ, she looks destroyed. Hollow eyes, tangled hair, the same clothes from when she walked away from me on that dark street. But she came outside. She's HERE, and that's all that matters.
"I have something to tell you," I call out, keeping my voice steady despite the guns tracking my every breath. "Something about your father's death that changes everything."
Nico appears behind her, hand settling on her shoulder.
Protective. Assessing. His hazel eyes take in everything: my lack of weapons, my exposed state, the insanity of walking into enemy territory in nothing but boxers.
A breeze cuts across the driveway, and I feel every inch of exposed skin prickle.
Sweat rolls down my spine despite the cold, pooling at the waistband of boxers that suddenly feel like the only barrier between me and complete humiliation.
Dante materializes in the doorway, silent as always, those dark eyes seeing too much. Understanding too much. Then Luca pushes through, and his pale eyes are bright with violence.
"Shoot him," Luca says, voice casual as discussing weather. "Or I can carve him like I carved his brother."
"WAIT." Sofia's voice cracks but carries command. The guards hesitate, looking between her and Luca, confused about the chain of command.
She walks down the steps toward me. Each step deliberate, careful, like she's approaching something that might shatter. Or explode. The afternoon light catches her hair, turns it gold, and my chest tightens at how beautiful she is even wrecked.
She stops ten feet away, and my body responds like it always does: instant, violent need that makes me want to drop to my knees for different reasons.
Even now, surrounded by guns, I notice how the afternoon light makes her skin glow, how her breath catches when she looks at my exposed chest. Close enough to see the goosebumps on my skin, the vulnerability of standing nearly naked before men who want me dead.
Her eyes scan my body, noting every exposed inch, and something flickers in her expression.
Not desire. We're past that. Recognition maybe. Of what this gesture means.
"Why are you here?" she asks.
"Because you need to hear the truth. And your family needs to hear it too."
Her lips twitch, just slightly. "You couldn't have put on pants?"
Despite everything—the guns, the shouting, the weight of what I'm about to reveal—I almost smile. "I needed you to know I wasn't here to fight."
Alessandro steps forward from behind Dante, and I notice the careful way he moves, the protective stance. His wife Emma must still be recovering from the shooting. Of course she wouldn't be here for this confrontation. Not when she nearly died because of the violence between our families.
"This is insane," Alessandro says, but there's something in his voice. Not quite support, but not condemnation either.
A car screeches up the drive, tires spraying gravel. Black sedan, moving too fast, braking hard. The door flies open before it fully stops.
Marco.
He storms out, takes in the scene: me surrounded by his men, Sofia standing too close, his brothers arrayed like they're watching theater. His face goes white, then red, then something darker. He must have gotten word about what's happening and rushed here.
"What the FUCK is he doing here?"
He pushes past the guards, gets in my face. Close enough that I smell his cologne, see the murder in his dark eyes. Close enough that he could grab a guard's gun and end this before I speak a word.
"You have ten seconds to explain why I shouldn't let my men turn you into Swiss cheese."
"Because I have information about your father's death. The truth. Not the version we've all believed for eleven years."
His jaw tightens, muscle jumping. "My sister already told me the truth."
"She told you what she believed was true." I keep my voice level, fighting the urge to step back from his rage. "She was wrong. We were all wrong."
"You kidnapped her. Tortured her. God knows what else."
"Yes."
The admission hangs between us. No excuses. No justification. Just truth.
"And now you show up half-naked expecting what? Forgiveness?"
"I'm not here for forgiveness. I'm here because Sofia has been carrying guilt that was never hers. And I can prove it."
"I'm listening. That's more than you deserve."
Marco looks at Sofia, something shifting in his expression when he sees how she's watching us. Not moving to stop him. Not defending me. Just waiting. Then his attention snaps back to me.
"You have five minutes. Inside. One wrong move and you're dead."
"Naturally."
He turns to his men. "If he tries anything, shoot his kneecaps first. I want him alive long enough to scream."
Guards flank me as we move inside. Their guns never waver, and I feel crosshairs on my spine with each step. The marble floor is cold under my feet, shocking after the hot concrete. Everything about the Rosetti compound screams old money and power, so different from my functional fortress.
But I don't care about any of it. I only care about the woman walking beside her brothers, not looking at me but not leaving either. Five minutes to change eleven years of wrong belief.
Five minutes to set her free.
The family room feels like a courtroom. Me in the center, surrounded by men who'd celebrate my death.
Someone throws me a blanket. Nico, surprisingly.
I wrap it around my waist. Not much dignity, but some.
The papers are damp with sweat but still tucked against my hip where I'd folded them carefully, knowing I'd get one chance at this.
Sofia huddles in the corner, watching everything with those vacant eyes. Marco takes his seat at the head of the table, finally filling the empty chair that spoke volumes about their fracture. The Don holding court over what might be my execution.
"Talk."
I pull the folded papers from my waistband. They're damp with sweat but legible. My hands stay steady as I unfold them, though my heart pounds hard enough to crack ribs.
"My father knew about Mikhail and Sofia. From the beginning."
I pass the first documents to Marco. Surveillance reports, each one dated, stamped with my father's seal.
The brothers crowd around Marco's chair, reading over his shoulder. I see Dante's expression change first, understanding dawning. Then Alessandro. Nico's jaw tightens. Luca just looks confused, then angry.
"Why?" Marco's voice is deadly quiet.
I hand him the memo. The one that made me destroy my father's study.
Marco reads aloud, his voice getting rougher with each word: "M has become compromised.
Emotional attachment to Rosetti girl presents operational liability.
Options: (1) Eliminate the girl. (2) Redirect M's loyalty through traditional methods.
(3) Allow situation to resolve naturally.
Recommendation: Option 3. M will likely attend meeting to warn the Rosettis.
Acceptable collateral for larger operational success. "
Marco's hands tighten on the paper until it crumples at the edges. "Acceptable collateral." The words come out like he's choking on broken glass. Behind him, Luca's gone completely still. Never a good sign.
The room goes silent. Even Luca stops moving.
I pull out the security logs. Point to the highlighted entry. "He ordered the perimeter team to stand down. Made sure no one would prevent Mikhail from walking into that slaughter."
I pull out the final document. Viktor's letter to me, the one that broke something fundamental in my understanding of the world.
I read it myself, each word tasting like poison: "Mikhail's death made you pakhan. It hardened you into the weapon our family needed. Every great leader is forged in loss. Consider his sacrifice my final gift to you. You're welcome. V"
Sofia makes a sound. Small, wounded, like something breaking inside her chest.
"Your father wrote 'you're welcome' about his son's death?" Dante signs, Nico translating with disbelief in his voice.
The silence stretches until Luca breaks it, voice sharp with leftover rage. "This doesn't change what she did. She still stayed silent. Our father still died."
"Your father died because Viktor Volkov wanted him dead," I counter. "If Sofia had warned you, Viktor would have simply changed the plan. Found another way. The massacre was happening regardless."
"You don't know that."
"I know my father. He had contingencies for contingencies. Sofia's silence didn't kill anyone. Viktor did."
Alessandro speaks quietly, almost to himself. "Oh, Sofia."
"Alex," Luca starts, but Alex cuts him off with a wave of his hand.
Nico moves to Sofia, takes her hand. She's crying silently, tears streaming down her face.
"You heard him," Nico says gently. "It wasn't your fault."
"I still kept the promise. I still…"
"You were a child. He was a monster. That's the truth."
Marco stands, walks toward me with that restrained violence that makes him so dangerous. We're eye to eye now, Don to pakhan, two men who inherited bloody crowns neither of us wanted.
"I don't forgive you," he says clearly. "For what you did to my sister. For what your family has cost mine."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness."
"Then what ARE you asking for?"