Chapter 30
Izzy
Morning light filters through the curtains, painting silver across Sergei's bare chest. We're still tangled together, his arm heavy across my waist, the scent of sex and cedar clinging to the sheets.
I should get up. Shower. Check on Mila. But I can't bring myself to move, can't break this moment of quiet before the storm we both know is coming.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip. "You're thinking too loud."
"Sorry. Occupational hazard." I shift to face him, finding those grey eyes already watching me. "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough to watch you pretend to sleep while your brain ran through every possible disaster scenario."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." His hand slides up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Tell me."
"It's nothing. Just..." I search for words that won't sound pathetic. "Mila. When she finds out what I did to protect her. What I became. Will she still—"
"She already knows." His voice softens. "Not the details. But she knows you killed men who came for her. She knows you fight for this family. And she told Andrei last week that you're her real mother now. That Elena was just DNA."
The words hit like a punch to the chest. I can't breathe past the sudden pressure behind my ribs.
"She said that?"
"Exact words. 'Izzy's my real mom. She protects me like Papa does. Mama never did that.'" His eyes search mine. "She chose you, Isabelle. The way you chose her."
"I didn't choose her." The words slip out before I can stop them. "I mean—I did, but not consciously. She just... became mine. Somewhere between burnt cookies and hospital beds and teaching her that families are built, not born."
"That's how it works." He pulls me closer, forehead resting against mine. "You don't choose to love someone. You just wake up one day and realize you'd burn the world to keep them safe."
The confession sits between us, heavy and undeniable. He's not just talking about Mila anymore.
"Sergei—"
"The blackmail." He says it quietly, like he's been waiting for the right moment. "The custody case. You never told me how you did it."
My pulse kicks up. "I mentioned it last night."
"You mentioned it existed. Not how you pulled it off." His eyes hold mine, not angry—curious. Maybe proud. "Tell me."
I could deflect. Change the subject. But we're past that now, past the careful boundaries we've been pretending exist.
"Judge Leroy was going to rule in Elena's favor. Next week. Wesley confirmed it through his courthouse contact." I watch his expression carefully. "She would've taken Mila from you. Limited your visitation. Made it so you barely saw your daughter."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't interrupt.
"I found leverage. The judge's son—Princeton, full scholarship.
Academic integrity violation two years ago, plagiarism that should've gotten him expelled.
Someone paid to make it go away, and I found out who.
" My voice steadies as I continue. "Tallulah visited Judge Leroy.
Private meeting. Gave her a choice—recuse herself from your case, or the bribe goes public. "
Silence stretches between us. His expression is unreadable—that Wolf mask he wears when he's calculating, assessing.
"You blackmailed a family court judge."
"I protected your daughter." My chin lifts. "Elena was going to take Mila from you. Use her as leverage. Make you suffer because she could. I wasn't going to let that happen."
"When did you do this?"
"Last week. Tuesday. Before Elena died." I force myself to hold his gaze. "Before any of this fell apart."
Something shifts in his expression. Not the anger I expected. Not disappointment.
Pride.
"You blackmailed a judge," he repeats slowly, "while I was investigating your uncle. While we were still pretending this marriage was fake. While you were still playing the polished heiress who doesn't get her hands dirty."
"I wasn't playing—"
"Yes, you were." His hand slides into my hair, grip firm but not painful. "You were pretending this whole time. Pretending you weren't as ruthless as the rest of your family. Pretending you needed protection instead of being the most dangerous person in the room."
"Sergei—"
"You're terrifying." The word comes out rough. Reverent. "You know that? Absolutely fucking terrifying."
"Is that... good?"
"It's everything." He kisses me then—slow and deep and claiming. Not the desperate collision of last night. This is different. Recognition. Two predators finally seeing each other clearly.
When he pulls back, I'm breathless.
"The bail was easy," I whisper. "Just money. But the custody case? That was personal. That was me deciding your family was worth breaking laws for."
"When did it happen?" His voice drops lower. "When did we stop being fake?"
"I don't know." My hands slide into his hair. "Maybe when you taught me to shoot. Maybe when you looked at me like I was worth protecting, instead of just a job. Maybe the first time you called me kotyonok."
"Little kitten." His smile is small, dangerous. "Except you're not. You're a wolf in kitten's clothing."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's the truth." He rolls us so I'm pinned beneath him, his weight delicious and grounding.
"You blackmailed a judge to keep my daughter.
You killed two men to protect her. You posted two million dollars without blinking to get me home.
" His eyes burn into mine. "When did you stop fighting for your inheritance and start fighting for us? "
The question lands like a blade between my ribs.
"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe the same moment I stopped calling this fake. When Mila called me Mom the first time, and I didn't correct her. When I realized I'd rather die than let Matthew hurt either of you."
"Isabelle—"
"Don't." I press my fingers to his lips. "Don't say something that makes this more complicated than it already is. Not when Wesley's coming in—" I glance at the clock, "—two hours with intel on Matthew's next move."
"Then we have two hours." His teeth graze my fingers. "Any ideas how to spend them?"
"We probably shouldn't—"
"Probably not." He's already kissing down my throat. "But I've never been good at 'probably.'"
"Sergei—"
"Tell me to stop, and I will." His mouth hovers over my collarbone. "But if you say my name like that again, I'm going to take it as encouragement."
I should stop him. Should focus on the war we're fighting, the evidence we're gathering, the uncle we're about to destroy.
Instead, I pull him down and let the rest of the world disappear.
Later—after round two leaves us both spent—I lie with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For what you did. The bail. The judge. All of it."
"I'd do it again." I trace the scar bisecting his ribs. "I'd do worse."
"I know." His hand slides into my hair. "That's what scares me. Not that you can't protect yourself. That you're willing to destroy everything to protect us."
"Us." I lift my head, meeting his eyes. "You keep saying that."
"Yeah." His smile is small. Real. "Us. You, me, Mila. Whatever this is."
"Family," I whisper. "This is family."
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or fear, or hope. Then it's gone, hidden behind the Wolf's mask.
But I saw it.
And that's enough.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Wesley.
Arriving in 30. Have updates on Matthew. You're going to want to hear this.
"Wesley's early," I murmur, sliding out of bed and reaching for clothes. "Something must've happened."
"Something always happens." Sergei's already up, pulling on jeans, the domesticity of it almost absurd after everything we've been through. "That's why we plan for every contingency."
"Do we have a contingency for my mother showing up unannounced? Because I have a feeling that's coming."
"If she shows up, I handle it."
"If she shows up, we handle it." I turn to face him, catching his hand. "Equal partners, remember? In violence and everything else."
His expression softens. "Equal partners."
"Good." I press a quick kiss to his mouth. "Now let's go find out what fresh hell Matthew's planning."