Chapter 18 Daniil
DANIIL
Several days have passed since Naomi’s blood stained the marble floor and chaos erupted in the halls, but the quiet has not brought peace.
I let the house move back into its rhythm.
On the surface, life resumes. Beneath it, I carry the truth like a blade pressed against my ribs, waiting for the moment I finally use it. That moment has come.
I sit in the south colonnade with the folder open on the iron table. Limestone arches hold the garden in view on one side, and a long pane of glass on the other. Lamps diffuse a pale wash across the floor, and the faint scent of jasmine threads through the air even with the greenhouse doors closed.
I call Irina and tell her to meet me here.
She answers on the second ring, polite and brisk, as if I had requested a contract review.
She arrives with her blouse crisp in a muted suit, hair in a tight chignon, and a string of pearls around her neck.
She pauses, takes in the folder, and then looks at me.
Her face is a shield she has worn for years in courtrooms and council rooms.
“You called for me,” she says.
“I did,” I answer. I slide the photograph toward her and keep my gaze steady. “Explain.”
Her eyes fall to the photograph. It shows her at Naomi’s door on a night she had no duty there.
Beneath it lies a lab report on formal letterhead, a hormone profile that doesn’t happen by chance.
The technicians confirmed the birth control pills Naomi was taking contained no active ingredients, only blanks.
My men later uncovered a second pack hidden in a utility cabinet off the east wing.
Irina keeps her expression composed. “If that is me, then the footage has been altered.”
I turn over another sheet and tap the corner. “The service entrance keypad shows your code at an hour you were not assigned to be at the estate. The camera at the secondary stairwell shows you carrying a small bag. Naomi confirmed she saw you coming out of her room and you left her a gift.”
Irina straightens, her mouth curving into the careful smile she uses in court. “I do remember that night,” she murmurs. “Naomi was tired, overwhelmed. I brought her lavender oil and a silk mask to help her rest. That was all. A small kindness, nothing more.”
I slide another paper across the table, the edge rasping against the iron surface. “The lab report confirms the pills were tampered with. And the fingerprints lifted from the foil seal?” I lean forward, my words cutting into her. “They belong to you.”
For a moment, she is still. Then her denial thins. Her posture changes, not to flee, but to argue. “I did what I thought was necessary for the family,” she declares.
“You engineered Naomi’s pregnancy.”
Her gaze holds mine, and at last she nods. “Yes.”
“Why.” I lean back, fingers steepled beneath my chin, my eyes locked on hers as if I can peel the truth straight from her skin.
Irina folds her hands as though she is delivering a verdict. “At first, it was for you. Your mother’s will required a marriage. I wanted to secure your inheritance, your control. Without that, everything you built could have fractured. A child anchored you to power.”
I grind my teeth, forcing the fury back into its cage. “And later?” I demand.
She lets out a deep breath. “Later… I saw Viktor rising, with Lucien feeding him power and allies. I believed you wouldn’t survive him.
I believed his victory was only a matter of time.
Aligning myself with him seemed inevitable.
Giving him an heir, whether by your blood or one he claimed as his own, was how I secured my place in the future I thought belonged to him. ”
“You betrayed me for safety,” I state.
“I made a calculation,” she corrects briskly. “I ensured there would be continuity either way. With you, a child bound your bloodline. With Viktor, the leverage existed to keep him in control. I never meant Naomi harm. She was never meant to get hurt. She was only meant to be secured.”
Her tone softens then, almost pleading. “It was not cruelty, Daniil. It was foresight. I thought I was protecting the Bratva. Protecting myself. Even protecting you, in a way, from the recklessness Naomi brought out in you.”
The storm inside me thrashes, demanding to be unleashed, but I hold it down, burying the fire under ice. My jaw locks so tightly the muscle in my cheek ticks. My fingers flex once on the table before going still again with deliberate restraint. “You thought her softness would destroy me.”
Irina inclines her head. “I thought it would leave you exposed. And exposed men do not survive long in our world. I believed a child would slow you, temper you, and force you to consider every risk. I thought it would keep you alive.”
The words float between us, her attempt at justification twisting into the air like smoke.
I slide another sheet across the table. This one is more damning. “You want me to believe this was foresight, Irina? Then explain this.”
Her eyes drop to the document. It’s a security log, timestamped, and annotated with my own hand. “The night Naomi was shot,” I say evenly, “the gate access code was used twice. Once by Lex. The second time? By you.”
She lifts her chin, though her throat works against the swallow. “I was summoned here late. I told you that.”
“No,” I hiss. “You never told me. And the gate footage shows you standing by while Viktor’s car rolled through. You did not raise the alarm. You did not call Lex. You opened the door.”
Her silence confirms it. I lean forward, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Naomi lay bleeding on my floor because you turned a key.”
Something sharp flickers in her gaze now.
Her composure slips, baring her teeth. “And what did you expect me to do?” Her voice rises, brittle and edged.
“Throw myself in front of Viktor’s car? Shout warnings so your guards could be gunned down?
I chose survival, Daniil. I always will.
You think loyalty wins wars? No. It buries men in shallow graves. ”
“You betrayed me,” I condemn, no mercy in my tone.
“I adapted,” she snaps. “Viktor had Lucien at his back. Half your lieutenants doubted you. And you—” her lip curls into a snarl “—you were already unraveling for that museum girl. Your enemies saw it. I saw it. You were too blind to admit it. You think she makes you strong? She makes you weak. You would burn the Bratva to ash just to keep her breathing. That is not leadership, Daniil. That is suicide.”
The words strike with precision born of cruelty, crafted only to wound.
“You made Naomi a pawn,” I say, coldly.
Irina leans in, venom in her tone now. “She was always a pawn. And the best part? She never even knew it. Sweet little Naomi, thinking she was chosen for love, when in truth she was chosen for utility. For legacy and leverage. If you had any sense, you would thank me. I gave you an heir. I gave you the illusion of stability. Without me, Viktor would have ended you months ago.”
Her mask is completely gone now. What remains is raw contempt. She no longer tries to convince me. She spits her truth as if daring me to act.
I burn inside, blinded by fury. But what I show is colder than death itself.
“You are finished,” I tell her.
Her lips part, as though she will try once more to twist the narrative, but I stand before she can find the words. “Daniil…please…”
“Mercy is for men who fear tomorrow. I do not.”
My hand moves without hurry, and the gun appears as if it has always been part of my palm. “You didn’t slow me or weaken me. You gave me something worth killing for.”
Fear touches her eyes for the first time.
It’s not large or dramatic, just a ripple.
She opens her mouth as if to say something.
The suppressor turns the shot into a soft cough.
Her heels slide on the tile, and she folds without elegance, the pearls slipping forward to rest against her collarbone.
Her last breath leaves her as a small sigh.
I hold her gaze for five slow counts, then I tilt my chin toward the greenhouse door.
Roman and Maksim enter without a sound. They take her by the arms, lifting her with steady hands, their faces blank.
The gun slides back into my jacket as I turn away.
My steps are deliberate, my back unbending, but beneath the calm, the betrayal grinds like glass in my chest.
The route to my office takes me past the landing where Sasha once stood with a paint brush in her hand and laughter on her tongue.
It takes me past the closed door where Naomi first rested her forehead and told me she needed to know what lived behind it.
It takes me past the long window where I have watched convoys return empty and full.
The house watches me pass and understands what has been cut out of its body.
In the office, Lex waits just inside the door. He reads my face in a single glance. He shuts the door and stands by the chair across from my desk with his hands folded.
“It is done?” he questions.
“It is,” I reply, sinking into the chair and feeling the exact moment my body lets go. Lex reaches into his jacket and sets a small velvet box on the desk.
“You still want this?” he asks.
“I do,” I tell him.
He nods once. “Then bring her home. I will keep the house quiet.”
“Thank you.”
He inclines his head. “Dr. Levin signed off on discharge. Charlotte packed a bag for the ride. I doubled security on the perimeter.”
“Good,” I say. I touch the velvet lid with my thumb and then pocket the box. “Bring the car.”