Chapter 45 OKSANA
Glasses clink, my eyes move to the wall, and for some reason, I see a different wall.
In my mind, I see Cat moving forward, picking something off the wall, and handing it to me.
Camilla found it going through her grandma’s things.
At the time, I was too occupied to think about Camilla, but now, it hits me all at once.
Something cold slides down my spine. A realization.
A threat. A name written in blood across the future.
Her grandma's stuff… her grandma, as in Margarita Giordano, as in Margarita Viktorovna Voronina.
Camilla Giordano is a Voronin.
How the hell have we overlooked that so far?
Even if she wasn't raised or trained like one. Even if she isn't aware of it, blood is blood.
And Voronin blood is never neutral. I close my laptop and touch Stephano’s wrist. "Outside. Now."
He doesn’t question; he knows my tone. He follows me out of the glass doors and into the private terrace of Zanello Tower. The wind is snapping at my hair and fighting the flame of my lighter. Manhattan is stretching out beneath us like a glittering battlefield.
I don’t waste time with diplomacy. I take a first inhale of the acid smoke and fill Stephano in.
"Camilla is a Voronin; she's Donna Margarita's granddaughter. If Grigori finds and eliminates Alexei… the surviving Cells, the Venezuelans, any of Viktor’s old loyalists, they will gather around her. Willing or not. She will be the heir."
Stephano freezes as my words sink in. He goes completely still. "Holy shit."
"Yes," I whisper. "Holy shit."
"We need to talk to the others," he says immediately.
I shake my head. "No. This is a threat against my brother."
Stephano turns, brows narrowing. "Oksana… you’re La Famiglia now."
"And Grigori is still my brother," I fire back. "By blood. By oath. By everything that made me."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration thick in every movement.
My voice drops. "There is only one way. Camilla must be eliminated."
His head snaps toward me, eyes blazing. "Fuck no."
"She’s a threat."
"She’s innocent," he snarls. "She doesn’t even know what she is."
I shrug. "Threats don’t need to understand themselves to be dangerous."
He swears under his breath. "We don’t kill women. Italians don’t kill women." He gives me a sideward glance, thinking himself clever, "Neither does Grigori if I recall correctly."
"This wouldn't be any of Grigori's business," I state, before arching an eyebrow. Two can play the game of challenge, buster. "What about Donna Margarita?"
He grimaces. "She… was an exception."
"Oh, now you grow scruples?" I mutter. "Perfect timing, Marito."
His jaw works. "We’re not keeping this from the others."
I sigh. "Fine. But remember, this isn’t just a political issue. This is family."
He softens just enough to kiss my forehead. "And you’re mine."
"And I’m also an Arsenyev," I remind him.
He curses again.
Beautiful.
The men look up as we re-enter the conference room. No one is relaxed, not really. They're too attuned to danger not to read it on our expressions.
Stephano nods to Raf. "There’s something we need to discuss."
The room tightens. Chairs scrape. Attention shifts.
"Camilla," I drop her name into the room, but nobody makes the connection, not yet, so I spell it out, "is a Voronin."
Silence.
Then—
Enrico leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "Well. Shit."
Marcello whistles. "That’s… inconvenient."
Toni shakes his head. "She’s a threat to Grigori. Which makes her a threat to us."
Raf doesn’t speak, but his eyes harden. He’s already calculating outcomes, probabilities, bodies. Enrico folds his arms; his dangerous mind is already figuring out all angles. "If Alexei challenges Grigori and dies, the old Russian Cells will come for her. Try to make her a figurehead. A symbol."
"A puppet," Marcello mutters.
"Or a corpse," Toni adds.
Stephano shakes his head. "We’re not killing her."
Enrico points at him. "We can’t leave a threat like her running around."
Marcello nods. "This is bigger than her. This is geopolitics."
Behind his calm exterior, Stephano is fraying. I can see it. He knows I’m right about the threat. He knows they’re right about the danger. And he knows his moral code is about to be tested in ways he’s never imagined.
Fine.
Time to offer the only viable alternative. For him. I smile, slow, sharp, wicked. "Well then, there is one other way."
Stephano turns to me instantly. "Oksana… what are you plotting?"
He knows that smile too well.
I address the table. "You want to neutralize Camilla as a weapon? You want to protect Grigori’s throne? You want to keep the Russian alliances intact?"
They nod, one by one.
"Then you need to make her less valuable as a political pawn."
"How?" Marcello asks.
I grin. "Marry her off."
Enrico chokes. Toni stares. Raf raises a single brow, like I’ve suggested we burn down the UN.
"Not to one of you idiots," I clarify. "To my family."
Stephano’s eyes widen. "Oksana—"
"My uncle," I finish. Mikhail Arsenyev. My father's younger brother. Hard. Respected. Unmarried. Loyal. It clicks instantly.
Marcello speaks first. "Not a bad idea."
Toni laughs. "That’s actually… brilliant."
Enrico nods slowly. "It puts her under Russian protection. Removes her from Venezuelan reach. Strengthens our alliance. And ensures she can’t be used against Grigori."
Raf sighs. "And I suppose it prevents us from having to kill the girl. Which I wasn’t looking forward to. Especially since she's my… niece now."
For a moment, I stare at Raf speechless. As Margarita's son, he too has Voronin blood running through his veins. How had that not occurred to me? He grins at me, like he's been waiting to drop that particular bomb on me for centuries, not minutes. Shit. The others stare at Raf as surprised as me.
"Raf." I'm not sure what else to add to the sentence here. He just announced himself as mine and Grigori's enemy.
He laughs, "Relax, I have no ambitions toward the Russian throne."
He might say that now, but he never had ambitions toward the Italian throne either, and here we are. Him being the Don of La Famiglia.
"Also, if my niece marries your uncle, that makes us all a happy family, right?"
"Right," I admit, not convinced. But what choice do I have other than to trust him right now? Time will tell.
"What about Margarita's other daughters?" Marcello interjects as, slowly, one by one, more of the suddenly very complicated family ties unravel.
"They're all married, but we need to keep tight security on them," Toni suggests.
"All but Camilla and the newly widowed Isabella," Enrico points out.
Stephano rubs a hand over his face. "What a fucking mess. And your uncle? He’ll never agree."
"He will," I say simply.
"Grigori?" he pushes.
"That," I admit, "will be harder."
Understatement of the century. Because Grigori will explode. He’ll threaten bloodshed. He’ll pace. He’ll curse.
In the end, he’ll accept.
Because as much as he hates the Voronin, he'll understand how important this will be to ensuring peace between our families.
Stephano steps closer, lowering his voice for only me. "Oksana… are you sure?"
I look him dead in the eyes. "This protects your family and mine. And it keeps Camilla alive."
"Alright, somebody needs to talk to Camilla."