Chapter 24 #2
But for the first time since this engagement began, I know exactly where I stand.
Not with my family, who’ve proven that their love comes with conditions and their protection comes with lies.
And not against them, because despite everything, they’re still my blood.
Somewhere in between. Somewhere new. Somewhere that might actually be mine to choose.
Even if that choice destroys everything I’ve ever known.
Kira
The financial records spread across my laptop screen like a digital autopsy, each transaction a cut that reveals something rotten beneath the surface.
I’ve been at this for six hours straight, cross-referencing shell companies and tracking money flows that should be invisible to anyone without my particular skill set.
I wish I’d never started looking. The phrase Be careful what you wish for is living rent-free in my mind.
The coffee in my mug has gone cold hours ago, but I keep sipping it anyway—a nervous habit that’s kept me functional through the worst discoveries of my life. Because what I’m seeing isn’t just evidence of financial impropriety or even standard criminal activity.
It’s proof that my family has been systematically planning the destruction of the Rossos since before my engagement was even announced.
“Shell company registered in Cyprus,” I mutter, highlighting another suspicious transaction. “Payment routing through three different banks to obscure the source. Classic money laundering, but the amounts are too specific to be random.”
I pull up the communication logs I’ve been decrypting from Father’s secure servers—the ones he thinks are impenetrable but that yielded to my intrusion algorithms after only moderate effort. The conversations with Yegor Durov paint a picture that makes my stomach churn.
“The girl’s engagement provides perfect cover for intelligence gathering. She has no idea she’s feeding us everything we need to eliminate them entirely.” Yegor says.
“How long until we have sufficient operational details?” My father asks.
“Six months, maybe eight. Then we move decisively. No survivors, no loose ends.”
No survivors. No loose ends. I shake my head in disbelief. How stupid have I been?
I lean back in my chair, staring at words written in my father’s distinctive style about eliminating the family I’m supposed to marry into. About using me as an unwitting weapon against people who’ve shown me nothing but respect and genuine affection.
About treating me like a tool rather than a daughter. His daughter.
My phone buzzes with a text from Rafa: Dinner tonight? I found a new restaurant that serves actual Italian food, not the American interpretation.
The normalcy of the message feels surreal against the backdrop of what I’ve just discovered. He has no idea that while he’s planning romantic dinners, my family is planning his funeral.
I should tell him immediately. What I have found. We are supposed to be a team, at least it’s what he said. But trust isn’t something I’m keen on. I mean look at what flesh and blood are doing to me. They’ve betrayed me.
Because this isn’t just about the Rossos. This is about me—about the daughter who’s been fed lies for months while believing she was contributing to a legitimate alliance. About the woman who’s been falling in love with a man her family intends to destroy.
About the realization that everything I thought I knew about my place in this world has been carefully constructed fiction.
I scroll through more communications, looking for some explanation that might make this less devastating. Maybe Father has reasons I don’t understand. Maybe there’s context that justifies this level of deception.
What I find instead is worse.
“If the girl becomes problematic, if her attachment to the Italian grows beyond manageable levels, we eliminate her with the rest of them. Blood means nothing if it threatens operational security.”
My hands begin to shake. Father—the man who taught me chess, told me bedtime stories in three languages, and shaped me into the analyst I’ve become—is discussing my potential execution with the casual indifference he’d use to order coffee.
I’m not his daughter in this scenario. I’m not even a person.
I’m a variable in an equation that can be eliminated if the solution requires it. What sort of father does that?
The laptop screen blurs as tears I didn’t realize I was shedding obscure the damning evidence.
Everything makes sense now—why I’ve been kept out of strategic planning sessions, why certain conversations stop when I enter a room, why Alexei has been looking at me with something approaching pity for weeks.
They all know. Father, Alexei, probably Misha, and others in the organization. They all know I’m walking blindly toward my own destruction while believing I’m building a relationship to strengthen the family. I’ve been such a fool.
The only person who doesn’t know is me.
And Rafa.
My phone buzzes again: Everything okay? You didn’t respond about dinner.
I stare at his message, torn between the urge to warn him immediately and the need to understand the full scope of what we’re dealing with. Because rushing into action without complete information is how people get killed.
Even people you love.
Especially people you love.
I force myself to type back: Rain check? Working on something important. Tomorrow?
His response is immediate: Of course. Let me know if you need anything.
The kindness in those simple words breaks something in my chest. When did Rafa Rosso become the person offering me unconditional support? When did the man I am supposed to manipulate become the one person I can trust completely?
And when did I become the daughter willing to betray everything for a chance at something real?
I spend the next three hours building an encrypted file containing every piece of evidence I’ve gathered.
Financial records, communication logs, operational timelines, personnel assignments—everything needed to prove that the Petrov family has been planning systematic genocide under the cover of a political alliance.
When I’m finished, I have two choices: deliver this information to Rafa and his family, effectively signing my own father’s death warrant, or bury it and hope I can find some way to prevent the catastrophe without destroying everyone I’ve ever loved.
Looking at my reflection in the laptop screen, I see someone I barely recognize. Not the dutiful daughter or the useful tool or the unwitting weapon.
I see a woman who’s about to make the most critical choice of her life.
A choice between family loyalty and moral clarity.
A choice between the daughter I was raised to be and the person I want to become.
A choice between survival and love.
I close the laptop and reach for my phone, scrolling to Rafa’s contact information. My thumb hovers over the call button as I consider the words that will change everything once they’re spoken.
I know what my family is planning. I know what I’m supposed to be to you. And I know what I choose instead.
But first, I need to understand exactly how deep this conspiracy goes and who else might be caught in the crossfire when it all comes crashing down.
Because once I make this call, there’s no going back to being Vadim Petrov’s obedient daughter.
There’s only moving forward as someone willing to choose love over loyalty, truth over safety, and the future over the past.
Even if it costs me everything I used to be.