Adrian's car. Black. Bulletproof. Probably illegal in six countries.
Noah was already out, medical bag in hand. He took one look at Dom and went into professional mode.
“In the car. Now. I need better light.”
We climbed in. Noah worked on Dom's shoulder while Adrian drove. Fast. Controlled. Getting us away from the palace before someone connected the dots.
I sat in the back, satchel clutched to my chest. All the evidence. All the proof. All the truth I'd been hunting for eighteen years.
Viktor's hand found mine. Squeezed.
“You got it?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. Couldn't speak past the tightness in my throat.
We endedup at the Greenwich safehouse. Noah stitched Dom's shoulder while Viktor paced and Adrian made phone calls in three different languages.
I spread the files across the table. All the evidence laid out like autopsy photos.
Financial records showing payments to known militants. Communication logs coordinating attacks. Route plans amended in Marcel's hand.
And the Queen's file. Proof he'd orchestrated her death.
My hands shook as I photographed everything. Uploaded it to encrypted servers. Made sure it couldn't be destroyed or buried.
Viktor appeared beside me. Silent. Solid.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be. Once he's dead.”
“Sebastian—”
“Don't.” I looked at him. “Don't tell me revenge won't help. Don't tell me it won't bring her back. I know. I've known for eighteen years. But I need this. I need to see him pay.”
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then: “I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Da. When Anya died, I killed everyone responsible. Every single one. And it didn't help. Didn't make the pain less. Didn't bring her back.” His hand found my face. “But I would do it again. Because some debts can only be paid in blood.”
I leaned into his touch. “How do you live with it? Knowing revenge doesn't fix anything?”
“I do not live with it. I survive it.”
“And that's enough?”
“Some days.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “Other days I have you. And that is more than enough.”
I kissed him. Slow. Deep. Tasting like hope and violence and everything we'd fought for.
When we broke apart, Dom was watching us from across theroom. Stitched and bandaged and smiling despite the pain.
“You two are disgustingly sweet,” he said.
“Shut up,” Viktor replied. No heat. Just affection.
“Make me.”
