The thought settles with weight that’s simultaneously grounding and terrifying. Diana could leave—could disappear into witness protection or relocation programs that would make finding her difficult even with Bratva resources. She’d be less safe, certainly, but free from the violence and moral compromises that define my existence.
She’s choosing to stay. Choosing partnership over escape. Choosing me despite understanding exactly what that choice entails.
I reach out and brush hair back from her face gently, careful not to wake her. She shifts slightly, murmuring something I don’t catch, then settles again into deeper sleep.
How easily I could lose her. The thought surfaces unbidden, unwelcome. Lorenzo took her once already, proved that no security measures are foolproof when someone’s determined enough.
If he escalates, if he decides killing her is worth the consequences, if any of a dozen scenarios I’m constantly calculating come to fruition—
I could lose her.
The possibility feels impossible to accept despite being statistically inevitable in this world. People I care about don’t last long when enemies understand their value. My father taught me that lesson when I was twelve and watching his funeral, understanding that attachment is vulnerability that gets exploited.
I’ve spent decades avoiding that vulnerability through emotional distance and strategic detachment.
Diana obliterated both within weeks of colliding into me in that hallway.
Now everything moves because of her and for her. The war with Sartore, the council maneuvering, the tactical decisions that shape organizational direction—all of it traces back to my refusal to let her become collateral in conflicts that predate her involvement.
The rational part of my brain recognizes this is operationally dangerous. Prioritizing one person’s safety above organizational stability creates exactly the kind of weakness enemies exploit.
The rest of me—the part that watched her sleep in this same position after our wedding night, that mounted a tactical assault to extract her from Sartore custody, that’s currently planning systematic destruction of a rival syndicate because they dared take what’s mine—that part doesn’t care about operational risk.
Diana is worth the vulnerability. Worth the complications. Worth starting wars and alienating allies and making decisions that would have seemed impossible before I decided she was mine to protect.
The conviction settles with finality I can’t question anymore.
I gather the papers spread across the desk carefully, organizing them into stacks she can resume tomorrow. Then I lift Diana from the chair with movements designed not to wake her, carrying her back to the bedroom where exhaustion and safety might let her sleep without nightmares.
She stirs when I settle her onto the mattress, eyes opening briefly.
“Felix?”
“Sleep,” I tell her quietly, pulling the blankets up. “I’m here.”
She reaches for my hand, fingers curling around mine with surprising strength. “The files. I was mapping connections between—”
“Tomorrow.” I brush a kiss across her forehead. “Rest now. We’ll work on it together tomorrow.”
She nods sleepily, already drifting back under. But her grip on my hand doesn’t loosen, anchoring me there beside the bed even after her breathing evens out into proper sleep.
I remain there longer than operational efficiency would justify, watching her rest, aware that everything I’ve built and everything I’m planning to destroy all center round keeping this woman safe.
The war with Sartore is no longer defensive.
It’s methodical dismantling of everyone and everything that threatens what’s mine.
I’ll see it through to whatever end that requires. Even if it costs me everything else.
Chapter Twenty-Six - Diana
Felix asks me to join him in his office on Thursday afternoon, three days after the extraction. The request comes casually over breakfast, phrased as an invitation rather than a summons, but I recognize the shift it represents. He’s not asking me to sit in on strategic planning as observer—he’s asking for active participation.
“Senator Whitmore is hinting at financial audits,” he says, gesturing to the tablet on his desk when I enter. “Sartore pressure, almost certainly. He’s threatening to publicly question Rudenko Strategic Consulting’s donor transparency unless we provide documentation he knows will be difficult to produce cleanly.”
I settle into the chair across from him, accepting the tablet and scanning the draft statement his communications team prepared. The language is defensive, framed around compliance and cooperation—exactly the wrong approach for someone in Felix’s position.
“This makes you look guilty,” I say without preamble. “Defensive posturing signals you have something to hide. You need to reframe entirely.”
