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I need air.

I need Matty.

And right now, I need to be anywhere my brother isn’t.

It isn’t fair.

That one selfish thought repeats over and over in my mind, like an angry mantra, like a sinful prayer. It isn’t fair; Timur spent the morning with his family. Solving normal problems, fielding the issue of toy sharing between his kid and someone else’s, reassuring his wife in their SUV and likely stopping for coffee and croissants on the way home.

And I’m here. Always here. Always with my boots in the dirt, or in the Workshop, or on someone’s throat. The phone buzzes in my pocket.

I ignore it.

For the moment, there is nothing I can do about the trial. There is plenty I owe the men here.

I turn back before I can bury myself in lifting something heavy and pretend that counts as fixing this. Timur watches me approach, his mouth set.

“You were right. I agreed to cover this morning, and I wasn’t doing the job. That’s on me.”

The words taste like gravel. I say them anyway. We keep the affected work stopped, and I stay for the safety officer’s questions instead of leaving Timur to answer for me. Before anyone resumes elsewhere on the site, we name the qualified supervisor taking over and make sure he understands exactly what happened.

Timur doesn’t soften. Good. Rob needs something better than my brother forgiving me.

My phone buzzes again. This time, I pull it out. It’s Elena, one of Ariadna’s contacts in the community, a bail bond agent who has contacts deep inside the legal system. She’s trustworthy and works with some faceless and very wealthy clients.

I answer immediately. “What?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then her voice comes through, breathless with excitement: “It’s happening.”

I straighten, every other sound on the site suddenly drowned out. “What’s happening?”

“Matilda’s expert witness. He’s shown the jury that the vendor details changed after Mikhail’s recorded approval. The version the prosecution calls his instruction wasn’t the version he signed.”

For one second, I can’t speak.

“Are you sure?”

“My courier is sitting in the courtroom, Vasily. I’m sure.”

“And Mikhail?”

“It’s looking very good. The prosecution can’t tie him to the later changes. The courier says the jury is following every word.”

A roar tears out of me; arms raised in triumph. Every man within earshot stops.

I don’t care.

I grab the nearest worker by the shoulders and haul him into a crushing embrace, then release him only to grab another.

“We’re going to win!” I shout. The men erupt around me.

Someone laughs. Someone pounds my back. I clap a hand against the second man’s shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him sideways.

For the first time all day, I can breathe.

Matty is doing it. My woman is standing in that courtroom and destroying them.

And God help anyone who ever makes me doubt her again.