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The doctor speaks from the other side of the room. I hear words like concussion, observation, stitches, no internal bleeding. I answer the questions he asks me. I ask my own. I do what needs doing because that’s the only acceptable thing while Anya is looking at me like I can make the whole morning less frightening by staying calm.

Inside, I’m anything but calm.

I should’ve removed Kirill after I first suspected him.

A few months ago, it would have been enough.

I would not have cared whether he confessed. Men like Kirill don’t confess because they are asked. I know that better than anyone, and still I let him stay in my daughter’s house.

I told myself I was being fair. He had protected Anya for years. He had carried her when she was tired, stood between her and cameras, checked her rooms, followed her schedules, learned her habits. Loyalty like that is difficult to fake for years.

But it wasn’t just that. It was Elara too.

Since she came into the house, I’ve been looking at things differently. That’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I’ve asked questions I would not have asked before. I’ve waited when I would’ve acted. I have tried, more than once, to see a situation the way she would see it before I decided what to do.

That’s not how I used to run my life.

If I had only been thinking like the man I was a few months ago, Kirill would have been gone after the pool footage. I would not have waited for certainty. I would not have cared whether the evidence was incomplete.

So, I waited.

I told myself I was being careful for Anya.

Maybe I was also trying to be the kind of man Elara could look at without flinching.

That thought is not comfortable. It’s still true.

In the corridor, when I had Kirill by the throat, I stopped pretending to be careful. I had already decided what would happen next. I was about to give the order, and everyone around me knew it.

Then Elara said my name. Only my name.

I looked at her.

She was standing a few feet away, pale, one hand at her stomach, staring at me like she had understood exactly where my mind had gone.

And because I saw it on her face, I saw it too.

Elara didn’t ask me to be merciful.

She didn’t say Kirill deserved anything.

She simply made me remember where we were and who was behind that door with one fucking word. That’s the kind of effect she has on me.

So I let go. A few months ago, Kirill would already be dead. That should trouble me more than it does.

A few months ago, no one could have done that.

Elara did it with one word.

I told Viktor I cared about the bratva and my daughter, and nothing else. I believed it when I said it. I don’t believe it now.

Anya’s fingers move in mine. “Where’s Elle?”

The question hurts more than it should.

“She’s outside,” I say.

“Can she come?”