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His smile sharpened and widened until the points of his canines flashed. He traced three lines across the desktop with one finger. “Thirty million dollars was a small price to split an empire into thirds.”

“Except they didn’t turn on one another.” I used Alina’s dismissive smile even as Roman’s transmitter captured every fucking word.

The satisfaction left his face, leaving me almost giddy with power, especially when he tossed back the last of his drink with a scowl. “Men who share power eventually fight over it. All they required was time.”

“Five years wasn’t enough?” I raised my eyebrows, and the tightening along his jaw gave me my answer.

Fucking hell. Sokolov hadn’t merely expected the men to fracture after the masquerade. He’d spent every year since feeding the break, using Yvelt, stolen credentials, photographs, and my sister to press against three men who refused to split. Then I landed back in their lives, and the same mistake started all over again. He thought loving me would finish what suspicion hadn’t.

“The auction was supposed to force the choice.” He leaned back, studying me as if I should appreciate the intelligence behind terrorizing my child and selling me to strangers.

“And now Maksim is your prisoner while Roman and Kirill decide how to recover him.” I clicked my tongue. “Perhaps waiting isn’t your strength.”

Sokolov reached beneath the desk. The bookcase to my right split apart, exposing a monitor, and the sight of Maksim knocked every smart remark out of me.

He sat chained to a steel chair in a concrete room. Blood coated the side of his face and soaked the collar of his shirt, and one eye had swollen nearly shut. His bare feet rested in a dark puddle beneath the chair, and the way he hunched over his ribs meant at least one was likely broken. His wrists were cuffed behind him, his ankles bound separately, and one chain ran through an anchor in the floor. The steel door had no visible handle from the inside, and the white letters in the corner of the feed identified the location as D2-08.

I forced my attention back to Sokolov as Alina’s warning about letting Sokolov see any kind of need forced air into my lungs. “A steel chair, one floor drain, and a camera in room eight on the second detention level.” I tsked and cocked my head. “Did you decorate it yourself, or do all your concrete boxes look that fucking depressing?” I fed the information to Roman the only way I thought Sokolov wouldn’t notice, using my disdain to cover my fear and hoping like hell it worked because I couldn’t handle much more of this.

Sokolov touched a button, and a guard stepped into the cell and yanked Maksim’s head up by his hair. His good eye opened. Confusion crossed his battered face when he saw me on the monitor, followed by something that looked too much like recognition.

“He will remain alive.” Sokolov released the button, and the guard let Maksim slump forward. “For as long as you remain cooperative.”

I dug my nails into the chair instead of reaching for him like I could make a fucking difference from here. “Release him, and I’ll open the account.”

“You’ll open it now.” His calm delivery and the way his smile returned told me he thought he held all the cards. Arrogant, just like we’d planned.

“Then you’ll have the money, the evidence, and no reason to give him back.” I pulled the phone from my jacket and rested it on my knee, tapping one red nail on the screen. “I’ve worked for you long enough to recognize a shitty bargain.”

His phone vibrated against the desk. He silenced the call without looking, but another replaced it almost immediately. “Open the account. Show me the money.” Sokolov moved behind my chair, close enough for the scent of his aftershave to push the vodka from the back of my throat. “Or Maksim loses something you cannot put back.”

The portal accepted my thumbprint. Thirty million dollars filled the screen, untouched beneath years of transfers and hidden corridors. I entered the first authorization Alina had given me, then the second. One more field waited.

“You killed Dmitri.” I kept my eyes on the phone, channeling my inner rage into a perfect replica of my sister. “Why?”

“He mistook love for courage.” Sokolov rested one hand on the back of my chair.

My finger hovered over the final field. “So you killed him and arranged for them to find the body.”

“I arranged for Alina to receive the right photograph.” His fingers tightened against the leather behind my shoulder. “People are most loyal to conclusions they believe they reached alone.”

“And Mikhail?” I turned my head just enough to see his reflection in the dark account screen. “Was a newborn really that threatening?”

“He made his mother productive.” Sokolov bent closer. “Children make excellent restraints because their parents put them on themselves.”

My finger shook over the screen. I didn’t hide it. Alina had every reason to tremble while this asshole described torturing her son, and Sokolov would enjoy it enough to miss me filling the final authorization field.

“Mikhail used to call the moon a broken light.” Alina had given me the memory between lessons on Dmitri’s favorite liquor and the name she used at Mikhail’s school. Sokolov’s grip eased, and I tipped my face toward his. “He thought every moonbeam was part of it trying to find a way back together.” The phone went black the instant the release phrase crossed my lips. “Let’s see whether one can get through your windows.”

The monitor behind the bookcase split into a dozen windows. Sokolov’s accounts replaced Maksim’s cell feed, red warnings slashing across one after another while the balances drained into structures Roman controlled. The thirty million vanished first. His reserves followed, numbers dropping so quickly I couldn’t keep up. Evidence packages flashed across the monitor as they left for officials, rival organizations, judges, and the lieutenants named in his files.

Sokolov snatched the account phone from my hand. “Stop it.”

“I can’t.” I surged from the chair, grabbed his wrist with both hands, and used his momentum to throw the device into the fireplace. It struck the back wall and shattered before flames climbed over the pieces. “Oops.”

Sokolov stared at his empire collapsing beneath his hand. He’d built it out of frightened people, stolen children, and secrets. Without the secrets, those frightened men stopped looking over their shoulders and aimed their anger straight at him.

“You thought love made them weak.” I stepped away from the chair and put the desk between us. The poker remained near the fire, but he stood closer to it than I did. “Love didn’t split them.” I backed toward the door, keeping the desk between the barrel and my body. “It gave them a reason to stop letting you choose the battlefield.”