"What if we just kill them all?" my husband offered.
We were lying in bed, wrapped in nothing but the lingering warmth between us, our bare limbs tangled beneath the duvet. The room was stepped in darkness, lit only by the muted glow of New York's skyline filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city never truly slept, and neither did we.
"Killing people isn't the solution to every problem, Alex," I said quietly, tracing slow, absentminded circles over the hard plane of his chest. "Tempting as the theory may be, we need the Irish."
One of his brows arched, skepticism sharpening his expression. "There are other allies in this city besides them."
"Yes," I replied, lifting my gaze to meet his, "but part of New York is already under their control. A partnership wouldn't just secure peace, it would strengthen our position. Strategically."
His jaw flexed.
"Too bad Sergio isn't Irish," he muttered. "We could've maneuvered Camilla without all this trouble. It would've been much less of a headache."
I stilled.
The implication landed heavy between us.
Slowly, I pushed myself up on one elbow, the sheet sliding down my waist as I studied him in the dim light.
"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting," Alex said evenly. "I'm merely wishing. We both know Sergio doesn't have a drop of Irish blood in him. And he's not tied to them in any way that would make this simple."
"We're not using Camilla anymore," I said firmly, shaking my head. "I've done enough damage to her life."
"Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made for the greater good," he replied, studying me as if I were missing something obvious. "That's what leadership costs."
"You think I don't understand that?" I shot back, no longer softening my tone. "I do. I've lived it."
His expression didn't change.
"But I'm not sacrificing her again," I continued. "Not for leverage. And certainly not to make our lives easier."
"Then how do you plan to lead?" he asked quietly, the sarcasm evident in his tone.
"Not like you, that's for sure," I said. "And not like my grandfather."
That caught his attention.
"You both ruled the same way," I went on. "Ruthless and strategic. The way you treat people...especially the ones who love you...you treat them like assets. As pieces to move across a board, not human."
"And you don't?" he challenged.
The room fell silent, the city lights casting fractured shadows across his face.
"I won't build an empire that survives by devouring its own," I said, my voice steadier now. "If we demand loyalty, then we protect the ones who give it. We don't trade them like cattle."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"Now if you'll excuse me," I said, moving out of the bed. "I'll go head to the gym."
He didn't even bother to stop me this time. He just let me climb off the bed, walked into the bathroom without a word to clean myself up, changed into my workout clothes. He didn't even bother to get out of his bed, to call for me, reach for me as I walked out the door. I didn't even bother to stop giving him a kiss, like how I used to.
No, I simply walked towards the elevators, opting to train alongside our guards. I needed to train this adrenaline off. More likely, I needed to punch something.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"Now if you'll excuse me," I said, already pulling the duvet away from my skin, "I'm going to head to the gym."
The air between us shifted, thick and charged. But he didn't even reach for me this time. Didn't drag me back down. Didn't even demand I stay, like I'd expected him to.
I slid off the bed and walked into the bathroom without another word. I closed the door and scrubbed his scent from my skin, braided my hair back tight and changed into black leggings and a sports bra like armor. His words still weighed down my skin, and I wanted nothing more than to shed it off.
When I stepped out, he was still lying there, one arm behind his head, blowing the smoke out of his cigar like he was some king. He didn't stop me. Didn't even call my name. Didn't demand for a kiss.
I walked out anyway.
The elevator ride down was silent except for the hum of machinery and the pounding in my chest. I needed to bleed this fury out of my muscles before it turned into something uglier.
The lower floors belonged to his men. Private quarters, security rooms and the gym he had built just for them. Alex believed in keeping his soldiers sharp and sane. A spymaster who understood that broken men were liabilities.
The doors opened to the scent of metal and sweat.
The guards glanced up when I entered. Surprise flickered across a few faces, but they quickly masked it. No one questioned me. They never did.
I wrapped my hands in tape slowly, methodically, grounding myself in the ritual. The rough cotton scraping against my knuckles as I circled it around my wrists, pulling it tight enough to feel something other than the anger simmering under my skin. The punching bag swayed slightly from someone's last hit, chains still creaking softly overhead, as if it were breathing.
"Surprised to see you here, Mrs.Barinov," Sergio said as he approached.
I turned toward him, still breathing hard. He was dressed in black workout gear, sweat darkening the fabric across his chest and shoulders. His arms were folded, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. He looked different from the recruit I had first met weeks ago, when Camilla brought him in. He was broader now, harder.
"Do you ever sleep?" I asked.
He had followed me all day. Remained alert through every meeting, every drive across the city. And now, at this hour, he looked as though he had already spent hours training.
"I don't sleep much," he replied evenly. "Nature of the job."
Of course.
I gave a single nod and turned away. I wasn't in the mood for conversation.
I steadied the punching bag with both hands, pressing my palms into the worn leather until it stopped swaying. The air in the gym was thick with sweat and iron. Unlike Alex's private gym in his penthouse with its pristine skyline views, this one had no windows. Just a wall of mirrors reflecting men who were built to endure.
"Need a partner?" Sergio asked.
I didn't look at him. "No."
I stepped in and drove my fist into the bag. The impact shot up my arm, sharp and welcome. Again. And again. Each strike heavier than the last, until my breathing turned ragged and my thoughts reduced to nothing but force and release.
"Well," Sergio said calmly as the bag swung violently, chains clanking overhead, "you might want one now."
I barely slowed. "Why?"
"Because the boss just texted."
I stopped mid-swing.
"What the fuck does he want now?" I demanded, chest heaving as I turned toward him.
Sergio didn't flinch. He stepped closer and angled his phone toward me.
One message.
Four words.
Your grandfather's awake.
The world didn't tilt.
No, it just sharpened.
The hum of the fluorescent lights grew louder. The smell of iron heavier. My pulse, once fueled by anger, shifted into something colder. More calculated.
Slowly, I peeled the tape from my knuckles.
"Get the car," I said.