That hit harder than I expected.
“I’ve hurt you enough,” he went on, words tumbling faster now, urgency bleeding through his control. “I know that—even without the memories. I don’t want to force anything on you ever again. Not your body. Not your loyalty. Not your forgiveness.” His hands stayed clenched in his lap, knuckles white, as if he were physically restraining himself from reaching for me. “I’m begging you, Penelope. Stay. Please.”
The desperation in his face was raw. This wasn’t manipulation. This was a man stripped down to fear and regret, offering himself up without armor.
“Let’s fight the Orlovs and the Morozovs together,” he said, voice shaking now. “Help me take back my power. We drive Seraphina out. We reclaim what’s ours.” He swallowed hard. “We raise Vanya as a family. I don’t care if I spend the rest of my life on my knees, groveling, atoning—if that’s the price. As long as you stay.”
Seeing him like this—so exposed, so unguarded—shifted something inside me.
Not forgiveness.
Not mercy.
But leverage.
“While I was with the Albanians,” I said slowly, choosing each word with care, “there were six other women in my cell.”
His head lifted sharply.
“Five escaped with me,” I continued. “I don’t know if they’re alive. I don’t know if they made it out or were caught again. The sixth—Bianca—is still there.” My hands curled in my lap. “The Kompania brothers have her.”
His face hardened, something lethal snapping into place beneath the vulnerability.
“If you help me find the others,” I said, “bring them here if they’re alive... and get Bianca out—buy her, steal her, burn the place down if you have to—then maybe we can talk about staying.”
The word maybe hung between us, fragile and dangerous.
He swallowed hard. “I’ll do anything you ask, Penelope.”
“Then start with that.”
He nodded once—sharp, decisive.
He started the engine, the growl low and controlled as we pulled back onto the road.
“Consider it done,” he said. “And after your girls are safe...” His voice dropped, calm and merciless. “I’ll wipe the Albanians off the map. Every last one of them.”
The promise wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
The rigid determination in his tone sent a shiver through me anyway.
Memories surged without warning—the Albanian cell, damp stone walls slick with mold, chains biting into wrists, the sour stench of fear and unwashed bodies. Nights when screams echoed until dawn, when silence was worse than noise. I shoved them down hard, forcing them back into whatever locked compartment I’d survived by building.
Some things weren’t meant to be revisited.
Not if I wanted to keep breathing.
The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence, the kind that pressed against the chest rather than settled it.
When we pulled into the mansion’s private garage, Dmitri killed the engine and turned toward me.
“Don’t forget,” he said softly. “We pretend. For now.”
“I understand.”
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting it close behind me with a soft, final click.
He followed a moment later, but I didn’t wait for him. I moved straight through the side entrance, up the narrow service stairs, and into my room like my body already knew the route by heart.