Page 81 of Dangerous Devotion

But signs I would’ve missed if I wasn’t staring at him so closely, if I wasn’t looking for them.

Then he immediately narrowed his brows, leaned back in hischair, appeared all relaxed, and smirked. Pretending he knew exactly what we were talking about.

Fuck him.

Every father would at least be a little affected if his daughters went missing.

And the way he didn’t even care about Mira and Bella pushed me to the edge.

I slowly stood, then leaned forward, my voice low and intense. “It’s bad enough you’re coming after me the way you did, but you don’t care about anyone but you, and everybody knows it. That’s why you’re not fit to lead this family. You have no honor, no loyalty, not even to your own flesh and blood. Who would ever trust someone like you to lead them?”

I let the words hang in the air, heavy with years of pent-up resentment and disappointment. I finally let go.

I could see their impact on my father, his carefully constructed mask of indifference beginning to crack.

I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. “I would burn everything to the ground—our empire, our power, our legacy, everything—if it meant saving my family. If it meant saving the woman I love. Can you say the same? Is there someone, or something besides yourself and your ego you would be willing to sacrifice for?”

Hero stood beside me, silent but radiating support.

A united front which was such a stark contrast to the lonely battles of my youth. I was not alone anymore. Would never be alone anymore.

“You’ve always underestimated my motivation, my drive. I’m not like you, and I never wanted to be. You’re a lonely oldman fueled by greed. You will never understand the power of love, of true loyalty,” I said, my eyes never leaving my father’s face.

For the first time in my life, I saw a flicker of fear in my father’s eyes—despite the malicious frown plastered on his face. It was brief but unmistakable. He realized, perhaps for the first time, the full extent of my motivation, of my determination—the lengths I was willing to go to protect what I held dear.

“You see it as weakness, but it’s what makes me strong. It’s what makes me stronger than anyone else.”

Father’s composure slipped further, his hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You’re pathetic, and I pity you,” I said and turned to leave. My father wasn’t worth the air he was breathing. I’d known that for a long time. But at this moment, the realization settled in completely. He was a disgusting human being. And I was done with him, in every regard.

I turned around and met Ivan Zotov’s gaze. He stood just outside the office, his face an unreadable mask. The sight of him threw me off balance for a moment. What was he doing here?

Before I could process Zotov’s presence, Hero gasped next to me.

I spun around, my instincts kicking in.

There was my father, a gun pointed directly at me. His eyes were cold, devoid of any emotion.

In that instant, I knew it was him or me.

All the moments that led to this—the arguments, the disappointments, the constant struggle for power, the mutual hostility. Was this how it would end?

I ducked and reached for my ankle holster when a shot rang out. I flinched, expecting pain, but it never came. Instead, I watched as my father’s eyes widened in shock. He slumped forward, the gun clattering to the floor, a red circle in the middle of his chest slowly growing.

I turned sideways.

Hero, his hand still raised, smoke curling from the barrel of his own weapon, stood next to me frozen. His face was a mix of determination and disbelief at what he’d just done.

At that moment, a wave of satisfaction washed over me. My brothers—Hero, Dante, Matt—they’d always have my back.

I’d been so focused on keeping everything and everyone under control, on protecting everyone, that I’d failed to see how capable and loyal and grown-up my little brothers had become. It was time to loosen my grip on control, to trust them more.

As these thoughts raced through my mind, I noticed Zotov calmly stepping into the room. He approached my father’s body with an air of detachment, checking for his pulse as if this were a routine task. His lack of reaction to the violence that had just unfolded was unsettling but not surprising.

“Seems like I’m in the market for a new business partner,” he said, then stared at me. “Are you in the market for a little trade?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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