Page 112 of Playing with Fire

"I never meant for her to die," he whispered. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I just..." He trailed off, the futility of his justifications finally sinking in. "I'm sorry." The words fell into the silence like stones into a bottomless well, disappearing without impact.

Algerone didn't respond, didn't move, didn't so much as blink. The silence was his weapon now, wielded with the same precision he brought to everything.

Maxime released a shuddering breath and opened the door. At the threshold, he paused, looking back at the man he'd devoted his life to with such raw longing that I had to glance away from the intimacy of it.

"I truly am sorry," he said simply. "For everything."

Then he was gone, the door closing with a soft click that somehow held the finality of a prison gate slamming shut.

The moment Maxime left, something shifted in Algerone's expression. Not a softening, exactly, but a minute relaxation of the rigid control he'd been maintaining. A single tear tracked down his face, shocking in its unexpectedness. This man who ruled his empire with clinical detachment, who calmly oversaw torture, who faced death without flinching—reduced to silent weeping by the revelation of what might have been.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. I studied Algerone's face, searching for any sign of the man who had built an empire from nothing, who had inspired such devoted loyalty that Maxime had sacrificed everything, including his own soul, to protect him. All I saw was exhaustion and loss etched into lines that hadn't been there days ago.

"You look like her," Algerone said finally, his voice rough. "Around the eyes."

I kept my expression neutral, even as something shifted uncomfortably in my chest.

His gaze met mine, measuring. A moment passed before he spoke again. "The worst part is that Maxime was right."

I raised an eyebrow, not expecting this admission.

"If I had known about your mother, about the pregnancy... I would have walked away from everything." His voice was quiet, contemplative. "Lucky Losers was still fragile then. I would have married her, tried to be a father, a family man." He let out a hollow laugh. "It would have been a disaster. I'm not built for that life. Never was."

"So Maxime saved you from yourself," I said flatly.

"In a very twisted, fucked up way... yes." Algerone's eyes were distant, looking into a past that never happened. "Twenty years ago, I didn't know who I was yet. I thought I could fool everyone, play normal. It would have destroyed all of us."

"Including us," I observed.

He nodded slowly. "Including you and your brothers. You would have grown up with a father who resented the chains of family, who didn't know how to love properly. Instead, you grew up with no father at all."

"That's not true," I corrected him, my voice hard. "We had a father. We had Yuri. And Nikita. We even had Uncle Sacha." The names carried weight, representing a family that had chosen us, raised us, shaped us. "Blood doesn't make you a father. Presence does."

Something flickered across Algerone's face - perhaps regret, perhaps recognition. "Fair point. The Laskins gave you what I couldn't."

"And we survived just fine," I replied. "Better than fine."

Algerone studied me with calculating eyes. "Yes. You did. All three of you becoming exactly what I would have molded you into had I been there. Hunters. Strategists. Survivors." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Ironic, isn't it?"

I didn't respond to that, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. Nature versus nurture was a debate for another time, one I had no interest in engaging with while he lay in a hospital bed.

He reached for the water glass beside his bed, his hand trembling. I watched him struggle briefly before helping, not out of sentiment but because the vulnerability was uncomfortable to witness.

"Thank you," he muttered, the words sounding foreign on his tongue.

I stood back, assessing him clinically. "How will Lucky Losers function without Maxime?"

Algerone's laugh was hollow, edged with something that might have been despair. "Lucky Losers can't function without him. I know that better than anyone." He took a sip of water, composing himself. "Thirty-two years. He's been by my side for thirty-two years, Xavier. Every decision, every acquisition, every success and failure. There's not a single aspect of my organization he hasn't touched."

"So he stays," I stated, not a question.

"He has to," Algerone admitted, the words clearly costing him. "The company would collapse within weeks without him. No matter my personal feelings, I can't afford to let that happen."

"Yet you sent him away."

"What would you have done?" Algerone's eyes were suddenly sharp, the fatigue momentarily eclipsed by something fiercer. "If it had been Leo who betrayed you so completely? Who kept you from your own children for over two decades?"

The comparison made my skin crawl, anger flaring hot beneath my control. "Leo would never."

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