Page 63 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

The words are a stab to my chest, a painful reminder of how badly I messed up. But they’re also a lifeline, a chance for redemption.

“I do,” I say, looking into her eyes, willing her to see the sincerity in mine. “I let old ghosts cloud my judgment, and I’m sorry for that. I trust you, Gabriette. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

For a moment, she just looks at me, and I can see her weighing my words, measuring them against the hurt from last night. Then, slowly, she nods.

“I trust you too, Mikhail. Don’t ever forget that,” she says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I should have called you back so you wouldn’t worry. I’m sorry too.”

As I pull her into a hug, holding her as tightly as I dare, I’m hit with a newfound resolve.

Trust is a fortress, high-walled and formidable, but not impenetrable. It’s a fortress I built myself, brick by brick, and it’s a fortress anyone can tear down the same way.

And as I hold Gabriette, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my chest, I know that I’ve already started to dismantle the first brick.

* * *

My eyes flicker across the dual monitors on my desk, scanning through the piles of emails and documents. Contracts to approve, rival families to keep an eye on, business expansions to consider.

It’s just another day in the life of an emerging Pakhan. Then my eyes catch an email from an anonymous source. Normally, I’d be cautious about opening such emails—cybersecurity is not to be taken lightly in our line of work. But something compels me to click on it.

Footage begins to play, and what I see steals the air from my lungs. A man, his face obscured by a hood, sneaks into Sophia’s bedroom. My grip tightens on the mouse as I watch from the outside how the intruder moves around the room before making his way out again.

I go through the attached files and find similar footage from three consecutive nights leading up to Sophia’s supposed “suicide.”

My hand shakes as I dial my father’s number. “Pappa,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. “You need to see something.”

As I forward the email to him, my mind races back to a recent memory—a car chase, bullets flying, Gabriette’s life hanging by a thread. I had caught one of the attackers, and he’d hinted at a blood vendetta against me.

Someone from my past who’d stop at nothing to see me dead, that I would know when the time comes. Could Sophia’s death be connected to this? My instincts tell me yes, but I lack the evidence to substantiate that gut feeling.

My phone rings again, and it’s my father who calls me back. “Contact Alberto and show him this. There’s a connection here that we’re not aware of, something we’ve overlooked.”

“I’ll do that right away,” I say before hanging up, then I make arrangements for us to meet up before breathing out a sigh and cracking my neck. Time to head home and find my peace between my wife’s legs.

I’m about to shut down my computer and do just that when my phone buzzes again. It’s Mr. Orlov, and I can hear the distress in his voice even before he begins to speak.

“Mikhail, I owe you an apology. Gabriette was indeed here last night. It seems I missed her by mere minutes.”

This information would’ve changed the entire fabric of last night. No misunderstandings, no arguments, no doubt clawing at the walls of trust Gabriette and I have built.

“I’m aware,” I reply, curtly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

I hang up, and my grip tightens around my phone, tempted to hurl it against the wall. But physical outbursts won’t solve anything. If there’s anything my new position has taught me, it’s that power is futile without control.

My jaw clenches. Within a span of hours, I’ve been thrashed around by a sea of emotions—from the euphoria of ascension to the abyss of betrayal, then back to the edge of relief and frustration.

I lean back in my chair, feeling the pressure of the Pakhan’s seat. It’s not just a chair; it’s a throne of responsibility, danger, and life-altering decisions. And as I prepare to go home to Gabriette, to look into her eyes and find that elusive sense of peace, I make a vow.

Whoever is threatening my family from the shadows, dredging up my past, manipulating the present, and putting my future at risk, will soon find out that even the darkest ghosts can be vanquished.

I shut down my computer and rise from my desk, sliding on my tailored coat. As I step out of my office, each footstep feels heavier than the last, burdened by new responsibilities and unresolved dilemmas. But I take solace in the promise of home, of facing Gabriette and mending the slight rift that has formed between us.

When I finally slip into the driver’s seat of my car, the weight of my signet ring catches my attention—the newly inked cross on my ring finger pulsing like a heartbeat. A reminder of the oaths I’ve sworn, the loyalty I owe, and the questions that remain unanswered.

As I drive back, I make myself a solemn promise. Whoever is challenging my life, threatening my family, and targeting my love will be hunted down and dealt with—no mercy, no exceptions.

Because if power teaches you anything, it’s that some lines can never be crossed without consequence.

GABRIETTE

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