LOGINTristan The word refuses to leave my head. Home. Rain lashes across the shattered windows of the warehouse, and blood pools beneath my boots. It’s already evening, yet nothing significant seems to come out of the investigation. Belladonna did everything perfectly. The thought alone makes uneasiness crawl up my skin. My gaze darts toward the dead man on the floor for the hundredth time today. His eyes remain lifeless and fixed on the ceiling. I wish we had gathered enough information before he died; instead, he only uttered one word: home. I pull my phone from my pocket to dial Texas’s number. Just then, my phone rings, and her name flashes across the screen. My stomach tightens. Texas doesn't call me when I'm away unless it’s extremely important. I press yes and put the phone to my ear. “What?” Silence—not complete silence, just hard breathing—then, “Tristan….” My girl tightens around the phone; something is wrong. “Talk.” “ I……” her body breaks, “Roxana…” Every muscle i
Roxana Morning arrives mercilessly. I don’t even remember falling asleep; I only remember crying until my body had nothing left to give. When sunlight slips into the room, my eyes burn so badly I can barely open them—my head pounds. Every part of me feels heavy, as if someone replaced my bones with stones. For several long seconds, I just lie there, then my gaze drifts to the other side of the bed—empty. His pillow remains untouched. I stare at it until my vision blurs again. “You should have come home,” I whisper. The words sting my eyes with fresh tears. Because if he were here… I could ask him. I could throw those documents in his face and demand an explanation. I could force him to tell me I was wrong, that there was another reason. Another truth. Anything. Anything apart from what my mind is feeding me right now. A soft knock breaks the silence—three gentle taps. “Roxana.” Texas. I quickly wipe my face before responding, “Come in.” The door opens slowly, and Texas w
Roxana Sleeping is difficult; I close my eyes and then reopen them, but the ceiling above me never changes. Neither does the ache in my chest. The room is dark, except for the pale glow of city lights filtering through the curtains. Tristan’s side of the bed remains untouched—cold, empty. I curl closer to the pillow he used two nights ago; it still carries the faint scent of his cologne. Without thinking, I pull it against my chest. The tears come again, quietly this time. I don't sob or scream; I quietly cry until the pillow grows damp beneath my cheek. Every time I close my eyes, I see the document. Twenty million euros. Settlement proposal: marriage between Roxana Petrov and Tristan Kozlov. Marco’s signature. Tristan’s signature. Permanent. I squeeze my eyes shut. “No,” the word leaves my lips as a whisper. “There has to be another explanation.” But every explanation I think of dies before it can comfort me. My mind betrays me, replaying every moment I’ve s
Tristan No one speaks. The photo remains on the table between us, a dead man. A purple flower pinned neatly to his chest. Not rage, not torture, just a message. I study the image for several seconds before sliding the phone back across the table. “ he was killed professionally.”Matteo nods once.“No struggle.” i point out. “No Witness?”“They are all dead.”“No defensive wounds?”“The coroner doesn't think so.”Silence falls in the room. I expected Belladonna to leave chaos. Instead, he leaves precision.The realization settles heavily in my chest. Most killers want recognition, most criminals crave fear. Belladonna doesn't. He simply wants people to understand that he was there. Dmitry folds his arms, “The flower.”Matteo shifts his gaze toward it, “It wasn't there when my men arrived.”I look at him, “They moved the body?”“No.”“The flower appeared afterward.”For the first time since entering Italy, something close to unease crawls up my skin. Someone walked into an active cri
Roxana The door handle turns. “Roxana?” Texas’s voice, closer now and concerned. I don't move. For one terrifying second, I stare at the papers scattered around me. Marco Petrov. Twenty million euros. Settlement proposal. Me. The words refuse to fade. They burn into my eyes and into my mind. The knock sounds again, “Roxana.” I finally move, not because I want to, but because instinct takes over before grief can. My body springs into action. Papers scrape across the floor as I gather them tremblingly. They won't stay together. One page slips away, another slides beneath the cabinet. My breathing thunders in my chest. Shit. I reach for the loose page just as another tear splashes onto the paper. The ink blurs beneath the drop, and my chest tightens violently. This can’t be happening. It’s impossible. Tristan… my Tristan. The man I spent the whole night thinking about. The man who looked at my scars and called them beautiful. The promise he made—he promised I’d n
Roxana I don't know how long I stand there, just watching. The safe stares back at me as if it’s alive. A part of me knows I should close the paint and pretend I never saw it. Another part simply can't. My heart pounds so loudly I become convinced the guards outside can hear it. “What are you hiding, Tristan?” the question slips out before I can stop it. I glance toward the bedroom door, still closed. Texas is downstairs. No one knows I'm here. Slowly, I reach out a finger and touch the cold steel. A keypad. A combination lock—who even uses both? I let out a small laugh. “Of course you do.” Tristan doesn't leave anything half done. My gaze lingers on the numbers—his birthday? No. I don't even know when his birthday is. My birthday? Impossible. The wedding date? The day we met? Nothing. The safe remains locked. I don't even know why I'm considering it. Someone like Tristan would never use something so predictable. I sigh and rest my forehead against the metal. “I guess that’s t
Roxana I walk toward the kitchen, my stomach growling with every step. When I reach the door, I freeze. Texas is casually cooking as any normal person would. In fact, she’s singing and dancing, doing everything effortlessly. My legs feel glued to the floor, and my heart starts pounding. Th
TristanRoxana bites her lips. Her chest rises and falls. Probably scared.For a while, I stare at her, trying to make sense of what she just said. “Marco disvirgined you? Hurt you so many times and gave you these ugly scars?”She nods. “Please don't hurt anybody because of me.”I laugh, low. But t
Roxana Tristan doesn’t look remorseful. He doesn't breathe hard or tremble. He stands there, as if smashing someone’s head is just normal in this world. The room suddenly feels too hot. I slam a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. “ I told you to stay in bed.” He repeats, t
Roxana My heart pounds against my ribs as the knocking persists. I can't believe this is how I'm going to die. Tristan moves away from me. “What the f*ck are you doing, Nikolai? Want to listen to me f*cking my wife?” The man by the door says, a slight tremor in his voice, “The elders are waiting







