Page 66 of Crystal Wrath
“I never betrayed you,” I say quietly.
Her expression twists into something ugly, and I see the real reason behind her betrayal written across her face like a confession.
“No, you just replaced me. With her,” she spits.
The mention of Elena sends a fresh wave of anger through me, but I keep it contained. “Elena has nothing to do with your choices.”
“She has everything to do with them!” Bianca hisses, her composure finally shattering completely. “You look at her like she's some miracle. Like she isn't just another woman who'll ruin you. You never looked at me that way, not even when you claimed to love me.”
The jealousy in her voice is raw and bitter, and I realize this betrayal runs deeper than simple greed or fear. This is about possession and the fact that I found something with Elena that I never had with her.
“You ruined yourself,” I reply and watch her flinch as if I'd struck her.
She falters, and for the first time since she walked through my door, I see the desperation beneath her anger. She gambled everything on a losing hand and now faces the consequences.
“You used to need me,” she whispers, and there's something broken in her voice that almost makes me feel sorry for her. Almost.
“I needed someone who didn't lie. Who didn't sell me out for a man like Bennato.” The words are harsh but true, and I watch them land with the force of a punch.
Silence stretches between us, taut and brittle as thin ice. The memory of everything we were, everything we could have been, and everything she destroyed drifts in the air like smoke.
“I'm cutting all ties,” I announce, my voice carrying the finality of a judge's sentence. “Whatever history we had ends now. You're no longer under my protection. You're no longer welcome in my territory. You have twenty-four hours to leave Miami.”
Bianca straightens her spine, and I see her pride kick in. It’s the only thing she has left to armor herself with. Her chin lifts, and she attempts to reclaim some dignity in the face of complete defeat.
“Fine.” Her voice is steady now, almost regal. “Then you should know there's a mole in your inner circle.”
I feel the air rush out of my lungs, but I don't let my reaction show. Instead, I narrow my eyes, studying her face for signs of deception.
“You're trying to manipulate me.”
Her lips curve into a bitter smile that holds no warmth, no affection, nothing but the desire to cause pain. “Believe what you want. But the man standing next to you? He's not loyal. Not the way I was.”
The irony of her words, claiming loyalty while admitting to betrayal would be laughable if the implications weren't so serious. But despite everything, despite her proven treachery, something in her tone makes me pause. There's a ring of truth to her words that I can't entirely dismiss.
I laugh, but the sound is low and humorless, devoid of any real amusement. “You don't know the meaning of the word.”
Her face flushes with renewed anger, and she turns sharply toward the door. “You'll see. When your perfect little world comes crashing down, remember that I tried to warn you.”
She storms out, her heels striking the marble like gunshots, each step echoing through the suddenly empty space. I let her go, watching through the window as she disappears into the elevator.
The penthouse feels different now as if her presence has somehow contaminated the air. I pour myself three fingers of vodka and down it in one burning gulp, trying to wash away the taste of betrayal. But her final words echo in my mind, refusing to be dismissed.
Later that night, I call Sergey to my office. He arrives within minutes, his hair still damp from the rain that's been falling steadily since sunset. Water drips from his jacket onto the expensive carpet, but he doesn't seem to notice.
“There's a problem,” I tell him without preamble.
He raises an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral. “Bianca?”
The fact that he immediately knows who I'm referring to bothers me more than it should. “She claims there's a mole in the bratva. The same claim that Artur made.”
Sergey shrugs, the gesture too casual, too dismissive. “She's trying to stir paranoia. Classic manipulation tactic. Make you doubt everyone around you so you'll crawl back to her.”
“Maybe.” But even as I agree, doubt has taken root deep in my chest like a poisonous seed.
I study Sergey's face in the dim light of my office, searching for any sign of deception. He's been with the Rostov Bratva since my father waspakhan, working his way up from street soldier to second-in-command through loyalty and competence. But Bianca's words have planted a seed of suspicion that I can't shake.
I need to know who I can trust. Who is selling pieces of my empire to my enemies while smiling in my face?
