Moscow's winter bled white across the estate grounds, coating the black iron gates with frost. The silence outside mirrored the one inside Lily's mind—one she was slowly learning to tame.
But there was no more running.
She was done hiding behind the curtains of memory and confusion.
This morning, she would stand as more than Damian's wife. She would become something far more dangerous: his partner.
Lily dressed with precision—black tailored trousers, a blood-red silk blouse, her hair pulled back in a low knot. No jewelry, no distractions. She wanted them to see her eyes—clear, focused, no longer the wide-eyed amnesiac clinging to someone else's story.
When she stepped into the Bratva's war room, the air changed.
Twelve men sat around the oval table, all high-ranking captains. Anton stood behind Damian, flanked by two enforcers. The moment Lily entered, the room tensed. Eyes narrowed, whispers halted.
"She shouldn't be here," one captain said in Russian.
"She has every right," Damian replied, voice hard. "This is my wife. My pakhanitza."
The title silenced them. It wasn't just a courtesy.
He had declared her co-ruler. An equal.
Lily's stomach twisted, but she held her head high and walked to the empty seat beside Damian. She didn't wait for permission—she claimed it.
"I called this meeting," Damian said, "because we have a traitor in this room."
Gasps fluttered.
Lily blinked. Traitor?
Damian slid a folder across the table, then nodded at Anton. "Tell them."
Anton opened the file. "Four weeks ago, someone in this circle tipped off the Moretti family about Mikhail's location. Our safe house was nearly compromised."
One captain stood up sharply. "That's a lie!"
"Sit," Damian growled.
Lily watched, heart racing. This was more than politics. This was survival. One wrong move and blood would spill across the marble.
"I traced the leak," Anton continued. "The encrypted messages were sent through a burner phone registered in your mistress's name, Viktor."
All eyes turned.
Viktor's face paled. "My Katya? That's impossible—she barely knows how to use a phone!"
"But she knows your passwords," Anton snapped. "And she used them to upload intel to the Moretti cloud server."
Lily's gaze sharpened. "So, he used her as a shield."
Viktor turned to her, face flushing. "I didn't know she did it! She was trying to protect us—she thought if Kevin knew where the boy was, he'd stop hunting the rest of us!"
"You endangered my son," Damian said coldly.
"I swear, I didn't know!"
Lily stood. "You may not have known, but you were careless. And in this world, carelessness gets children killed."
Viktor fell to his knees. "Please… mercy."
Lily turned to Damian. "What happens now?"
He looked at her, gauging. "He betrayed the Bratva. The code says he dies."
Lily's throat tightened. She glanced around at the expectant faces. All watching. All waiting to see what kind of queen she would be.
"Not death," she said.
Gasps echoed.
"Exile."
Damian's brow lifted.
She continued. "Strip him of title. Take his assets. Mark him so every ally knows what he did. But let him live. Let him be an example."
Murmurs filled the room.
"That's weakness," one grizzled captain hissed.
"No," Lily said, locking eyes with him. "That's strategy. A corpse teaches nothing. But a disgraced man? He carries the lesson in his shame."
A pause.
Then Damian smiled, just slightly.
"You heard her," he said. "Exile him. Now."
Anton dragged Viktor away, screaming.
And Lily sat back down, heart pounding in her throat.
---
Later, Damian poured her a glass of cognac in the study.
"You surprised me," he said, handing it over.
"I surprised myself," she murmured. "Was I too soft?"
"No," he said. "You were dangerous. That kind of mercy? It's rare. And it's terrifying."
Lily took a sip. "Good."
Damian stepped behind her, his hands slipping around her waist. "You were born for this."
She leaned back into his chest. "I was born for nothing. But I'm choosing this."
His lips brushed her neck, slow and hungry. "Then let me show you what power looks like… behind closed doors."
Lily turned in his arms and kissed him—long, deep, demanding.
They didn't make it to the bedroom.
He bent her over the desk, sweeping papers aside with a growl. Her blouse tore under his grip, her nails dug into his back, and for the first time since her memory returned, she let herself burn.
Every touch was war and worship.
Every breath a surrender.
When they collapsed together, tangled and breathless, she whispered, "We make a good team."
Damian smiled against her skin. "No one will ever take you from me again."
---
The next morning, Anton entered with a strange look on his face.
"There's a problem," he said.
Lily looked up from the kitchen table, where she was feeding Mikhail bits of cut fruit. Damian sat across, reading a report.
"What kind of problem?" Damian asked.
Anton hesitated. "A new family's moved into the north sector. They're calling themselves La Serpe."
Damian's face darkened. "That name hasn't been used in decades."
"They're claiming to be Italian," Anton added. "And… one of them bears a striking resemblance to Elena Moretti."
Lily froze.
Her mother?
"But my mother's dead," she whispered.
Damian looked at Anton. "Send a scout. Quietly."
Anton nodded and left.
Lily's hands trembled as she lifted her son. "If it's her…"
"It can't be," Damian said gently. "We buried her."
"Then why do I feel like someone's watching us?"
Damian pulled her close. "Because the past doesn't stay buried. Not in our world."
---