The wind howled outside the villa as Lily stood frozen in the aftermath of Ilya's revelation. The truth gnawed at her chest, a sharp and unrelenting ache.
John wasn't her father. Damian didn't kill him. And the man who did—her real father—was still out there, watching.
She leaned heavily against the wall, every breath catching in her throat.
Damian crossed the room and handed her a glass of water. His fingers brushed hers for a moment too long.
"I'm taking you home," he said quietly. "You've heard enough for today."
Lily shook her head. "No. I need to keep going. I need to find that doctor. Dmitri Kovalenko. He has the rest of the answers."
"You've barely slept."
"I don't care," she snapped, more harshly than she meant to. "I need to know who I am."
Damian exhaled slowly, his voice measured. "This next part… It won't be safe."
"Neither was marrying a mafia kingpin," she said dryly.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but a faint, grim smile tugged at his lips. "Fair."
He walked to the window, staring out into the darkening forest. "We'll leave tonight. There's a private jet waiting in case we ever needed to cross the border quickly. Russia is hostile territory. I have enemies there—men who'd love to see my blood on the snow."
Lily crossed the room toward him. "And what about my enemies?" she asked. "Kevin Moretti… my real father… he stole me from my life. Framed you. Killed John. He's the one I should fear."
Damian turned, his face serious. "No. He's the one who should fear me."
By midnight, they were airborne. Damian's jet was as luxurious as a penthouse suite—leather seats, dark wood trim, a stocked bar. But none of it mattered to Lily.
She sat curled in a window seat, staring out into the night sky. Damian sat across from her, going over files Anton had sent—intel on Dmitri's last known location, surveillance reports from years ago, whispers about a remote cabin near the Volga River.
"I still don't understand," she murmured, voice low. "Why did John do it? Why would he take someone's baby?"
Damian looked up. "Envy. Obsession. You were born into a powerful family. Your mother was everything John couldn't have. She rejected him when they were younger. Kevin married her instead."
"So John took me to hurt them."
"Partly. But I think he also genuinely wanted a daughter."
Lily closed her eyes. Her entire life—her childhood, her memories of love and bedtime stories—tainted by someone else's pain.
"Why didn't he tell me the truth before he died?"
"Because he was a coward," Damian said. "And cowards lie to protect themselves."
They landed in Volgograd before dawn. The air was bitter, snow flurries already sweeping across the tarmac.
A sleek black SUV waited for them, and four heavily armed guards flanked it. Anton greeted them inside the car with a sharp nod.
"I found him," Anton said, handing Damian a printed satellite image. "That's the cabin. No power grid, no phone lines. He's off the map. Probably scared shitless."
"Good," Damian said. "He should be."
"Does he know we're coming?" Lily asked.
Anton glanced at her. "Not yet."
She studied the photo. The cabin was nestled between thick pines and perched near a frozen river. It looked like something from a fairy tale—if fairy tales came wrapped in danger and snowstorms.
They drove for hours, the road thinning until they were bouncing across ice-covered paths. Finally, the trees opened to reveal the cabin.
Damian stepped out first, his pistol drawn. The guards surrounded the structure. Lily's heart pounded.
She followed him slowly, snow crunching under her boots.
The door creaked open with a groan. The interior was dim—lit only by a fire and a few oil lamps.
A frail man with white hair and hollow cheeks sat in a threadbare armchair, clutching a worn photo.
"Dmitri Kovalenko?" Damian asked coldly.
The man looked up, and for a moment, recognition flashed in his tired eyes.
"You," he whispered. "You're Keller's little girl."
Lily stepped forward, trembling. "I'm not his girl. I'm… I don't know who I am."
"You're Elena Moretti," the doctor said. "You were born in Florence. February 12th. I was there when they brought you in."
Lily staggered. She gripped the back of a chair, her vision swimming.
"My name is… Elena?"
He nodded slowly. "Your mother cried when she held you. Said your eyes were just like your father's."
"What happened?"
Dmitri sighed, curling in on himself like a leaf. "John paid me everything he had. Said he wanted to save you from a cruel world. I believed him. I didn't know he meant to steal you until it was too late."
Damian growled low in his throat. "And you stayed quiet. Let the lie go on."
Dmitri's voice cracked. "I was afraid. Of John. Of the mafia. Of Kevin."
"Why did Kevin never find her?" Lily asked.
"He tried. But John moved you constantly. Changed your documents. You were hidden in plain sight."
"And what about the accident?" Damian asked. "Did you have anything to do with that?"
Dmitri shook his head. "No. But I heard rumors. Kevin's men were watching you. They'd found out where John kept you. You were trying to run… because you thought Damian killed John."
Lily's knees buckled. Damian caught her before she hit the floor.
She clung to him, shaking. "I remember now. The night of the crash. I was driving. I had your gun in my purse. I was going to confront you."
"And I was chasing after you," Damian whispered. "But I was too late."
The fire crackled in the silence that followed.
Finally, Damian stood, his voice like steel. "You're going to record everything you just told her. Names. Dates. And you're going to testify when the time comes."
Dmitri nodded, defeated.
"But if you run…" Damian leaned close. "I will hunt you down myself."
That night, Lily stood alone outside the cabin, staring at the vast Russian sky.
Damian joined her, wrapping his coat around her shoulders.
"You did good," he said quietly.
"I feel like I'm unraveling."
He tilted her chin up. "No. You're rebuilding."
She looked into his eyes. "What happens now?"
"You decide. If you want to go to Florence, find what's left of your real family—I'll take you."
"And if I stay?"
His eyes darkened. "Then I'll give you everything you've ever wanted. Even if it kills me."
She leaned into him, her voice barely a whisper. "I want the truth. But I want you too."
And for the first time in weeks, her kiss wasn't uncertain. It was a promise.