My brother is ruthless when it comes to his family. Or anything in general. No one has read his heart yet. And I wonder if anyone ever will. He’s worse than a puzzle, deeper than oceans and darker than space’s dark matter.

So, when I say every face in the crowd tenses, I mean it. Everyone does. Including my parents. Mama seem to just look at him with this strange emotions in her eyes. Judas doesn’t talk to Mama, no one knows the reason. Anya guess it’s something that happens in childhood, but I believe it must be the day he killed that beautiful canary she gifted him. Papochka says that was normal, but we all know nothing about skinning a little bird alive is normal.

Maybe he said that because he believed my brother was redeemable, he still believes that, the difference is, he believes Judas can still be saved by love, while the rest of us have learned to fear him instead.

Not fear him, but his unpredictability.

Papochka holds onto this fragile hope like it’s a prayer stitched into his bones, but even prayers wither in front of his eldest. He walks like a god among men, untouchable, unreadable with every in him made of steel. And if there’s a soul inside him, it’s buried too deep for even Mama’s tears to reach.

However, what reaches beneath his thick is, rage.

If I’m afraid of anything more than aliens, bugs, lizards, volcano eruptions or natural calamities, it’s my brother’s anger. When it’s directed at others. Cause he may control himself with us, but not others. Instead, he lets it unleash and rest is history.

He’s chilled, strangely calm, kind of bored and there’s a woman on his arm. Well, that’s new. Either she seduced him or he was too unbothered to bring her here. But is it my worry? The woman in his arms? Or should I be worried about the man whose arm is around my waist.

His date is silent, clinging to his arm like a shadow stitched too tight. There’s something off about her eyes—like the lights are on, but no one’s home.

I get my answer as soon as my brother eyes land on me, and for a moment, I swear my heart forgets how to beat.

I forget how terrifying he is compared to his genetics.

Black shirt unbuttoned by three steps, a scar on his chest I don’t want to know story of, and his jaw set in a stony expression. It doesn’t take long his expressions to turn from unbothered to pissed.

And he’s stalking toward us. His gaze flicks to my right, and the corners of his mouth curve, not in a smile. Judas never smile. No, he bares teeth.

“Did they finally let you out of your cage, Romanovski?” Massimo drawls before Judas can speak. His voice is dripping with mock and venom.

Here we go.

“Massimo,” Judas says as if he’s spiting the name. “Still stinking of something that’s not yours.”

Massimo shifts, slightly stepping in front of me and my brother’s eyes flicks between us suspiciously. “You’d know a lot about taking what isn’t yours, wouldn’t you, Judas? Or did the rumours about your little massacre get buried with daddy’s money?”

My stomach lurches. My legs go weak.

Oh God, stop, please, someone stop them.

But they don’t.

They circle each other with words, a war old as sin bleeding into them.

Judas steps closer and I tense. “Say another word and I’ll see if your tongue tastes the same when I rip it out.”

Massimo chuckles. “Why don’t you ask your sister? She knows better.”

My eyes widen and all the air left my lungs.

My eyes snap to Judas as his glare slides past Massimo to pin me in place, and I can feel the weight of it like a hand around my throat. His eyes burn—a storm of betrayal and fury crashing behind them.

I flinch.                                               

Massimo doesn’t. He steps fully in front of me, shielding me with his body like a wall. Calm, collected, territorial. His arm tightens around my waist just a fraction—enough to claim me.

Enough for Judas to see. And I want to die.

“She knows what I taste like.”

That’s what enrages my brother.

Judas moves in a blink—fingers twitching as his hand shoots up, about to grab Massimo by the collar—but then—

“Behave.”

One word. Smooth as aged whiskey and sharp as broken glass.

Papochka’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, and Judas freezes. So do I.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t argue. But he listens.

Of course he does. Judas always listens to Papochka.

Slowly, Judas lowers his hand, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t die. It just redirects—straight at me.

“We’ll talk, malyashka,” he muttered dangerously soft. I know there’s no mercy. He won’t show me even if he loves me more than death. Judas is like that. He’d love, but destroy too.

My breath hitches and my skin prickles. The blood drains from my face as I try to make sense of it all.

He only calls me that when he’s truly angry.

If Judas changes the nicknames, you’re fucked.

I look at him, eyes wide and glossy, chest tight with guilt and confusion and something I can’t name. He told me to stay away from Massimo and I went behind his back doing sinful things with the said man.

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.

So I do the only thing I can—I turn on Massimo with tears glimmering in my eyes, voice trembling.

“Why? Why did you... you’re so—” My voice cracks. “You’re so cruel.”

Massimo’s expression doesn’t change. He stays quiet for a beat too long.

His blue-grey don’t soften or show any guilt and I flinch when he takes a step closer.

He leans down, voice brushing the shell of my ear like a dark promise. “You’ll understand eventually, bambina.”

His fingers flex around my waist as if to remind me of that fact.

“Besides,” he adds with a ghost of a smirk, eyes flicking to my furious brother, “You made your choice when you looked at me like.”

Like that. Like I needed him to ruin me. And maybe I did. But the moment shatters—like all dangerous things do.

“Krystina?” Mama calls me from the front the people are gathering. I sniff back my unshed tears and slap Massimo’s hand away from my waist and glare at him.

“You made choices for me. Not the other way. You gave me no choice, you left me with no escape.” My chest is heaving as I take a shaky breath before meeting his detached eyes again. “You won’t know what it feels like to be a disappointment to your family. You… you took my peace and now you want to shatter the remnants too?”

“Was humiliating me some kind of power trip? Was that your endgame?”

“He was going to find out anyway.”

"But not like this! Not like it was something you were proud of, like I was some prize you stole behind his back!"

“I wasn’t going to keep hiding. I don’t play by your brother’s rules.”

"This wasn’t about rules!" I shake my head, voice hoarse.

"This was about me. About my choice. And you took it from me. Just like everyone else."

The muscle in his jaw ticked but I don’t wait to see the swirls of ocean and storms in his eyes. I don’t wait for the apology he’ll never say or the ache he’ll pretend not to feel.

I turn.

Because if I don’t, I’ll shatter.

The President lifts his glass for a toast. Flashes from cameras goes off. Guests lean in with polite smiles.

I stand behind my parents, unnerved but composed. From corner of my eyes and aching heart I see Massimo leaning nearby in the crowd.

Chandeliers glow like they’re on fire with me, and yet the heat on my skin is unmatchable.

Mama turns to me, smiles and I do too.

But inside, I sense a rupture beneath the glitter. A crack humming through the crowd and cheers. As if the walls remember something the rest of us forgot.

That beauty this perfect always precedes ruin.

I don’t know what I’ll say to Judas, or how would I explain myself. He’ll bring hell, and if Papochka or any of my fathers know, I’ll be bringing war to our doorsteps. The alliances will break, the immunity will be compromised, and the Romanovski name will be tarnished.

A chill races down my spine as I notice a movement in my periphery taking my attention.

Judas’s date steps away from the people. Red satin, dark eyes and skin too pale under golden lights.

She moves like she’s not really here. She looks drunk, but, since my brother is not a gentleman, he doesn’t help her, instead, he lets her do what she wants cause he’s not focused on Anya and Caden. But I don’t care about them but Monica.

My breath catches. Something’s wrong. She’s moving too fast. Too slow. Wrong rhythm and wrong pulse.

I watch as she reaches the dessert table, and she swallows. And my body registers before my mind can. My eyes widen as I try to reach her through the crowd. “Monica…” My voice sink in the cheers.

Her hand closes around the carving knife.

The world narrows and sound falls away like snow.

“Monica!” I shout in panic. But it’s too late. She turns, eyes wide but blank, then raises the blade and plunges it into her stomach.

Once. Twice and screams tear through the music like claws.

Blood splashes onto white marble like spilled wine.

I can’t move.

She folds into the floor like a dying prayer. And suddenly I forget how to breathe. Red blooms like roses on her dress, and time folds like silk drenched in screams.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wine glasses drop. The President’s guards shove forward but they’re too late. Everyone is.

Panic spirals like wildfire. And voice blur.

“She was with him!”

“That’s Judas Romanovski’s date!”

“Oh my God, did he… did he make her do this?!”

“She killed herself? Right in front of the President? I told you Romanovskis are lost in their heads!”

“What kind of man lets that happens and just stands there?!”

I turn to look at Judas.

He’s isn’t yelling. He isn’t reacting. He’s just… staring. Like his brain hasn’t caught up to what his eyes are seeing. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

And before I even register the movement, I feel it.

A stare. It lands on me like pressure tightening around my lungs. I turn, just slightly, like I already know who it is.

Massimo. Leaning against the table, holding the glass of wine he hasn’t touched.

His face is unreadable, except for the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth.

My throat dries up. I want to look away, but I don’t. I can’t.

God, I hope he doesn’t know he’s already in me. That something in me moves when he’s near. Even when I’m scared. Even when I try to hate him. Even when I know I should.

He raises his glass slightly. Just enough for me to know it’s meant for me.

And I know, this wasn’t an accident.

This wasn’t random. This was a message.

To Judas. To the world. Maybe even to me.

It doesn’t take much to ruin someone. Just one moment. One body and on headline.

The press starts swarming. Phones flash. Security yells at everyone to stop filming, but no one listens. The girl’s body lies still. Lifeless. So, so red against the white floor. And I finally understand.