The Arkhangelsky safe house—a fortified, dimly lit mansion hidden deep in the Russian wilderness. The air is thick with tension, expensive cigar smoke, and the faint hum of classical music playing in the background, courtesy of Alexander's impeccable but irritating taste.

Alexander adjusted his reading glasses, flipping a page in his book with deliberate calm. His brothers lounged around him—Nicolai sprawled on an antique leather couch, swirling wine like it was a game, Andrey lazily spinning a gold-plated pistol on his finger.

Then Leonid stood.

The room fell silent.

"У меня есть сын." (I have a son.)

Nicolai choked on his wine, coughing violently. Andrey froze mid-spin, the pistol clattering to the floor. Alexander merely closed his book with a soft snap.

"Let me guess," Alex drawled, voice icy. "The mother is the доктор you've been obsessed with for four years."

Leonid's jaw tightened—the only confirmation needed.

"Romantic feelings are a liability," Alexander mused, more to himself. "Could never be me."

Nicolai wheezed, slamming his glass down. "You—have a—SON?! Wait, wait, WHAT?!"

Andrey burst out laughing. "Honestly, I thought we'd end the bloodline. Who's the poor woman?"

Leonid's glare could've melted steel. "I'm getting married."

Dead silence.

Even Alexander's fingers stilled on his book. He hadn't predicted that.

"Congratulations," he said flatly.

Andrey smirked. "Good luck changing diapers, Брат."

Leonid's eye twitched. "We need to discuss security."

Alexander exhaled through his nose. "Already handled. I secured a government-backed safe house—"

BOOM.

The explosion rocked the mansion. Glass shattered. Dust rained from the ceiling.

Alexander's jaw clenched.

Of course.

Nicolai grinned like a wolf. "Oh, this'll be fun."

Andrey just sighed, reloading his gun. "Let me guess—her again?"

Leonid's voice was lethal. "It's her, isn't it?"

Alexander stood, straightening his cuffs. "Perhaps."

Alexander's black Lamborghini Aventador roared to life, tires screeching as he tore through Moscow's streets.

Ahead of him, a Porsche weaved through traffic like a phantom, her smirk visible in the rearview mirror.

"Should've known she'd retaliate for those documents," Alexander muttered.

Then—unfamiliar black SUVs swerved into pursuit.

Recognition flashed in both their minds.

The Kuznetsovs.

Her phone rang—unknown caller.

She answered. "Talk, Arkhangelsky."

Alexander's lips curled. "Let's team up. Common enemy. We take them down faster."

A beat.

"I'm in," she said.

Gunfire erupted. Bullets pinged off their armored cars as they swerved into formation—Alexander leading, her covering his flank.

"Follow me," he ordered.

"Lead the way," she shot back.