Frederico Grey Volko
The penthouse was quiet when I finally arrived home. Viktor was waiting in the foyer as always, posture perfect, expression neutral.
“Your stepson is here, sir. He’s been waiting in the sitting room for nearly two hours.”
I nodded once, loosening my tie as I walked past him. “I’ll see him after I shower.”
The hot water did little to wash away the lingering scent of Liliana’s shampoo that still clung to my jacket from when her head rested on my lap. I stood under the spray for a long time, thinking.
She was fighting so beautifully.
And I was going to enjoy breaking down every last wall she tried to build.
I slept deeply that night — the kind of sleep that only comes when something you’ve waited decades for finally begins to fall into place.
The next morning, I w
