"I told myself it would be just one night," I said, a bitter laugh escaping. "Satisfy curiosity, then go back to my life. But the next morning, watching you sleep with sunlight on your face, I knew it was over for me."
"But you still went through with the engagement. You hid it from me!" She swallowed tears and accused me.
"No!" I shot to my feet, trying to explain. "I thought about canceling. I really did. For three months before Christmas, I wrestled with how to get out of it."
"But you didn't," she said, standing now, anger and hurt mingling in her eyes. "You stood me up the night before our half-anniversary and gave me earrings I couldn't even wear. You broke your promise, so I threw away the dinner I made. On Christmas, youwere gone all day—if I hadn't gone to that party and seen everything, I'd still be a fool for you."
Her words landed like a punch. She was right.
"Because my father threatened me. Because I put the family above my own life!" I roared, the words echoing in the studio. "He told me if I broke it off, the Ivanovs would join our enemies—Salvatore—and crush us."
She stared, blue eyes wide.
"So I caved. I acted like a coward." My voice carried nothing but self-loathing. "I went to that engagement banquet, I put on the ring, I swore in front of everyone to marry a woman I didn't love, like a weak man."
I dropped my eyes. If I saw contempt in hers, I would have broken.
"Then I spent three months planning. I reached out to everyone who resented my father and used them." I met her face again. "Three months after that Christmas, in front of everyone, I tore up the engagement."
I paused, inhaled. "And I took power from my father."
"You—what?" Her eyes widened.
"I forced him to step down," I said it coldly. "I gave him two choices: a dignified retirement, or death."
She gasped; I went on. "He chose retirement. I became the Don. The first thing I did after I took over was send people to find you."
"But you didn't find me," she whispered.
"I found leads. I knew someone had taken you to Italy. I traced him to ties with the Italian Mafia, but beyond that—" My teeth clenched. "That was Cosa Nostra territory. I'd just taken power. I couldn't send men into Italy without it being seen as a provocation. It would start a war."
"So you gave up?" Her voice broke.
"No." I grabbed her shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough they might leave marks. "I never gave up. But, Elena, if I'd started a war to find you, how many men would have died? Their wives, their children—"
I let go, not wanting to hurt her. "I couldn't be that selfish. So Ichose another route. I spent five years building power, making the Bratva strong enough that no one dared touch us."
"Five years." She repeated, tears tracking down. "Five years, Igor."
Her words stung. We held each other's gaze, pain and regret suspended between us. I could see her torn—my explanations on one side, her hurt on the other.
"Three nights after I took power, Natasha found me. She tried to seduce me," I said. "I felt nothing for her. When seduction failed, she pulled out a drug—something to make a person go limp."
Shock changed her face.
I looked at my hand. "I felt my muscles weaken, but I used the last of my strength to choke her."
"Why are you telling me this?" Her voice trembled.
"Because you needed the truth. You needed to know I hadn't betrayed you after you left. I never felt anything for another woman. This body was yours, Elena. From the first time we were together, it belonged to you."
She closed her eyes; tears fell. I brushed them away with my thumb. Her skin was warm and soft.
"But that didn't change anything." She opened her eyes, voice cold as ice. "You still chose your family, Igor. At that engagement banquet, on that snowy night, you chose power over me."
"Yes." I didn't try to soften it. She deserved honesty. "I made that choice, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. But Elena, I wouldn't make it again."
"How can you promise that?" she demanded. "What if next time the family threatens you to abandon me?"
