But I don't care anymore. Let it burn. Let the whole fucking empire burn if that's what it takes.
Rage floods through me again. Colder this time. The kind that doesn't break furniture. The kind that ends bloodlines and burns cities.
I pocket the phone and turn to Misha and Pyotr, who are watching and waiting for orders. For direction. For their Pakhan to be what he's supposed to be.
Tomorrow I’ll go to that meeting. Tomorrow I’ll face Dmitri and whatever sick game he's playing. And tomorrow, one way or another, this ends.
I'm going to burn the world down.
Starting with that cockroach.
Then, anyone else who dares to get in my way.
26
LILA
The world whirls faster than I can process.
Why am I so dizzy?
My head's full of static—cotton, concrete, maybe clouds. Thoughts slide around, never sticking. It’s like attempting to assemble a jigsaw puzzle in fog.
Chemical.
Wait. What chemical?
Then it hits—the restaurant. Ivan killing that man. The casual snap of his neck. Me running. Hands grabbing me from behind. That smell. Thatchemicalsmell.
And now I'm here.
Wherever here is.
I force my eyes to focus on my surroundings, trying to make sense of this.
Concrete walls. But not bare concrete—someone's tried to make this look nice. Opulent rugs on the floor. A seating area that belongs in a furniture catalog. Silk curtains that don't cover any windows, because there are none.
A thick candle burns steadily on a side table, castingflickering shadows across the room. There is no other light. No electricity.
I’m underground. I have to be. The air feels wrong. Recycled. No natural light anywhere.
What the hell?
I try to sit up, but my body won't cooperate. Everything moves more slowly than it should.
That's when I notice what I'm wearing.
Red lace. Barely-there red lace. The lingerie is more marketing than clothing, covering nothing.
My face burns. Who put this on me?
I climb to my feet. The room tilts. I grab the edge of the bed—a bed I don't remember getting into—and wait for my equilibrium to steady.
My clothes. Where the hell are they? The dress. The diamonds. The heels.
I search the room for anything to cover the humiliation. Blanket. Robe. A damn curtain.
But there’s nothing.
