The crude words make me flinch.
"And I know—" He's looking at me now. "—that once his little captive distraction is gone, he'll have one thing left worth caring about. Legacy. The empire. Everything his father died for."
"We're in love, asshole."
He laughs. A real laugh. Ugly in how genuine it is.
"Love? You think men like uslove?" He tilts his head, amused. "No, sweetheart. We claim. We control. We devour. Love is what we call it to make it sound poetic." He smirks. "You're a toy he won't share. That's all. An addiction. And when you're gone? He'll find a new fix."
But I remember Ivan's eyes—raw, desperate, breaking whenhe looked at me. The way my name fell from his lips like a prayer. That's love.
Isn't it?
"Besides—" Dmitri's voice pulls me back. "—don't act all innocent. You were leaving him anyway."
The words stop my breathing.
"My man saw you run. He saw you abandon Ivan the second you witnessed what he is. The violence." He tilts his head. "You two don't work together, printsessa. It's time to sit well with that reality."
He's right.
I was running. I did leave. The moment I saw that body drop, saw the casual way Ivan ended a life, I ran.
What does that say about me? About us?
Fuck.
I sit on the edge of the bed. My legs won't support me anymore. The red lace rides up, and I don't even care now. Modesty feels pointless when you're about to be sold to Moscow perverts.
Dmitri seems satisfied with my silence. "I've given you the best room with the best treatment because you're premium merchandise. If you behave, I might consider more respectable clients. I know a few. Oligarchs who want American wives but can't get visas. They pay top dollar and might even let you keep your name."
Property. That's what I am now. The reality stings worse than any slap.
"I'm meeting with Ivan today." He checks his watch. "We're going to settle this once and for all. He'll come to his senses, I hope."
"If Ivan sees you, he'll put a bullet through your head."
"I doubt it. Because Ivan knows what I want him to know." His smile is cruel now. "That his little toy dumped him in the middle of the night after seeing what he really is. That she ranfrom him. From everything. What happened to her afterward?" He shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe she went home. Maybe she got a cab. Maybe she didn't. He'll never know."
My stomach twists.
"Where's my purse?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Your purse?"
“Give it to me.”
“Why?”
"I want it." I sound pathetic. Desperate. I don't care. If he’s meeting with Ivan, then I’ll only have one chance to send a signal. To let him know what’s really going on.
Dmitri studies me and shrugs, a mixture of amusement and disinterest glazing his eyes. He signals to someone I can't see. A guard appears and hands him my purse. A lifetime ago.
"Here, printsessa." He tosses it to me. "Consider it a final courtesy. First lesson in your new life, though—you won't need purses where you're going."
I catch it and dig through it. Wallet. Lipstick. And then?—
The perfume.
