He releases me, shoving me back enough to remind me the world is still his to control.
"Death is too easy. Too quick. Too merciful for what you've cost me."
He starts pacing. Long strides, fists flexing, like he needs movement to process the rage physically. Like he needs it to keep from destroying everything around him.
"No. I want him to know you're alive. Out in Russia, getting used by whoever bought you. Getting passed around. Getting broken." He stops and looks at me. "And he has to sit with thatknowledge for the rest of his pathetic life. The love of his life—" he says it mockingly, spits the words "—so close yet so impossibly far away. That's the price for betraying the Volkov family."
He moves toward the door and grabs my arm again.
I pull back, planting my feet as much as I can on the smooth floor and looking him directly in the eye.
"So you admit this is love?"
He stares at me.
"Love." He says it like it tastes bad. "Overrated word for a thing that destroys everything it touches. Ruins empires. Makes smart men do catastrophically stupid things."
He's not done. Men like him love their own voice too much.
"Let me educate you about Ivan Petrov's love, printsessa. He loved his parents—they died in a car bomb that was meant for him. Boom. Gone. Because he was careless with who knew his schedule."
He takes a step closer.
"He loved his first lieutenant like a brother. Man named Sergie. Another Sergie. Brilliant soldier. Ivan's right hand for five years. Know what happened? Sergie sold him out to the Italians for half a million dollars. Betrayed him completely."
Another step.
"Everything Ivan Petrov loves turns to ash eventually. Everyone he cares about either dies or betrays him. That's not romance, little girl. That's a curse."
Is he right? Is Ivan cursed somehow? Is loving him a death sentence waiting to happen?
I think about his parents. The way he barely mentions them. The pain in his eyes the few times their names came up. The weight he carries that he never talks about.
I think about Boris. The man who taught him to shoot. Who stood at his father's funeral. Who Ivan had to kill for betraying him.
I didn’t even know about Sergie.
Maybe Dmitri has a point. Maybe everyone Ivan loves does turn to ash.
But I already made my choice on that balcony. I chose yes. Chose Ivan. I only ran because I couldn’t comprehend the dark truths behind his vicious beauty. But I’ve seen him now. All of him. And I know that I wouldn’t change a thing.
"Maybe." I meet his eyes, holding his gaze. "But he'll burn you first."
"The only thing burning is his empire," he says. "Once I convince the other families—once they see how weak he's become over you—I'll wipe Petrovs off Bratva history completely."
He pulls my arm again, jerking me forward hard enough that I stumble.
"Starting with you."
I pull back with everything I have.
My eyes land on the side table. The candle that's been burning since I got here. Wax pooling at the base. Flame going strong.
Desperation does something to your body. Gives you strength you didn't know existed. Makes impossible things possible.
I grab it.
The hot wax burns my fingers. The metal holder sears my palm. I don't care. I just throw it as hard as I can at the Persian rug under our feet.
