Dmitri lets go immediately and steps back fast. His hand moves to his jacket, where he keeps his gun.
"Ivan." His voice is different now, less confident. "How the fuck did you get on this boat?"
No answer.
Ivan just stands there looking at us. Looking at me specifically. His eyes move over me checking. Making sure I'm whole.
Then his gaze shifts to Dmitri.
I watch it happen. Watch those eyes change from black to an even darker shade. A hue that shouldn't exist in a human face.
Dmitri sees it too. But instead of backing down, he smiles. That smug, theatrical smile.
"Before you ask—yes, I fucking dared. Touched her. Was about to do a lot more before you rudely interrupted."
The gun comes out and points at Ivan.
"You move—" His finger's on the trigger now. "—you move one fucking inch, and I'll put a bullet in your skull. See how your printsessa likes you with half a head?—"
Ivan doesn't let him finish.
He doesn't negotiate. Doesn't threaten. Doesn't give any warning at all.
Just launches himself across the room.
The distance disappears. One second, he's in the doorway. Next, he's on Dmitri.
The gun goes off. The sound is deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet goes somewhere. Hits the ceiling, maybe. The wall. Doesn't matter because it doesn't hit Ivan.
They crash into furniture. Through it. The glass coffee table shatters under their combined weight. Ivan lands on top. His position is perfect. His fists are already moving.
The first punch breaks Dmitri's nose.
That wet cracking sound explodes through the room. Cartilage gives way. Blood sprays.
"YOU DARED TOUCH HER?"
The second punch cracks his cheekbone. The third his jaw. Each bone snaps with a horrifying crunch.
"YOU DARED PUT YOUR HANDS ON WHAT'S MINE?"
Dmitri is trying to speak. Maybe trying to beg. But his jaw is shattered. His mouth isn't working right. The sounds coming out aren't words. Just wet noises. Mere evidence that he's still alive.
For now.
I should look away.
That's what normal people do, right? When someone's being beaten to death in front of them? They look away. They close their eyes. They try to pretend it's not happening.
But I can't look away.
I'm watching every detail. Every punch. Every crack of bone. Every spray of blood painting the walls and carpet and expensive furniture.
This is different from last time. From the alley, when I ran. When I saw Ivan kill that man and panicked.
This time I'm not scared. Not running. Not even flinching.
A smile tugs at my lips. Small. Probably wrong. Definitely disturbing.
