“Yes.”
That earns me a glance, sharp and assessing. Bogdan has known me long enough to hear what I’m not saying.
“She’s dangerous to you,” he says carefully.
I laugh under my breath. “She’s dangerous to everyone.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
No. It isn’t.
“She’s planning to run,” Bogdan continues. “I can feel it. She hasn’t stopped moving since got here. Pacing around like a caged tiger.”
I nod once in agreement. Running has become her religion. Escape is the only prayer she knows.
“She won’t make it far,” I say.
“That’s not reassurance,” he replies.
“No,” I agree. “It’s inevitable though. We can work with that.”
“Boris called again, he is getting very annoyed.” Bogdan raises and eyebrow when I simply grin at his statement. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, brother.”
“I need to meet with the Pakhan,” I reply absently. It’s the only way I can see to get Victoria out of this mess she has put herself in.
That’s the problem with planning things; no one ever plans for what happens after. Did she believe that Boris wouldn’t look for her? That the families, finally having someone to blame, wouldn’t demand consequences?
I turn back to the monitors, pulling up feeds without conscious thought.
She is up now and moving through the house with purpose. Sharper than yesterday, eyes scanning, mind calculating. She’s already bracing herself for disappointment, convincing herself that last night was meaningless. I recognize the pattern because I’ve lived it. The need to reduce something profound to a mistake so it can’t hurt you later.
It won’t save her.
Last night changed everything.
I see it in the way she walks. In the way her shoulders don’t quite hunch the way they did before. In the way her gaze lingers on reflections now, like she’s checking that she’s still real. That she didn’t imagine what it felt like to be chosen. To choose. To let go of every shred of tension that binds her.
She doesn’t even see that she is caged whether she is in my home or not. Her own body is locked down so tight she can’t relax without help, without permission to release everything she is carrying.
My intrigue bloomed into obsession the moment she came apart on my fingers.
I want to keep her.
Not locked away. Not broken. Not obedient.
I want her sharp. Defiant. Alive. I want the woman who stole from her uncle and escaped with blood still warm in her veins. I want the woman who kissed me like she hated me but neededme anyway. I want every version of her, and I want all of themchoosingme.
That’s the sickness. The danger.
Boris calls twice before noon.
I don’t answer.
When I finally do, I let him talk. Let him rage. Let him threaten. Let him posture like a man who still believes the world bends for him. He demands his niece returned. He demands restitution. He demands loyalty like he hasn’t spent decades bleeding his own bloodline dry.
Just because he is older than me doesn’t mean I automatically respect him. I’ve never liked the man, and like him even less now that the extent of his abuse has been brought to light.
I listen.
