"You were never going to be equals," he says, almost gently. "Roman runs the most powerful organization in Moscow. We're smaller. This marriage elevates us."
We. As if he is anything.
"This marriage erases us." I straighten. "And you helped him do it."
"I helped secure our future—"
"You sold your daughters!" The rage breaks through. "And now you're sitting here justifying it while everything I built crumbles."
"It's not crumbling. It's being absorbed into something greater." He stands, trying for paternal authority. "You're too emotional to see it now, but this is for the best."
"Get out of your chair."
"Excuse me?"
"Your chair." I gesture to the desk. "The one I've let you keep out of respect. Get out of it. You don't deserve to sit there."
His face flushes. "This is my house—""That I paid for. You lost your seat when your gambling nearly destroyed us. I've been letting you pretend out of kindness. I’m still here. I’m not married yet. That is my rightful place."
"Kira, you're upset—"
"I'm done." I turn for the door.I leave him standing there, small and diminished, and head upstairs to find Anya.
My anger has consumed me. I hate everything and everyone. I feel nothing except hatred. It’s consuming me from the inside out. Maybe it would be easier to just give up. I’ve proven my point.
I could disappear. Me and Anya. We could move to America and be free.
But it feels like quitting.
I can’t quit. I can’t give up. That hatred burning low in my belly demands I keep pushing.
Later, I find Anya is in her room, surrounded by half-packed suitcases and art supplies. The walls are covered with her paintings—beautiful, dreamlike scenes that have nothing to do with the brutal world we live in.
"Kira. I thought you were handling the party planning.”
"It’s done. How's the packing going?"
"It feels wrong. I'm escaping to Paris while you're stuck here, marrying a monster."
"You're not escaping. You're surviving." I take her hand. "That's all that matters."
"But what about you?" She squeezes my fingers. "Kira, I've been thinking—maybe we could both run. Just disappear. Roman can't find us if we're careful—"
"He would find us." I cut off that fantasy before it can take root. "And when he did, the punishment would be worse than anything he's planning now."
"So you're just giving up?""I'm being strategic." I meet her eyes. "There's a difference between surrender and tactical retreat."
"It’s dangerous."
"Everything in my life is dangerous."
"Can you tell me?" she asks. “Can I help you?”
"No." Because I won't make her complicit in what I'm planning. Won't give her nightmares about her sister committing murder. "All you need to know is that I'm going to handle this. You’ll be safe. I promise.”
"I don't want to be safe if it means leaving you in danger. You've protected me my whole life. Let me help protect you for once."
I sigh and shake my head. "You want to help? Then go to Paris. Paint beautiful things. Live the life I'm fighting to give you. That's how you protect me—by being everything this world didn't destroy."
