Tears spill down her cheeks. "I hate this. I hate all of it."
"I know." I pull her into a hug. "But it's temporary. I promise you, this situation with Roman is temporary."
"When do I leave?" she asks.
"Next week. Before the wedding." Before Roman can change his mind and decide to keep her here as additional leverage. "You'll have everything you need—money, connections, a place to stay. And once you're settled, you'll send me pictures of every gallery and museum you visit."
"And you'll come visit," she says. "Once this is over. Once you're free."
"Once I'm free," I agree, though the concept of freedom feels impossibly distant.We spend the next hour going through her things, deciding what to pack and what to leave behind. It feels like preparing for a funeral—severing ties with this life, this world, everything she's known.But it's necessary. She has to get out before Roman's poison spreads to her too.“What about Papa?” she asks. “What will happen to him?”
She loves him and I have to keep that in mind. “I don’t know. I won’t kill him.”
She laughs. “Well, I guess that is something.”
“It’s all I can promise,” I say. “I’m sorry, Anya. I know you love him.”
“And I know you’ve allowed me to love him because you’ve shielded me. You’ve protected me and lost everything.”
“Not everything. I have you.”
“Always.”
“Keep packing. I need to take care of some business.”
“Will I be at your party tomorrow?” she asks.
“No, Anya. I don’t want you anywhere near him or his people. Trust me, it isn’t a celebration. You will not be missing out on anything.”
Chapter Six
Maksim
"This is insane." Semyon checks his weapon for the third time in as many minutes. "You understand that, right? Walking into a room full of people who think you're dead—who might have wanted you dead—is categorically insane.
"Noted." I adjust my tie in the mirror of the safe house bathroom. The suit Semyon acquired fits perfectly—expensive, tailored, the kind of thing the old Maksim would have worn without thinking. Now it feels like a costume. "Your objection is registered."
I didn’t want to wear the suit, but Semyon reminded me the goal was to blend in as much as possible. I wasn’t sure how that was going to work. People were going to notice a dead man walking.
"Registered and ignored, apparently." He leans against the doorframe. "There's nothing stopping someone from shooting you the moment you walk through that door. Roman's security will be everywhere. One word from him and you're a corpse. A real one this time."
"Won't be the first time I've been killed." I meet his eyes in the mirror. "I got better."
"That's not funny."
"Wasn't meant to be." I turn from the mirror, checking the knife concealed in my jacket. Old habits. "But I'm doing this regardless. Everyone needs to know I'm back."
"Why?" Semyon's frustration bleeds through. "Why announce yourself like this? Why not stay dead, gather intelligence, strike when you have the advantage?"
"Because I want to see their faces." The truth comes out harsh. Raw. "Roman's face when he realizes I survived. Kira's face when she sees the man she had killed standing across the ballroom. I want them to know that hell gave me back."
“You want to read their reactions.”
“Yes.”
“Roman was pretty torn up when you were killed,” Semyon reminds me. “He comforted your father.”
“Sounds like my funeral was pretty entertaining,” I reply dryly. “But someone set me up. I want to look every one of them in the eyes. I want to know who killed me.”
