"You're not going to lose me," I promise, even though I have no idea if it's true. "I'm going to figure this out. Handle Roman. Handle Maksim. Keep us both safe."
"How?" She searches my face. "How can you possibly handle all of this?"
"I don't know yet." The honesty feels necessary. "But I will. I always do."
"Please." She holds my hands tighter. "Please don't marry Roman. We'll find another way to save me. We'll—"
"There is no other way." I pull her into a hug. "I promise you, Anya—I will survive this. We both will."
She cries against my shoulder, and I let her. Let her have this moment of fear and grief.
Then I pull back and fix her hair, wipe her face, rebuild her armor like I rebuilt my own.
"Go home," I tell her. "In one week, you'll be gone. Safe. Building a new life."
"And you'll be stuck here."
"For now." I manage a smile. "But not forever. I promise you that."
She doesn't look convinced, but she nods.
We leave separately—her with our father, me alone.
I need space to fall apart without witnesses.
The car ride home is silent. The driver knows better than to make conversation with the Ice Queen.
Chapter Ten
Maksim
The estate feels like a museum of my former life.
Two days since the engagement party, and I still can't reconcile this place with the hell I survived. My old room is untouched. All the creature comforts I took for granted still grace the space. Soft bed. Expensive furniture. Views of Moscow that used to feel like looking at my future kingdom.
Now it just feels like a gilded cage.
Roman insisted I come home. Weird that he’s giving me permission to return to my home. Yes, my father is gone, but this is my home. If I hadn’t been ‘killed’ I would have inherited the place. I’m not entirely sure how Roman came to be in possession of Barinov property.
There was a lot I was still trying to understand.
The home once belonged to my grandfather and then my father inherited it as the new pakhan. I supposed Roman assumed that his role as the current head of the bratva entitled him to the property.
Maybe it did.
The door opens without a knock.
I sense her without needing to see her. I smell her. Feel her.
I don't turn around. "Get out."
"Maksim—"
"I said get out." My voice comes out harsh, but I don't soften it. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Then listen." Kira closes the door behind her. I can hear the soft click. "Please. Just listen."
I turn to face her, and the sight hits me like it did in the garden. She's beautiful—more beautiful than the memories that have plagued me every day for the last six years. She's wearing simple clothes today, jeans and a sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks younger like this. Less like the Ice Queen.
