Roman steps inside, closing the door behind him.
He's changed clothes. The ones Maksim bled on are gone, replaced by a fresh suit. Like nothing happened.
"Where is he?" I demand. "Is he alive?"
"That's your first question?" Roman's smile is cruel. "Not whether the wedding is still on? Not begging for mercy?"
"I don't care about the wedding. Where is Maksim?"
"Touching." He circles me slowly. "The whore actually cares about her lover."
The word hits like a slap. "Don't—"
"Don't what? Call you what you are?" His voice rises. "I was going to marry you. Make you the queen of Moscow. And you repaid me by fucking him! In my house!"
"You set us up!" I shout back. "You arranged everything—"
"I tested you!" He's in my face now, fury radiating from him. "And you failed! Just like he failed! Both of you weak and predictable!"
"If we're so predictable, why are you so angry?"
Wrong thing to say. His hand wraps around my throat, slamming me back against the wall.
"Angry?" His grip tightens. "I'm not angry. I'm disappointed. I actually thought you might be worth the trouble. That you had discipline. Control. But you're just like every other woman—ruled by emotion and sentiment."
Spots dance across my vision. I claw at his hand, but he's too strong.
"The wedding is off," he says conversationally, like he's not strangling me. "I don't want a whore in my bed. I have standards."
He releases me suddenly, and I collapse, gasping.
"Instead," he continues, straightening his suit, "I'll marry your sister. Sweet, innocent Anya. At least she hasn't been tainted by my Maksim's touch."
"No." I'm still choking, voice raspy. "Not Anya. The deal was—"
"The deal is whatever I say it is." He looks down at me with contempt. "You broke our agreement when you spread your legs for Maksim. So now your sister pays the price."
"Please." I'm begging now, pride abandoned. "Please, Roman. Punish me. Kill me. But leave Anya alone. She's innocent—"
"Innocent." He laughs. "Like you were innocent? Like you didn't know exactly what you were doing when you seduced him?"
"I didn't seduce him—"
"You think I care?" His shoe connects with my ribs, and pain explodes through my chest. "You think the details matter? All I know is you betrayed me. And betrayal has consequences."
Another kick. I curl into a ball, trying to protect myself.
"The wedding will be next week," he says, like discussing business. "Anya will wear your dress—we'll have it altered to fit. She'll stand where you were supposed to stand. Marry me instead of you."
"She'll refuse," I gasp out. "She'll run—"
"She'll do exactly what I tell her." His voice hardens. "Because if she doesn't, I'll kill you. Slowly. And make her watch. Do you think your sweet sister could live with that guilt?"
He's right. Anya would never let me be tortured to save herself.
"What about me?" I force the words out through bruised ribs and terror.
"You'll be dealt with after the wedding." He straightens his jacket. "Can't have loose ends. But first, I need to secure the alliance through your sister. Then you become... expendable."
