"Sergei got what he deserved." My voice is steady, cold. "He assaulted the Pakhan's sister. He was always going to end up dead, it was just a question of when."
"He was your brother—"
"He was a monster who made my life hell for twenty-three years." I take a step closer. "And you enabled him. You excused him. You made me clean up his messes and take his punishments while you pretended he was some kind of golden child."
My father's face flushes. "I came here to offer you a way out."
"A way out?" I almost laugh. "Of what?"
"Of this." He gestures around the room, at me, at everything. "You think you're safe here? You think this marriage means anything? He killed your brother, Matilda. What makes you think he won't kill you too when you stop being useful?"
The words are meant to frighten me. To make me doubt. To make me small again.
They don't.
"I know exactly what Gennady is capable of," I say quietly. "I've always known. And unlike you, he's never pretended to be something he's not. He's dangerous, yes. Violent, yes. But he's never lied to me. Never made me feel like I was worthless. Never made me apologize for existing."
"He's using you—"
"No." I cut him off. "You're projecting. You used me my entire life. Made me responsible for Sergei's behavior. Made me clean up his messes. Made me into a ghost in my own home because I had the misfortune of being born second and female."
My father takes a step toward me, and I see the flash of violence in his eyes, the same look he used to get before he'd slap me for talking back.
But I'm not that girl anymore.
"Don't," I say, and my voice carries an authority that surprises even me. "You're in the Pakhan's house, and I'm his wife. You lay one finger on me, and you won't make it to the front door. Won’t ever feel the sunlight on your face again, because I’ll make sure they bury you face down."
He freezes, and I see the moment he realizes I'm not bluffing.
"I came here to give you a choice," he says, voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Come home. Be part of the family again. We can tell everyone you were coerced, that you had no choice—"
"I had every choice." I place my hand protectively on my belly. "And I chose myself. I chose him. I chose this. And I would make the same choice a thousand times over."
"You're a traitor—"
"I'm free." The word rings out, clear and final. "And you have no power over me anymore. None. You can't hurt me. You can'tmanipulate me. You can't make me feel small or worthless or guilty for existing."
"Matilda—"
"Mrs. Petrova," I correct coldly. "That's who I am to you now. And you will address me as such, or you will leave my home."
The "my home" is deliberate. A claim. A statement of ownership and belonging that I never could have made in his house.
My father's face goes purple. "You think you're so powerful now? You think this man loves you? He'll discard you the moment—"
"Enough."
The single word comes from the doorway, and we both turn.
Gennady stands there, perfectly still, perfectly controlled. But I can see the violence simmering beneath the surface. Can see how badly he wants to cross the room and break my father's neck.
But he doesn't move. Because he's waiting to see what I want.
I stand a little taller as warmth blooms in my chest.
"I was just explaining to my father that he needs to leave," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"I can see that." Gennady's eyes don't leave my father. "And I'm here to make sure he understands the consequences if he ever tries to contact you again."
