Theskhodkabreaks apart slowly after that, with murmurs, clinking glasses, and a mix of respect and fear following me out. The moment the door closes behind me, the night air hits cold against my face, but it does nothing to ease the heat burning under my skin.
Andrei Popov is waiting near the curb, smoking a cigarette. The glow of it lights the edge of his sharp features. Mikhail stands with him, talking quietly. When they see me, Mikhail steps aside.
“Thank you,” I tell Andrei. “For what you did.”
He exhales smoke through his nose, eyes steady. “I didn’t do it for you.”
Mikhail gives him a look. Andrei smirks faintly. “Alright, maybe a little for him,” he admits, nodding toward Mikhail. “But mostlyfor my sister. She’s not a pawn to be bartered off in my father’s games.”
My gaze flicks to Viktor, who’s standing a few paces away, hands in his pockets, watching us.
Andrei’s eyes shift to him too…for just a moment longer than necessary. There’s something there I can’t read.
But I file it away for later. Right now, I have other priorities.
I clap Andrei on the shoulder. “Whatever your reasons, you did the right thing tonight. That’s rare.”
He nods once, the corner of his mouth lifting wryly. “Just don’t waste it, Balshov.”
I turn toward my car, already pulling out my phone. There’s only one thought running through my head, sharp as a blade…Anya.
I should’ve told her the truth long ago. I should’ve trusted her to handle it. But I didn’t. And now, the one person who matters most in this world probably thinks I’m just another liar becoming my father. I won’t let her believe that for long.
I slide into the car and rap my knuckle against the glass partition. “Take me home, Sergei.”
As the lights of Brighton Beach blur past the window, one truth settles deep in my chest.
I might have survived the council…but facing Anya will be the real reckoning.
Chapter Seven
Anya
I shove everything I can find into the open suitcase on the bed—clothes, makeup, and the necklace Katya gave me for graduation. My hands shake so badly I can barely zip the bag.
One minute, I was frozen in the hallway outside Alexei’s office, and the next, I was in our room, yanking open drawers and shoving things into a suitcase.
I don’t even remember getting here. I can still hear the sound of his voice in my head talking about how Yuri killed my parents.
And Alexei…he knew. He knew, and he didn’t tell me.
A sharp sob claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down. I can’t fall apart. Not yet.
I grab my purse from the nightstand, my fingers brushing the framed photo beside it—me and Alexei, taken in London less than a week ago. He’s smiling faintly, one arm around me, his thumb tracing my shoulder as if he couldn’t help himself.
I slam the frame face down on the table. The crack of glass splinters through the quiet.
God, how could I have been so stupid?
I used to tell myself that Yuri wasn’t that bad. Cold, yes. Distant, yes. But not cruel. Not violent. At least not with me.
And now I know the truth. He murdered my father—my gentle, patient father who used to hum lullabies while I fell asleep.
And my mother…
I press a hand to my mouth, trying not to choke on the wave of nausea. She’d always said she married Yuri because he made her feel safe.
Safe. Isn't that laughable?
