“You motherfucking snake.” I bare my teeth. “Come closer, see how much I remember.”
The guards wrench my arms higher until pain rips through my shoulders. A corner of Sergei's mouth lifts. He turns, letting the men see me. “You hear that? The rightful prince. Still barking. Though he's been busy ever since I let you wake up.”
“You let me—” Understanding hits. My mouth clamps shut before I spit, “If you touch Jonah?—”
“Then what, nephew?” He crouches in front of me. “I was content to let you live your life under the radar, Viktor. Safely tucked away while I managed the real work. But then you had to go and take the harbor.” He tilts his head, a cold smile touching his lips. “Bad decision. You made yourself a target the second you stepped onto those docks. I couldn't let you have them.”
Everything clicks into place. It wasn't about the name. It wasn't about the throne. It was the harbor. That had been the moment everything changed.
“If I decide I want your pretty nurse now,” Sergei continues, standing up and smoothing his sleeves, “what are you going to do? Hm?”
I spit in his face and laugh when he shrieks, stumbling back.
“You son of a bitch,” he snaps. “I'll make you regret that.”
“Yeah? If you step toward Jonah, I'll take your fucking life.”
“We'll see about that.” Sergei wipes his face clean. “It all depends on how well you do tonight.”
A ripple moves through the men. They smell blood. Rage burns through the drug-haze. If I lose this, he takes Jonah.
“That dose isn't enough, Andrei.” Sergei turns to Petrov.
“It will soon kick in.”
My uncle doesn't look reassured, but he turns to the other people present. “As you all know, Viktor has been unstable for weeks. He has become a liability. As his loving uncle, I've taken him in after he was stupid enough to get himself shot, but we all know how tough this world is. Charity is expensive. Even for family. Which is why the time has come to choose who the real Morozov king needs to be. Him? Or me?”
Low murmurs ripple through the room. They echo in my head.
“You locked me in that room,” I spit. “You want loyalty? Start there. You haven't even told me if Lev is alive.”
Sergei's face doesn't move. “Lev was always soft,” he says. “We'll discuss him later. Tonight is about you.” He moves a step closer. “You remember the parking lot of Vesper?”
The confession is a blunt instrument designed to show me how deep the rot goes. I don't look away. I memorize every pair of eyes in the circle, marking the men who watched me bleed and called it business. I'm not a victim. I'm a ledger-keeper, and every name is written in red.
Sokolov stands in the circle with his arms folded. “He fell hard. Bled all over my shoes.”
A few chuckles. My ribs pull tight.
“I told him,” Sergei continues, “I just wanted some scratches on you, that's it. If you died, I'd have him buried beside you. A dead nephew is an inconvenience. A wounded one is useful.” His eyes fix on mine. “A puppet,” he adds.
“Fuck you,” I snarl. “You're the one who should be hanging here. Traitor.”
“You hear that? Looked after in my house, on his knees, snarling and restrained, and calls me traitor.”
“Still thinks he's king,” someone mutters.
“Exactly.” Sergei lifts his glass. “Andrei.”
Petrov steps out of the shadow. His hand holds a loaded syringe. “Show the men what keeps our prince so manageable.”
I twist against the fingers holding me. Another arm comes across my throat, cutting off air. “Get that away from me!”
“You'll be all right,” Petrov murmurs. “It's just?—”
“Don't lie to me, Andrei.”
He flinches. The chemical sting from the syringe catches in my nose. Petrov grips my arm. I jerk, but the men pin me harder. The needle slides in. Cold slips under my skin, followed by a heavy warmth that spreads fast through my veins. My fingertips grow distant.
