Adrian exhales roughly and looks away, his fists unclenching. I drag a hand through my hair, forcing my temper to cool.
Before either of us can say another word, the door slams open—hard enough to rattle the frame.
Sasha storms in like a storm front, eyes blazing. “Roman, what the hell? Why have you kidnapped Elara?” Her voice cuts through the air.
I pivot, and Lev steps in front of her without thinking—instinct, not courtesy—his posture a warning. For a second, the room feels electric: two Rusnak men squared off; it doesn’t happen every day. We’re always so united, our rivals would have a field day with this.
“Can you all fucking calm down?” I snap, harder than I mean to. The word rips out of me, and everything freezes. It’s not my tone; it isn’t the way I like to speak, but it works. Silence drops like a curtain.
I lock eyes with Sasha. “Tell me this, would you rather Elara die or marry me?”
She goes pale. “Die?” The syllable is a question and a raw, jagged hurt.
“Yeah.” I keep my voice even because there’s no point in softening it. “Those were my options. Marry her or kill her. That’s it.” I let the weight of it hang in the room. “You should be thanking me, not snapping at me. Relax. Damn.”
They stare.
“I bet Lev didn’t tell you that, huh?” I scowl. “He was right there.”
Sasha turns to him. “Is that true, Lev?”
He nods like an obedient fucking puppy. “Yeah. Pakhan’s orders.”
Sasha sighs, deflated. “Wow.”
I turn to Adrian and tell him everything, from the mission to the museum to the crates, how Elara was changing routing numbers, how she confessed she was trying to sabotage her father, and finally, to the dinner and the auction.
I watch his face while I speak. Some pieces click for him as he hears it—David offering his daughter like an asset, the buyers with the predatory eyes. His jaw tightens. He hears why I couldn’t hand her over, why I couldn’t leave her to be sold or pawned, why his brother, the Pakhan, gave the brutal choice that forced me into this.
When I finish, the room hums with the quiet of people weighing consequences. I don’t ask for approval. I don’t want it. I tell the facts because facts are the only thing that settles in this world. Emotions are messy. Plans are cleaner.
“Any questions?” I ask. My voice is low, controlled. No one speaks. Outside, the estate breathes—guards moving, the distant shuffle of men doing what men like us always do: Prepare for the next problem.
“Sasha? Lev?”
The sound of her voice hits me like a punch. It’s soft, uncertain, but enough to silence the room.
I turn, and so does everyone else. Elara stands on the staircase, in one of the simple cream dresses Luka brought up from the safe house. Her hair’s loose, falling over her shoulders like she forgot to tie it up. Her eyes widen when she spots Sasha and Lev.
For a heartbeat, no one breathes.
“Hi, Elara,” Lev says finally, lifting a hand in an awkward half-wave. His lips press together like he already regrets speaking.
She narrows her eyes at him, her face shuttering, and doesn’t reply.
Sasha just shakes her head softly, then crosses the room without another word. Jennie joins her, and together they reach Elara on the steps. Sasha takes her hand, Jennie the other, and the three of them move quietly toward the door, their footsteps echoing against the marble.
No one stops them.
I stand there, watching as the front doors swing open and sunlight spills in. Elara walks out without a single glance in my direction, like I’m nothing, like I’m not the man who holds her fate in his hands.
The doors close behind her, and the silence that follows cuts deeper than I expect. Luka shifts beside me, but I don’t move. I just keep staring at the door, jaw tight, chest heavy with something that feels dangerously close to annoyance.
At who? I don’t know.
“Look,” Adrian starts, and I swear if he says something against Elara, I’ll punch him.
“I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier,” he says. “It’s just…David won’t shut up.”
