“That’s not true.” But even as he said it, Viktor knew how hollow it sounded. How could he explain the complexities of protecting her from Nick without sounding like he was making excuses for cruelty?
“Isn’t it?” She stepped closer, her anger making her magnificent and terrible. “Then why was it so easy for you to dismiss everything I’ve accomplished here? Why did reducing me to a filing clerk roll off your tongue like you’d been thinking it all along?”
Because Nick Barresi would have destroyed you if he thought you mattered to me. Because men like him collect valuable things that belong to their enemies, and I couldn’t let you become his next trophy. Because protecting you was more important than protecting your feelings, even if it meant breaking something between us that I’d only just begun to value.
But Viktor couldn’t say any of that. Not without explaining the full scope of Nick’s depravity, not without making Anka understand that being dismissed was preferable to being targeted. His hands flexed at his sides as he fought the urge to reach for her, to hold her until he could find words that would make her understand.
Instead, he took a step back, his expression shutting down in that familiar way that ended difficult conversations.
“You’re upset,” he said carefully, hating himself for the patronizing tone. “We should discuss this when you’re calmer.”
It was exactly the wrong thing to say. He watched her face transform from hurt anger to cold fury, watched her shut down in the same way he’d just done, protecting herself behind walls that might never come down again.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice deadly quiet. “Don’t you dare patronize me on top of everything else.”
She turned away before he could respond, taking the stairs two at a time in her desperation to escape. Viktor called her name once, but she didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t give him any opportunity to explain or apologize or fix what he’d just broken.
He stood in the marble foyer long after her footsteps faded, staring at the empty staircase and trying to process what had just happened. He’d set out to protect Anka from Nick Barresi’s predatory attention, and he’d succeeded. Nick haddismissed her as unworthy of his interest, filed her away as just another insignificant employee.
Mission accomplished.
So why did victory taste like failure? Why did protecting her feel like he’d just destroyed the most valuable thing he’d ever possessed?
Because that’s what he’d done—in his desperation to shield Anka from external threats, he’d become the threat himself. He’d taken her brilliance, her competence, her growing confidence, and crushed them beneath the weight of protective lies that sounded exactly like the dismissals she’d been fighting her entire life.
She’d been magnificent during the Henderson meeting, analytical and sharp and everything he’d ever wanted in a partner. But when faced with protecting her from Nick’s interest, Viktor had reduced her to nothing in ways that would have been devastating even if she hadn’t overheard.
The worst part was that he’d meant every protective instinct behind the lies. Nick would have targeted her if he’d thought she mattered to Viktor, would have made her life hell just to prove he could. But Anka didn’t know that. All she knew was that her husband—the man she’d been building something fragile and important with—had dismissed her accomplishments as easily as breathing.
Viktor closed his eyes and tried to figure out how to fix what he’d just destroyed. But for the first time in years, he had no strategy, no plan, no clever manipulation that would undo the damage.
He’d won the battle against Nick Barresi.
And lost something infinitely more valuable in the process.
Chapter 15 - Anka
The black silk dress clung to her curves like liquid shadow, elegant and understated in the way that whispered wealth rather than screaming it. Anka adjusted the diamond earrings—Viktor’s wedding gift—one final time before stepping out of the bedroom, armor in place for another evening of strategic invisibility.
Family affairs in the Bratva world followed predictable patterns. The men would cluster around expensive whiskey and engage in territorial negotiations, while the women smiled prettily and discussed safe topics, such as charity galas and interior design. Anka had perfected the art of blending into expensive wallpaper years ago, of being present without being noticed, contributing without being heard.
It was safer that way. Easier. When powerful men forgot you existed, they couldn’t use you as leverage or dismiss your thoughts as feminine foolishness. Invisibility had become her survival mechanism, refined through years of watching her brothers treat her like a decorative afterthought who occasionally needed protection from her own poor judgment.
The past week had only reinforced the wisdom of that strategy. Viktor’s casual dismissal of Nick Barresi had shattered whatever naive hopes she’d harbored about being seen as an equal, about mattering beyond her utility as a wife and alliance-sealer. Better to accept her role and play it perfectly than to keep setting herself up for the humiliation of being reduced to filing clerk status.
“Ready?” Viktor appeared at her side as they approached the Nikolai family estate, his expression carefully neutral. Theyhadn’t spoken more than necessary since their confrontation, maintaining a polite distance that felt like ice water in her veins.
“Always,” she replied with practiced serenity.
The estate blazed with warm light, and luxury cars lined up like expensive jewelry in the circular drive. Through the tall windows, Anka could see the familiar choreography already beginning—clusters of dark suits and glittering gowns, power brokers and their decorative accessories arranging themselves for another evening of civilized warfare.
Inside, the gathering was smaller than usual but no less charged with undercurrents of ambition and alliance. Mikhail held court near the fireplace while his wife, Mira, orchestrated seating arrangements with military precision. Lev and Zia were deep in conversation with Adrian and Rhiannon, their body language suggesting business rather than social pleasantries.
And there, near the bar, stood her own family—Matvei’s commanding presence unmistakable even in a room full of predators, Irina radiant at his side. Adrian lurked at the periphery, his attention already fixed on Anka with the kind of protective intensity that had suffocated her for years.
“Anka,” Irina smiled warmly as they approached, genuine affection lighting her ice-blue eyes. “You look beautiful. That dress is stunning on you.”
“Thank you.” Anka managed a smile that felt almost real. Irina was one of the few people who’d ever looked at her without calculating her usefulness or measuring her against some impossible standard of feminine compliance.
