“You will be happy,” he interrupts. “That is all you need to know.”
I search his face for reassurance and find only certainty. It terrifies me more than anger ever could.
“I need to get ready,” I say finally, pushing to my feet.
I leave the office with reluctance, clinging to every step. In the hallway, Igor stands waiting, my bag already in his hands. The late afternoon light slants through the tall windows, catching on the polished floor and the sharp lines of his suit.
“For you, miss,” he says, extending the strap.
“Thank you,” I reply, taking it. “Papa said Vladimir would be driving me tonight.”
Igor’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. “Vladimir will meet us at the theater. He was called away to attend to business.”
The word business feels deliberately vague, but I nod anyway. “Okay.”
He opens the door for me, and moments later, we’re in the car, the heavy door closing with a final, echoing thud that makes my chest tighten. Igor pulls away smoothly, the gates opening as if by instinct, and soon the house disappears behind us.
For several minutes, we drive in silence. The city hums beyond the tinted windows, distant and unreal. I watch familiar streets slide past, my thoughts circling restlessly.
“You danced beautifully last night,” Igor says suddenly.
The sound of his voice startles me. I turn to look at him, really look at him, sitting behind the wheel with his attention fixed on the road. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s very kind.”
“It was powerful. You command the stage.”
Warmth flickers through me, quickly followed by surprise. Igor rarely speaks unless spoken to—and even then, his words are clipped, purely functional. I realize, with a strange sense ofawareness, that he’s said more to me in the past minute than he has in all the years I’ve known him.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I add.
“I did,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Everyone is proud of you.”
I swallow. “That means a lot.”
The silence returns, but it feels different now—charged, expectant.
After another few blocks, Igor speaks again. “Oleg. Artem. Pavel.”
My fingers curl around the strap of my bag. “What about them?”
“They are dead,” he says calmly. “Were you relieved when you learned this?”
The bluntness of the question steals my breath. I stare out the window, watching a blur of storefronts pass by. “I… yes,” I admit. “I was relieved. After what they tried to do.” My voice falters. “But I’m also frightened. They were murdered. That doesn’t just… happen.”
Igor slows the car.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls to the side of the road and shifts into park. The sudden stillness presses in on me, heavy and unnatural. He turns in his seat, fully facing me now.
“They needed to die,” he says.
My heart stutters. “Igor—”
“They were a threat to you,” he continues, his voice low, intense. “Men like that do not stop. They escalate.”
“That doesn’t mean killing them is the answer,” I say, though the words feel thin even to my own ears.
“It does when the alternative is losing you.” His gaze locks onto mine, unwavering. “Everything I do is to protect you, Anya.”
A chill crawls up my spine. “Protect me from what?”
