The sound tore through me, obliterating thought, restraint, everything but the single, violent certainty that we were already too late—or just in time.
Anya screamed again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: ANYA
I wake to the smell of antiseptic and something metallic, sharp enough to scrape the back of my throat. My head throbs, a dull, pulsing ache that seems to radiate behind my eyes. For a moment, I don’t move. I catalog sensations—breathing, listening, feeling.
The surface beneath me is too firm to be a bed at home. Leather, maybe. A couch.
I open my eyes.
The ceiling above me is unfamiliar. Smooth, white, with recessed lighting instead of the ornate chandelier I’ve grown up under. My heart stutters, then begins to race. I turn my head slowly, every movement making my skull protest.
Igor is sitting in a chair across the room.
He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as if he’s been praying. His dark eyes are fixed on me, unblinking.
I suck in a sharp breath and push myself upright, nearly falling back when the room tilts. “What—” My voice is hoarse. My throat burns. “Where am I?”
“My apartment,” he says calmly. Too calmly. “You fainted in the car. I brought you somewhere safe.”
I stare at him, fury cutting through the fog in my head. “You drugged me,” I snap. “You kidnapped me.”
His expression tightens, wounded. “I gave you a mild sedative. Only enough to help you sleep. You were upset.”
I swing my legs off the couch, my body sluggish, my limbs heavy as if I’m moving through water. “You put a needle in my neck,” I say, my voice shaking now with rage. “That isn’t helping me sleep.”
He stands, palms out, as if approaching a frightened animal. “Anya, please. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t come any closer.” I scramble to my feet, my back brushing against a counter. The apartment is sleek and modern—steel, glass, muted colors. No warmth. No comfort. “You had no right.”
“I did it because I love you,” he says softly.
The words hit me harder than the drug ever could.
I laugh, short and incredulous. “You don’t love me.”
His jaw tightens. “I have always loved you. Since the day we met. I knew you were the one for me. I’m not like the others. Everything I’ve done has been to give you the life you deserve.”
My chest tightens despite myself. “What have you done?”
“I thought…” He drags a hand through his hair, pacing now. “I thought once Alexi was gone, everything would fall into place.”
Cold spreads through my veins. “Gone?”
“I knew he never wanted the Bratva,” Igor continues, his voice gaining intensity. “He despised it. He was weak, sentimental. Alexandr saw that too. I thought—once he was out of the picture—your father would finally look at me as a son. As the heir he always wanted.”
“You tried to replace my brother,” I whisper.
“I wanted to protect you,” he insists. “To marry you. To keep you safe.”
My stomach churns. “By abducting me?”
He stops pacing and looks at me sharply. “Do you know how angry I was when Alexandr started considering Oleg, Artem, and Pavel?” His lips curl in disgust. “Men like that had no business breathing the same air as you.”
My heart begins to pound. “You killed them?”
A slow smile spreads across his face, something dark and satisfied. “They tried to hurt you,” he says simply. “They thought they could touch what was mine. It was my pleasure to punish them,” he says, his voice low. “They begged. They always do.”
