Backstage, congratulations swirl around me, but I barely register them. I change quickly, hands shaking now that the music has stopped and the silence has room to creep in.
When I step out of my dressing room, I see him.
Vladimir stands in the hallway as if he belongs there, broad shoulders filling the space, his expression softening the moment his eyes meet mine.
Something inside me breaks open.
I don’t hesitate. I drop my bag and run to him, my arms going around his neck as he catches me effortlessly. I laugh as I kiss him, the sound bubbling out of me before I can stop it.
“You were incredible,” he murmurs against my hair.
I pull back just long enough to smile at him—wide, unguarded, real—before settling into his embrace again. His arms close around me, solid and protective, and for the first time all day, I feel truly calm.
Content.
Safe.
Held exactly where I belong.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: VLADIMIR
The house lights dim, and the hush that settles over the audience feels almost sacred. I sit rigid in my seat, hands clasped together, heart pounding harder than it ever has before a gunfight or a negotiation gone sideways. The curtain rises, and there she is.
Anya.
For a moment, the world narrows to the stage. The fear of earlier—the image of her pale face, the syringe, the sound of her scream—tries to claw its way back into my mind. I force it down. She deserves better than that. She deserves this moment to belong only to her.
She moves with a grace that steals the breath from my lungs. Every step, every turn is precise and fluid, as if the music itself lives inside her bones. The spotlight catches her costume, soft fabric shimmering as she spins, but it’s her expression that holds me captive. She’s focused, fierce, utterly present. Not broken and not frightened.
Strong.
Pride swells in my chest, sharp and overwhelming. She went through hell today, and yet here she is, commanding the stage like nothing could ever touch her. Beautiful doesn’t even beginto cover it. Talented, yes—but more than that, she’s brave in a way few people ever are. She faced terror and still chose to step into the light.
I realize then that I am irrevocably lost.
As the final act unfolds, I slip from my seat and move quietly toward the wings. I don’t want to miss the end, but I need to be close to her, need to be the first thing she sees when the curtain falls. I stop near the edge, watching from the shadows as she delivers the last moments of the performance with raw emotion that makes my throat tighten.
The applause is thunderous. She earns every second of it.
As the curtain closes, my thoughts drift—unbidden, dangerous—toward the future. Toward the phone call I made earlier. Telling Alexandr that his daughter was safe. Telling him what Igor confessed. The silence on the other end of the line had been heavy, calculating.
Then his offer.
Alexi’s position. Power within the Bratva. And Anya’s hand in marriage, spoken of as if it were another asset to be transferred.
I told him I’d think about it.
The truth is, I don’t want power that comes at the cost of her freedom. I don’t want her handed to me like a bargaining chip. I want her to choose me. She needs to choose us. Whatever that means, whatever it costs.
I make my way down the hall to her dressing room, my heart steady now, certain in a way it hasn’t been before. The door opens, and she steps out, still glowing from the stage, eyes searching—
Until they find me.
Her smile is radiant, unguarded, and it shatters every lingering doubt inside me. She doesn’t hesitate. She runs straight into my arms, and I catch her, holding her close as if letting go would be impossible.
I kiss her, slow and sure, pouring everything I feel into that single moment. The world, the Bratva, Alexandr’s offer—all of it fades into nothing.
She’s warm, alive, real in my arms.
