“Did he touch you?” Dmitri asks.
“Yes,” I fold my arms over my chest and answer honestly. All three of them go still. “He helped me walk when my legs were unstable. He treated my wrists. He stayed in the room when I woke from nightmares. He touched me when I asked him to. He did not touch me when I did not.”
“Did he take advantage of you?” Mikhail asks.
“No,” I say firmly. “He didn’t.” The silence between all of stretches.
“And you trust him,” Dmitri finally says.
“I trust that he sees me as a person,” I reply. “Not as leverage. Not as an extension of our family.”
Before either of them can respond, my father’s phone rings and he answers immediately. “Yes.” His eyes flick to me. “Where?” A pause. “Understood.” He ends the call and his eyes find mine again.
My pulse spikes. “What happened?”
“There was an attempt,” my father says evenly.
My chest aches. “On who?”
“Roman Kovacs.”
The room tilts, the air thinning like someone just opened a window in the dead of winter.
“What do you mean attempt?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend. “Define attempt.”
“His motorcycle was followed leaving Perdition,” my father says evenly. Too evenly. “Shots were fired. He returned fire. He was hit but still alive.”
Hit.
The word lodges in my chest. It ricochets, over and over, until it drowns everything else out.
I don’t remember deciding to sit, but suddenly I’m in the chair, elbows on my knees, arms wrapped tight around myself like I can hold my organs in place. My palms are cold. My fingers won’t stop trembling.
“This is all because of me,” I whisper.
“No.” My father’s answer is immediate. Controlled. “He could have been shot for any number of reasons. You don’t know this man or what he and his biker club are involved in.” His jaw tightens. “Is this the kind of man you are willing to throw your whole future away for?”
I look up slowly. “I’m not throwing my future away for him,” I say, each word measured so I don’t shatter. “That doesn’t have anything to do with him.”
He pushes to his feet and starts pacing in front of me, the heavy tread of his shoes hitting the floor like a gavel. “It has everything to do with him. I don’t know what he has filled your head with, but you belong in Moscow. With me. With your brothers. With your family.” He stops, fixing me with a hard stare. “Have you forgotten you have been promised to another man?”
The word promised feels like a chain around my throat. I stand so fast the chair scrapes loudly behind me. “No.” My voice breaks, then steadies. “I haven’t forgotten. How could I? You have been preparing me for this my entire life, Papa.” My chest rises and falls too fast. “When other girls were dating and sneaking out and being stupid teenagers, I was home. When they left for university, I stayed here taking online business classes so I could help the family.” A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I’m not even sure why I bothered.”
My brothers shift uncomfortably behind him, but I don’t look at them.
“You don’t actually want me involved,” I continue, my voice rising despite my effort to stay calm. “You don’t want my ideas. You don’t want my degree. You want an obedient wife who smiles at the right dinners and gives Konstantine heirs.” My throat burns. “What value do I really have to you apart from what is between my legs?”
The words hang there, ugly and raw and my father and brothers stare at me in disbelief. They stare at me like I have detonated something in the middle of the room. Fine. Let it explode.
I drag in a breath that feels like glass in my lungs. “It happened after I left him. After Volkov died. After I returned under our protection.” I look directly at my father. “That is not coincidence.”
Mikhail’s expression shifts first. He does not look shocked. He looks calculating. “You believe he was targeted because he helped you.”
“Yes.” My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. “Now, I am going.”
“No,” my father says immediately.
“Yes,” I push back just as fast. “He risked himself for me. I will not sit here and wait for updates like I am some fragile thing you keep on a shelf.”
