“That’s supposed to make it better?”
“That’s supposed to make it love.”
I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them like I could somehow contain the chaos inside. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? It was love. Absolute, uncompromising, destructive love that chose my life over every other consideration.
And I don’t know how to live with being loved that completely.
“I keep thinking about the promises we made,” I whisper. “About building something better than what came before. About choosing partnership over violence.”
“You did choose partnership. You chose each other.”
“By orchestrating my father’s death.”
“By surviving his attempt to kill you.” Nicolai leans forward, his voice firm but gentle. “Kira, listen to me. Father made his choice the moment he picked up that knife. Rafa just responded to the choice that was already made.”
“I know that. Intellectually, I understand every rational argument for why what happened was necessary.”
“But?”
“But emotionally, I’m trying to figure out how to love someone who killed my father. How to marry someone whose hands are stained with my family’s blood. How to build a life on that foundation.”
“The same way Father built his life after killing his own father’s rivals. The same way every leader in our world builds power—by accepting that sometimes love requires violence, and violence requires living with consequences.”
The parallel he’s drawing should comfort me, but it doesn’t. Because I never wanted to be like Father. Never wanted to inherit his capacity for ruthless pragmatism, his ability to separate emotional attachment from strategic necessity.
Never wanted to become someone who could order deaths over breakfast and sleep soundly afterward.
“I’m changing,” I say quietly. “Into someone I don’t recognize. Someone who can run meetings where we discuss eliminating problems with clinical efficiency. Someone who can make decisions that affect thousands of lives without flinching.”
“You’re becoming a leader.”
“I’m becoming exactly what I swore I’d never become.”
“No,” Nicolai says firmly. “You’re becoming what you need to be to protect the people you care about. There’s a difference.”
“Is there? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like I’m just finding new ways to justify becoming my father.”
“Your father killed for ego and control. You’re leading for protection and progress. Father eliminated threats to his authority. You’re eliminating threats to people’s safety. The actions might look similar, but the motivations are completely different.”
I want to believe him. Want to accept that the choices I’m making are fundamentally different from the ones Father made,that leadership driven by love is somehow more moral than leadership driven by pride.
But late at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts and the weight of inherited authority, the distinction feels less clear.
“Have you watched the surveillance footage?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“How many times?”
“Once. That was enough.”
“I’ve watched it probably two hundred times. Looking for... I don’t know. Some different angle that changes what happened. Some detail that makes it less devastating.”
“And?”
“And every time, I see the same thing. Father trying to kill me. Rafa stopping him. The moment when love became indistinguishable from violence.”
“Maybe that’s the lesson you’re supposed to learn.”
