He stares at her like she just ripped the world out from under him, and for once he understands she means it. For once, he believes her. He nods, broken and frantic, grabs the bag, and runs.
I lower the gun.
Kira’s breath shudders out of her, her knees almost giving, and I catch her before she falls. I hold her against my chest, her heartbeat wild against my ribs, and even though the world around us is still shaking from what just happened, one thing settles inside me with absolute clarity?—
She chose me. And I will burn the world before I let anyone take her again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Artyom
Kira’s breath is still shaking against my chest when Lucas finally disappears down the path and the park falls into a silence that feels too thin to hold everything that just happened. I keep my arm around her until her knees stop trembling, until her fingers uncurl from the front of my jacket, until I’m sure she can stand without falling.
My pulse is still pounding too fast from the moment Boris dragged her back, too fast from the sound of the gunshot, too fast from the thought of losing her in the space of one mistake, and when I look down and see her face—tear-streaked, exhausted, raw in a way that cuts straight through me—I feel something settle in my chest with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt.
I almost lost her, and the rage that thought sparks in me has nowhere to go except forward.
“Come on,” I say quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “We’re going home.”
She nods, small and tired, and leans into my hand for half a second before pulling herself together. I guide her back toward the car, keeping my hand firm around her waist, my body angled to shield her from everything. The second the door closes behind her, I take one long breath, trying to force the fury into something controlled, something I can use, because right now the only thing I want is to put Vladimir through the pavement for what he just orchestrated.
I drive fast, too fast, the road a blur of cold morning light, my hands tight on the wheel, my jaw clenched so hard it aches. Kira sits quietly beside me, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve, her head leaning back against the seat like her whole body is finally crashing after hours of being held together by sheer will.
When we pull into the driveway, I don’t look at her yet, because if I do, I might decide staying here with her is more important than dealing with the man who nearly cost her her life. But I force myself to lean in, brushing my thumb over her jaw in a way that makes her breathe in sharply.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell her softly. “Stay with Calina and Milana. Don’t go anywhere without me.”
She nods again, her eyes soft but still shaken. “Okay.”
I watch her walk inside, watch the way Milana immediately reaches for her, watch Calina take her hand and pull her close, watch Kira let herself be held without fighting it.
Then I turn and head straight for my father’s office.
I don’t knock. I don’t bother pretending he deserves that courtesy after what he just tried to pull. I push the door open hard enough that it hits the wall, and he looks up from the glass he’s pouring like he expected me to storm in but didn’t know when.
“Artyom,” he says, calm like always, even though the bruising tension in his shoulders betrays everything.
I shut the door behind me and step forward until I’m standing in front of his desk. “We’re done.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” My voice comes out steady, low, the kind of quiet that means I’m closer to violence than I look. “You will stay out of my life. Out of my decisions. Out of anything that touches me. You gave me the business, and you’re going to respect that, because if you try to pull something like this again, I won’t let you walk away alive.”
He sets the bottle down and slowly leans back in his chair, studying me with the kind of stare he saves for moments whenhe decides whether to push or surrender. His fingers drum once against the desk, a small, controlled movement.
“You’ve made your point,” he says finally. “And I understand it. I won’t interfere with your… relationship.”
The word tastes wrong from him, but I let him speak.
“But you do realize,” he continues, folding his hands, voice steady, “that Boris’s loyalty will be a problem now. His reputation is damaged. His trust is broken. And our alliance with him won’t look the same after today.”
I stare at him. “I don’t care about Boris.”
“You should,” Vladimir says sharply. “You may run things, but you don’t get to pretend alliances don’t matter. We’re not losing this one. And unless you want a war over a bruised ego and a broken wrist, we need to fix this.”
I let out a slow breath. “How?”
He doesn’t blink. “Mikhail.”
