“You have one day to think about it. Then the offer comes off the table,” I say flatly.
There’s a moment of stunned silence before a surprised laugh rumbles through the receiver. “Bold of you to threaten me, Ivy. Do you not recall who I have in my custody? One word from me, and he will be dead before you finish that sentence.”
“Then you lose half your leverage,” I snap. “You think Maksim will hand over his empire for me alone? You know better. You’re keeping Leo alive becausehe’sthe one who matters. He is Maksim’s son, his legacy. You kill him,Maksim will never kneel. He’ll burn every city you set foot in, scorch every alliance he’s built for that Bratva before you can get your hands on it first. Even if you somehow manage to take over, he’ll raze every inch of Russia you think you own. You’ll be left with nothing, and then what would be the point in becoming the Antonovs’Pakhan? You know it. That’s why you haven’t touched my son.”
He lets out a quiet, almost amused hum. “Another fair point. You’ve done your homework. I can see now why Maksim took such an interest in you. You are quite…persuasive.”
I know better than to take a compliment from a man like him. It’s a trap disguised as flattery. It means he sees you as useful, and the moment you stop being useful, you stop beinganythingat all to him.
Even human.
“One day, Mikhail,” I tell him. “That’s all I’m giving you. I’m willing to betray the man I love for my son’s safety. That’s not something that should be taken lightly. You can mock me all you want, but you know I’m right. You know I’m the only one who stands a chance at making Maksim evenconsidera negotiation like this.”
I pause for a second to catch my breath, feeling myself steady again.
“Without me, you’ll be clawing your way toPakhanfor the rest of your life. Hiding in the shadows, licking your wounds after every failed attempt, because he’ll never stop. Maksim willneverlet you know peace. You stole his heir. You dragged me into this war. You think that ends with a crown on your head? It won’t, and you’d be a fool to think otherwise.”
Silence once again.
“Meet me in person when you give me your decision,” I say before pulling the phone away from my ear and turning to the guard closest to me.
They’re both staring, stunned. Like they can’t quite believe what they just witnessed. They expected me to beg and grovel, to fold in on myself like the broken thing I’ve pretended to be. But instead, I stood up with nothing but a mother’s desperation and conviction forged in fire and steel.
Neither they, nor Mikhail, know what to do with that.
I lift my chin.
I don’t care if they think I’m dangerous now.
I refuse to be an unwilling pawn in this game any longer.
4
IVY
It takes less than twelve hours for the guards to pull me from my room again.
I’m half-asleep when it happens. The metallicclunkof the door unlocking jars me from the shallow, restless doze I managed to drift off into only a few hours ago. I jolt upright just as the overhead lights blaze to life. My eyes protest immediately, squeezing shut against the onslaught of artificial brightness that floods the small room.
A hand covers my face. Not violently, just enough to shield me from the glare as my vision reels. That alone is strange.
Stranger still is the way they handle me when they uncuff me from the bed. There’s no yanking like usual, no muttered threats or unnecessary force. Just a firm grip beneath my elbow and a soft command in Russian I don’t understand, followed by the gentle tug that brings me to my feet.
I stand, groggy and disoriented.
Their silence is more worrying than any punishment they’ve ever thrown at me. Maybe the words I spoke to Mikhail yesterday made their way down the chain of command, showed them something they didn’t expect, that they hadn’t thought a woman like me was capable of.
It’s forced them to see me differently now.
We walk down the corridor without a word. The lights buzz in a tired, indifferent rhythm above us. We bypass the showers and take a sharp left down a hallway I’ve never been down before. The further we go, the more the air changes. It shifts from smelling clinical and like disinfectant to something a little more… normal.
They stop in front of a door that looks so ordinary it could belong to a storage closet, one of dozens in this endless maze. The paint is a dull gray, chipped at the bottom corners, the number plate above it faded to near illegibility. I almost don’t register the pause until the guard beside me reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys.
He flips through them slowly, each one clinking against the next like bones rattling together. I watch as he selects a thin, brass-colored key and slots it into the lock with an almost ceremonial slowness.
The door swings inward silently.
Soft sunlight streams in through a small window on the opposite side of the room, cutting through the stale dimness of the hallway. It spills across the tiled floor at my feet in long, honeyed ribbons, lighting the air with motes of dust that float and spin dreamlike.
