"Don't you know how to knock?" I growl.
He ignores my question. "You should get dressed. Something nice. You'll be expected downstairs soon."
"Expected?" My eyes narrow. "I'm not going down there."
"You don't have a choice. Aleksandr is revealing himself to the organization. His return will shift the balance of power, and you need to be there."
"As what? His prisoner? His trophy?"
Danil turns, and something in his dark eyes softens. "As his woman. His fiancée, remember? That's the story, and you need to sell it."
I wrap my arms around myself as thoughts of last night's almost violent sex replays itself in my mind. My core tightens and my nipples pebble, traitorous body parts!
"I can't do this," I whisper.
"You can." He crosses to stand in front of me. Up close, he's even more intimidating, all muscle and controlled violence. But his voice is gentle when he speaks. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I know you're scared. But those men downstairs, some of them will see you as a weakness. A liability. Something they can use against Aleksandr."
"Good. Maybe they should."
"Lena." He grips my shoulders, not hard, but firm enough to make me focus on his face. "Listen to me. If they think you're a weakness, they'll try to eliminate you. Not because they hate you, but because that's how this world works. You remove threats before they become problems."
The words sink in like stones in deep water. "So I'm a threat now?"
"You're leverage. And leverage is dangerous." He releases me and reaches into his jacket, pulling out something small and black. A gun. "This is a Glock 43. Nine millimeter. Easy to conceal, easy to use."
I stare at the weapon like it might bite me. "I don't want that."
"Maybe," he acknowledges. "But you need it. For your own protection." He takes my hand, places the gun in my palm, and closes my fingers around it. The metal is cold and heavier than I expected. "Safety is here. You flip it off, point, and squeeze the trigger. Don't pull, squeeze. Understand?"
"Danil, I can't just shoot someone."
"You can if it's them or you." His expression is serious, almost sad. "I hope you never have to use it. But if someone comes for you, if you're in danger and neither I nor Aleksandr is there to protect you…"
He shows me how to check if it's loaded, how to chamber a round, how to aim. His hands are patient, his instructions clear, and I hate that I'm learning this. Hate that my life has become the kind of story where I need to know how to kill someone.
"Keep it on you," he says when we're done. "Always. Even when you think you're safe."
"I'm never safe. Not here. Not with him."
Danil's jaw tightens. "Aleksandr won't hurt you."
"He already has." The words come out bitter. "He ordered my death, Danil. That's not something you just forgive because he lost his memory for a few weeks."
"No," he agrees quietly. "It's not. But the man downstairs right now, the one about to face his organization, he's not the same man who gave that order. The amnesia changed him. You changed him."
"People don't change. Not really."
"Maybe not." He moves toward the door, then pauses. "But sometimes they remember what it feels like to be human. And that's something."
He leaves, and I'm alone with a gun in my hand.
The weight of it feels wrong. Foreign.
I set it on the nightstand and move to the window, wrapping my arms around myself. The cars are still arriving. More men in dark suits, their faces hard and watchful. They move in clusters, talking in low voices, glancing up at the house like they're sizing up enemy territory.
Maybe they are.
Downstairs, I hear voices rising. A lot of voices. The sound builds like a wave, getting louder and more intense.
