"That's not true. I intended to take Volkov's daughter in the first place to send a message. He's been pushing our boundaries since I took over. This started long before Liesl."
"But they feel that she's making your decisions worse."
I look at him. Viktor has been with me since the beginning, one of the few men I trust completely. "And what do you think?" I ask.
He's quiet for a moment. "I think you're not yourself. I think you haven't been yourself since we brought her here."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I think," he says carefully, "that weakness is a matter of perception. If the men perceive you as weak, then you are weak, regardless of the reality."
"So what do you suggest?"
"Turn her loose. Since her father doesn't want to pay ransom, pay him under the table to end this. Don't let the men know about it, and make it look like Volkov has just backed down. Or—" He hesitates.
"Or what?"
"Or kill her. Make it clear that she means nothing. That this war is about principle, not about her." He pauses, looking at me warily. "That would be the stronger choice. It would earn their respect.Pakhan."
I feel rage flood through me, hot and immediate. "Get out."
Viktor's eyes widen slightly. "Boss?—"
"Get. Out."
He goes. I'm left alone in my office, hands clenched into fists, trying to control the fury coursing through me. The idea of killing her, of anyone touching her, of?—
I force myself to breathe. To think. This is exactly what Viktor was talking about. This reaction, this loss of control—it's proof that she's gotten under my skin. That I'm compromised.
I need to fix this. I need to reestablish my priorities, my focus. The war with Volkov is what matters. Protecting my organization is what matters. Maintaining my authority is what matters.
Liesl is just a captive. Just leverage. Just?—
I need sleep.
I go up the stairs, intending to head to my own room, shower, and crash for as long as I can before something else wakes me or there's some other fire to put out. But halfway down the hall, I hear the faint, unmistakeable sound of crying.
It's coming from the direction of Liesl's room, muffled by the walls but still audible in the late-night quiet.
Ignore it. But I can't. Another soft, broken sob wafts toward me, and my feet carry me to her door. I push it open, and I see her immediately.
She's curled up on the bed, face buried in her pillow, shoulders shaking with sobs. She doesn't hear me enter or notice me standing in the doorway.
I should leave. I should lock the door and walk away and let her cry herself out. Instead, I close the door behind me and cross to the bed.
"Liesl."
She jerks upright, eyes wide and red-rimmed, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry," she gasps. "I'm sorry, I'll be quiet, I just?—"
"Stop." I sit on the edge of the bed, and she scrambles backward, putting distance between us. "I'm not here to punish you for crying."
"Then why are you here?" She sniffles, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand.
Good question.I don't have a good answer.
"I heard you," I say finally. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."
She laughs brokenly. "All right? I'm not all right. I'm never going to be all right again."
