On Thursday, I spent the afternoon in Artem's office with a Bratva solicitor who was so discreet he didn't even have a name. Artem introduced him as "our legal counsel" and left before I could ask follow-up questions. The man was small with round glasses, and he walked me through every document with patience.
The solicitor showed me the estate deeds. The legal protections. The Petrov name and what it meant in sixteen jurisdictions.
"I am not dependent on them," I said.
"No, Mrs. Petrov. You’re not. Your pack wants an omega who stays because she wants to not because she has to."
I swallowed the lump that found its way to my throat.
I want to.
I chose them. And when my father walked through the door on Friday, I needed him to understand that every choice I'd made since running from his house had been mine.
That night I couldn't sleep.
The phantom ache was back. Not Finn's bond, I knew that now, but something older. The cold dread of a man who hadspent my childhood treating me like inventory. I slipped out of the bedroom, checked on Mac and found Fergus at the foot of his crib, one eye open, the fuzzy sentry on duty.
“Good boy.” I left the room and walked through the dark house to the pack’s den.
I expected it to be empty. It was past two in the morning, but all three of them were there.
Artem at the wet bar with a glass of scotch he wasn't drinking. Ivan stretched on the sofa with a book on his chest. Gregor at the window, staring out at the dark grounds like he expected my father to make a move before dawn.
They all turned when I crossed the threshold.
"Couldn't sleep?" Artem asked.
"No."
I walked to the oversized armchair and curled into it. None of them moved toward me. They just waited. Champagne and storm-clouds and caramel wrapped around, and the chill in my bones started to recede.
"My father didn't care about me," I said. The words came out flat, rehearsed. I'd been practicing them at three in the morning for four days. "He sold me to Finn O'Shea because Finn offered him a territory settlement in Belfast. I was currency."
I tapped my shoulder. The scar.
"Finn O'Shea," Artem said. "We had business with him."
"In Prague," I said.
Gregor turned from the window. "You were in Prague for Finn."
"I was running out of options. My body ached all the time and I thought the bond was still active somehow, even though I'd had it dissolved. Then I went to London to visit Presley and it got worse. I felt him everywhere. I found out Finn was in the city and I had to leave immediately. That was when I knew the bond wasn't dead."
Ivan's face went very still. "You went to Prague to meet him alone."
"No. I went to Prague to kill him alone. Subtle but important difference."
Artem's glass stopped on its way to the table. Gregor turned fully from the window.
"What?" I said, heat creeping up my throat. "Don't look at me like that. I had a plan."
Ivan's voice was careful in the way it got when he was trying not to laugh or shout and hadn't decided which. "What plan?"
"A very elegant one involving a knife, an emergency exit, and admittedly limited knowledge of Prague street layouts."
"That's not a plan," Gregor said. "That's a headline."
"Well, I didn't do it, did I? I was interrupted by three men with excellent bone structure and a very aggressive approach to personal boundaries."
