My blood freezes over. Cruel doesn’t even begin to cover it.
It’s monstrous.
And the worst part—
I believe him.
Anton doesn’t bluff with things like this. Not when he can make them real. Not when it serves him this perfectly.
My finger tightens on the trigger—then stops.
Just barely.
Everything inside me recoils. Rage. Grief. Disgust. All crashing together so violently that it almost blinds me.
My father.
The man who built everything. Who ruled with strength, with presence, with fear and respect intertwined—reduced to…that?
No.
I can’t let that happen.
Not to him.
Not in a city that once bowed to his name.
My arm remains raised, but it’s no longer as steady as it was a second ago.
And Anton sees it.
“Lower your gun,” he says softly.“Moya sestryonka.”
The endearment lands wrong now. Twisted. Poisoned.
I don’t lower it completely. Just…a fraction. Enough to buy time. Enough to think.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice still controlled, even as everything inside me starts racing.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Come with me,” Anton says. “And sign everything over. The entire Petrov empire.”
My stomach tightens.
Of course.
This was always the endgame. Not just killing me. Not just revenge. Control. Total, unquestioned control.
My mind moves quickly—too quickly. Searching. Calculating. Looking for a way out of this that doesn’t end in disaster.
If I shoot him, my father’s body is lost. Destroyed. Desecrated.
If I stall too long, he gets impatient. Someone dies. Maybe me. Maybe Timofey. Maybe both.
“The more you delay, the more people lose their lives. Hopefully, your husband is among them.”
My gaze flicks, just briefly, toward the window. Toward the distant sound of gunfire still raging outside.
