Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Artyom
Kira’s breath is still shaking against my chest when Lucas finally disappears down the path and the park falls into a silence that feels too thin to hold everything that just happened.
I keep my arm around her until her knees stop trembling, until her fingers uncurl from the front of my jacket, until I’m sure she can stand without falling.
My pulse is still pounding too fast from the moment Boris dragged her back, too fast from the sound of the gunshot, too fast from the thought of losing her in the space of one mistake, and when I look down and see her face—tear-streaked, exhausted, raw in a way that cuts straight through me—I feel something settle in my chest with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt.
I almost lost her, and the rage that thought sparks in me has nowhere to go except forward.
“Come on,” I say quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “We’re going home.”
She nods, small and tired, and leans into my hand for half a second before pulling herself together.
I guide her back toward the car, keeping my hand firm around her waist, my body angled to shield her from everything.
The second the door closes behind her, I take one long breath, trying to force the fury into something controlled, something I can use, because right now the only thing I want is to put Vladimir through the pavement for what he just orchestrated.
I drive fast, too fast, the road a blur of cold morning light, my hands tight on the wheel, my jaw clenched so hard it aches.
Kira sits quietly beside me, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve, her head leaning back against the seat like her whole body is finally crashing after hours of being held together by sheer will.
When we pull into the driveway, I don’t look at her yet, because if I do, I might decide staying here with her is more important than dealing with the man who nearly cost her her life. But I force myself to lean in, brushing my thumb over her jaw in a way that makes her breathe in sharply.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell her softly. “Stay with Calina and Milana. Don’t go anywhere without me.”
She nods again, her eyes soft but still shaken. “Okay.”
I watch her walk inside, watch the way Milana immediately reaches for her, watch Calina take her hand and pull her close, watch Kira let herself be held without fighting it.
Then I turn and head straight for my father’s office.
I don’t knock. I don’t bother pretending he deserves that courtesy after what he just tried to pull. I push the door open hard enough that it hits the wall, and he looks up from the glass he’s pouring like he expected me to storm in but didn’t know when.
“Artyom,” he says, calm like always, even though the bruising tension in his shoulders betrays everything.
I shut the door behind me and step forward until I’m standing in front of his desk. “We’re done.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” My voice comes out steady, low, the kind of quiet that means I’m closer to violence than I look.
“You will stay out of my life. Out of my decisions. Out of anything that touches me. You gave me the business, and you’re going to respect that, because if you try to pull something like this again, I won’t let you walk away alive. ”
He sets the bottle down and slowly leans back in his chair, studying me with the kind of stare he saves for moments when he decides whether to push or surrender. His fingers drum once against the desk, a small, controlled movement.
“You’ve made your point,” he says finally. “And I understand it. I won’t interfere with your… relationship.”
The word tastes wrong from him, but I let him speak.
“But you do realize,” he continues, folding his hands, voice steady, “that Boris’s loyalty will be a problem now. His reputation is damaged. His trust is broken. And our alliance with him won’t look the same after today.”
I stare at him. “I don’t care about Boris.”
“You should,” Vladimir says sharply. “You may run things, but you don’t get to pretend alliances don’t matter. We’re not losing this one. And unless you want a war over a bruised ego and a broken wrist, we need to fix this.”
I let out a slow breath. “How?”
He doesn’t blink. “Mikhail.”
My jaw tightens. “No.”
“Yes,” he says calmly. “He will marry Irina. The families will be tied again. The alliance secured.”
I shake my head, already feeling the anger twist into something sharp. “He doesn’t want to marry her.”
“He will,” my father says. “If you tell him to.”
“I’m not ruining my brother’s life so you can clean up the disaster you caused.”
Vladimir’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in the way he exhales. “You want to keep your world intact? This is the solution.”
I run a hand down my face, feeling the weight of everything hit at once—the morning, Kira, Lucas, Boris, the gun at her head, the way my father stood there and watched it all like it was nothing, and now this.
I inhale slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
He nods once, accepting the temporary compromise. “Good.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I leave, shutting the door a little too hard, and walk down the hall with the tension still burning in every muscle.
I’m already trying to figure out how to tell Mikhail, how to protect him from being forced into something that will eat him alive, when Calina’s voice echoes from upstairs.
I take the stairs two at a time.
When I walk in, Kira is sitting on the edge of the bed, Milana beside her, Calina leaning against the dresser with her arms crossed and her eyes somewhere between concerned and furious. They all look up when I enter, and Milana stands first.
“We’ll give you two a minute,” she says gently, squeezing Kira’s shoulder before stepping out. Calina follows, brushing my arm lightly as she passes.
Then it’s just us.
Kira looks up at me with eyes still swollen from the morning and from everything she had to say to her brother. She tries to straighten her posture like she doesn’t want me to worry, but the tremble in her hands gives her away.
I sit beside her, close enough that our knees touch, and I take her hand first because I need the contact as much as she does.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods slowly, but her throat works once. “I think so.”
I lift her chin gently, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You did the right thing.”
Her breath shudders. “It didn’t feel like it.”
“It will,” I say, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
“Thank you for not doubting me,” she whispers and her eyes meet mine.
“Not even for a second,” I kiss her forehead and she leans into my hand, eyes closing for a moment, and I feel the tightness in her spine loosen just enough that she exhales fully.
When she opens her eyes again, I can see the fear still there, but also something steadier—trust, maybe, or the beginning of it.
I take a breath. “There’s something else.”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“My father wants Mikhail to marry Irina. To fix the alliance.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Does Mikhail know?”
“No.”
Her thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow and warm. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He doesn’t want her. They don’t even get along.”
She squeezes my hand. “Then you’ll make the right decision. You always do.”
I huff out a breath, not quite a laugh but close. “I’m not sure about that.”
“I am,” she says softly, sliding closer until her thigh presses to mine. “I trust you.”
Something in me cracks open at the words, not painfully, but with a heat that spreads across my ribcage, something I didn’t expect to feel again after years of not letting myself feel anything like it.
I lean in first this time.
Her mouth is soft and warm against mine, her hands sliding up my chest and curling at the base of my neck like she doesn’t want even a breath of space between us.
I pull her into my lap, my hands gripping her waist, her thighs tightening around my hips, and the kiss deepens instantly—hungry, slow, full of everything we didn’t have time to say this morning.
She melts into me, fingers threading through my hair, her breath catching when I slide my hands beneath her thighs to pull her even closer. Her lips part for me, and the quiet sound she makes when I kiss her deeper shoots straight through me, settling low and heavy in my stomach.
When she pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead rests against mine. “I can’t wait to marry you,” she whispers.
I feel my pulse stutter once.
Then I kiss her again, slow and certain, because out of everything that’s happened today—my father, Boris, the gun, the betrayal, the threat, the choices—this is the one truth I want to hold.
“I can’t wait either,” I say against her mouth, my hands holding her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. “You’re it for me, Kira.”
Her breath hitches.
I kiss her again, pulling her close, letting everything else fall away, and for the first time in a long time, the world around us feels quiet, safe, and finally, finally ours.