Chapter 7 - Misha #2
“Interesting,” I said slowly. “Coming from you.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You’re not different, Misha,” he continued. “You just tell yourself you are.”
“I am.”
“You operate in shadows, and you keep secrets. You make unilateral decisions and justify them as necessary.”
“And you don’t?” I asked.
“I at least don’t pretend it’s something else. I don’t act like a saint who has never wronged anyone. I accept myself for who I am.
“Unlike you, at least I am trying to fix something.”
“And what exactly do you think you might be fixing?” he asked.
“Something you’ve clearly chosen to ignore.”
“I don’t ignore problems.”
“No,” I said. “You eliminate them. You kill people with a single shot, and you move past their bodies like they never even mattered.”
“And you don’t do that? Isn’t that exactly what we all do in our world?”
“Not like you.”
He let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh but without humor. “You’re risking everything for something you haven’t even fully mapped out.”
“I know exactly what I am doing. Don’t make assumptions based on no information whatsoever.
“You knew enough to walk into a trap,” he scoffed.
“You keep saying that like it changes the outcome.”
I tilted my head slightly, my gaze sharpening.
“What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“How many people have you pushed out of your life in the name of control?”
His expression went still, but I didn’t stop speaking. I knew exactly what part of him I was hurting, but I didn’t care. He was doing the exact same thing to me after all. If he wanted to play, I needed him to know that two could play at this game.
“Ilana,” I said. “You drove her away from you and refused to see her point. You refused to accept Avgust even when your sister asked you to.”
There was a flicker. It was barely there, but I saw it.
“And Fyodor?” I added. “You didn’t just lose him. You pushed him out, too. You let him rebel against you and leave the family, but you refused to relent. Your pride was too big for that. Is that not the case, Kliment?”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” I said. “I’ve seen this before. I have seen leaders who think control equals loyalty when it doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“No,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
Silence cracked open between us.
“You think fear keeps people close?” I continued. “It doesn’t. It just makes them stay long enough, but they eventually leave. I am sure Nico and Jarek will leave you as well if you keep acting this way, and then you will actually be all alone.”
His gaze darkened. “You’re crossing a line.”
“Am I?” I asked. “Or am I just saying what everyone else is too careful to say?”
“You don’t know my family.”
“I know patterns.”
“And you think you’ve figured me out?” he asked.
“I think you are rather predictable,” I said.
That did it. He stepped forward abruptly, closing the last inch of space between us.
“You don’t get to stand here,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “and analyze my life like you understand it.”
“And you don’t get to interrogate mine like you control it,” I shot back.
My foot shifted instinctively as I moved, pain flaring sharper than I expected. I turned slightly, intending to step away, but his hand closed around my jaw before I could take more than half a step. His touch was not rough, but firm and unyielding. As if he could hold me through everything.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “You are not fully healed.”
My breath caught for half a second, but it was not from pain.
It was from proximity instead. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it anchored me in place, his thumb resting just beneath my cheekbone, fingers curved along the side of my face.
He was too close. I licked my lower lip at his touch, wanting to do nothing but close my eyes and lean into it.
“Let go,” I said, forcing myself out of it.
But my voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be.
His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth, and everything changed between us.
The air between us thickened instantly, tension snapping into something sharper.
Hotter. My pulse jumped, betraying me in the quiet space between us.
His hand didn’t move, and neither did I.
For a fraction of a second, the anger dissolved. And something else slipped through. Desire. His gaze lifted back to mine, slower this time. My breath hitched slightly, and I hated that he could probably hear it. Feel it. The space between us felt impossibly small. Too small.
“You’re insufferable,” I murmured, but my words came out like a whisper.
“You’ve mentioned that before.”
“And yet you keep proving it again and again.”
His grip shifted slightly, not tightening, but not loosening either. “You don’t walk away from me mid-conversation, Misha.”
“I wasn’t walking away,” I said. “I was ending it.”
“That’s not your decision.”
“It always is.”
Silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t sharp.
It was charged. His gaze dropped again, and it was slower and more deliberate this time.
I didn’t pretend not to notice as my heart kicked harder against my ribs.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides, resisting the instinct to close the distance instead of maintaining it. It was a mistake.
This would be a mistake.
I knew that, and so did he. And yet neither of us moved. The moment stretched and tightened. It hovered on the edge of something neither of us had acknowledged out loud. His breath brushed against my skin, warm and steady, and I could feel the shift in him.
Without waiting for anything to escalate further, I shoved him back.
Hard.
The movement cost me, with pain flaring up in my side and down my leg, but I didn’t care.
“God, you’re impossible,” I snapped, putting distance between us.
He didn’t stop me this time and didn’t reach for me again.
He just stood there, exactly where I had pushed him, watching me with something dark and unreadable in his eyes.
It was not anger but something else. Something worse.
My chest rose and fell faster than I liked, and I hated that he could see it.
Hated that I could still feel the imprint of his hand against my skin.
Hated that for a second; I hadn’t wanted him to let go. The silence between us now was different. It was heavier and dangerous. Because we both knew exactly what had almost happened and neither of us could pretend it hadn’t.
“You’re a problem,” I said finally.
“So are you.”
“And yet here we are,” he added.
I let out a quiet breath, steadying myself.
“Yes,” I said. “Here we are.”
Enemies. Allies. Or something in between.
Something worse. We stood in the same room, the space between us no longer neutral territory but something far more volatile.
My pulse was still too fast, and his gaze felt intense.
And whatever this was, whatever it had turned into, it wasn’t just about control anymore.
It wasn’t just about strategy. It wasn’t even just about survival. It was something far more dangerous.
And we both knew it.