Chapter 10 #3
Anya’s fingers curl at her sides, and she keeps her chin lifted. “They wanted to see if my father would respond to you getting shot,” she says, and her voice is controlled, but there’s heat under it. “Because if he does, then they learn something, and if he doesn’t, then they learn something else.”
Viktor’s gaze holds hers. “Yes.”
“And they wanted to see if he would respond for me,” she adds, and she doesn’t look away when she says it.
The air goes tight again, because now we are not talking about bullets. We are talking about leverage.
Mason leans back slightly, eyes flicking between Viktor and me and Anya. “Then we have the same problem,” he says. “Someone out there is watching her, and someone out there thinks they can use my club to poke the Dragunovs and see what bleeds.”
“And they are wrong,” Dmitri says flatly, and the way he says it is calm enough to be terrifying.
Mikhail’s tone stays measured. “They are also not finished.”
Mason exhales once through his nose, then looks at Viktor. “You said you got a call,” he says. “Who called you, and what else do you know, because we’re not blind here. If this is tied to Moscow politics, then we need to understand what kind of storm is coming at our doorstep.”
Viktor’s gaze moves across the room slowly.
“Someone with access to information called,” he says, and he doesn’t offer more than that yet, because he is Viktor Dragunov and he does not hand out details like candy.
Then he looks at me again, and his voice remains controlled.
“What matters is that someone chose you as the point of contact, because you were the last known location of my daughter after the hospital.”
Anya’s jaw tightens. “They know you brought me to your house,” she says, and she isn’t asking. She’s stating it.
“Yes,” Mikhail confirms quietly, and he glances at her with something that looks almost like apology. “If they were watching, then they saw where you went, and they would have waited to see what happens next.”
Dmitri’s eyes flick to me again. “And they chose you because you are visible.”
I hold his gaze. “So are you.”
Mason shifts forward, elbows on the table now, voice cutting clean through it.
“Then here’s what we do,” he says, and the room changes, because when Mason speaks like that, it becomes a plan instead of a threat.
“We keep eyes on that hotel, quiet and consistent, and nobody gets stupid. If her old man decides to flex, we’re not caught flat, and if whoever is watching decides to poke again, they’re going to find out we bite. ”
Viktor’s expression does not change, but his attention stays on Mason, and that alone feels significant.
Anya stands there between all of it, and she does not look small. And I realize, in a way that hits as hard as the pavement did, that whoever started this wanted to see which world she belongs to. They are about to learn she doesn’t belong to anyone.
One of Viktor’s men steps up behind him and bends close, murmuring something in his ear. Viktor’s expression darkens instantly. He mutters a sharp curse in Russian and his gaze shifts to Anya.
She notices the change immediately.
“What?” she asks, her voice steady but alert.
He answers her in Russian, low and irritated. “We don’t need this right now.”
Mikhail, Dimitri, Anya, and I all understand exactly what he says. The rest of the room looks between us, lost, because they do not speak the language.
Viktor exhales heavily and straightens. “We will handle this in private,” he says, already moving as if that settles it.
Mason slams his fist down on the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. “Dragunov, whatever the hell is going on, you better fucking let the rest of us in on it. We’re tied together whether you like it or not.”
Silence stretches for a beat.
Viktor looks at each of his children before finally speaking. “Konstantin Orlovsky,” he says evenly. “He is here in the city with his mother and father. They are here to attend a charity gala.”
No one says anything.
“Konstantin heard that you had been found,” Viktor continues, his eyes settling on Anya. “He is requesting a private meeting with you tonight. He also expects you to attend the gala with him tomorrow evening.”
Anya does not react. She does not blink. She does not shift. She simply stands there, unreadable.
“Who the fuck is Konstantin Orlovsky?” I ask.
Mikhail and Dimitri exchange a look that makes something cold slide down my spine. It is Mikhail who finally answers.
“Anya’s fiancé.”
The word lands like a punch.
Anya’s eyes close briefly, and when they open again, there is nothing soft left in them. Her expression turns to stone.
“You’re engaged?” I ask. I have no right to feel the surge of anger that hits me, but it burns anyway.
“It was arranged when they were children,” Dimitri explains quietly. “A marriage meant to bind the two families together so they could rule the crime world in Russia.”
Viktor shoots Dimitri a warning glare, but the damage is already done.
Anya lets out a quiet, humorless breath.
“What they mean to say,” she replies evenly, her voice edged with steel, “is that I am expected to breed the heirs of the alliance.” The room goes still and all the men, and it’s all men she’s surrounded by, stare at her.
“I will not rule,” she continues, her gaze locked on her father now.
“I will stand beside him like the good little wife, smile when I am told to smile, and do exactly as I am told. Just like I always have.” The words are too calm.
Mikhail looks away first. Dimitri’s jaw tightens. Viktor’s face hardens, but he does not interrupt her.
She folds her arms across her chest, not defensive, just contained.
Controlled. “Let’s not pretend this is about power for me,” she adds quietly.
“It never was.” Her gaze shifts to her father.
“Set up the meeting. Let’s get this over with.
” Then she turns and walks out, spine straight, steps measured.
The door closes behind her, and every man in the room watches her go like they just witnessed something they do not fully understand.
I have never met a woman who carries both steel and fractures in the same breath.
She is a walking contradiction. Beautiful.
Unyielding. Tired in a way that settles into the bones.
She will do what they ask. She will shoulder it because that is what she has always done.
And it will cost her. It always costs her.
She has never been allowed to be free. Not really.
Not without strings. Not without eyes on her.
And I cannot stand here and pretend that is acceptable.
She deserves wind in her hair without it feeling like borrowed air. She deserves to make a choice that is only hers. To wake up one morning and not feel the weight of everyone else’s expectations pressing against her ribs. She deserves joy that does not require sacrifice.
Damn every man in her life who mistakes obedience for strength and expects her to kneel just because they can.
In this moment, I know exactly who I’m going to be.
Not another man who cages her and calls it protection.
Not another voice telling her what she owes.
I’m going to be the one who breaks the locks.
I will tear every chain off her life piece by piece.
Quietly if I have to. Loudly if they make me.
I will stand between her and anyone who thinks they own even a fraction of her.
And when she’s finally free, when she’s standing on her own two feet with nothing weighing her down, I won’t demand anything in return.
I’ll just stay, if she’ll have me. I won’t tell her who to be.
I won’t shrink her to make myself feel bigger.
I won’t mistake control for love. She has had enough of that to last a lifetime.
She gets to be exactly what she is. Fierce.
Complicated. Soft in places she hides. And I’ll choose her always.
Every single day. She is my future. She is the beginning I didn’t know I was waiting for and the end of every road that never felt like home.
In a world that chews up good things and spits them out, she is the only thing that feels certain. The only thing that matters.