Chapter 15 Kira
Kira
Day three in Roman's compound, and I'm learning what it means to be property.
Chattel.
I have no autonomy.
I’m given a schedule and expected to follow it.
The room they've given me is beautiful with views of the garden that might be peaceful if I wasn't a prisoner. But beautiful prisons are still prisons.
My phone is gone. "Security purposes," Roman said with that smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Can't have any breaches before the wedding."
He's cut off my ability to communicate with anyone he doesn't control.
And Anya. I’m certain that is who he is really trying to cut off. He wants to control me through access to her.
Asshole.
Guards are stationed outside my door. They follow me everywhere—to meals, to fittings, to the bathroom if I let them. I've gotten used to the constant surveillance, the eyes always watching, cataloging my every move.
Roman has scheduled every minute of my day. Wedding preparations, he calls it. Torture, I call it.
My schedule is pretty consistent. In the morning, I meet with the event coordinator about flowers I don't care about.
Afternoons are fittings for a dress I'll never want to wear. Evenings are dinners with Roman where he discusses our future like he's planning a hostile takeover.
Which, I suppose, he is.
The worst part is knowing Maksim is right next door. I can hear him sometimes through the wall—pacing, talking on the phone, existing just feet away while I slowly suffocate.
We haven't spoken since that night in the sitting room. Since I begged him to help me escape and he walked away.
I lie awake listening to him move around and wonder if he's figured it out yet. If he's started to see the trap Roman built for both of us.
Or if he's still too committed to my destruction to realize I’m not the danger. I can’t prove it, but I suspect Roman was somehow connected. I don’t know how and I’ll never be allowed out of my gilded cage to investigate.
Which means Maksim is exposed. And quite frankly, good. He’s made his feelings clear. I tried to help him, but he won’t see what’s right in front of his damn face.
On the morning of day four, I sit in my chair, drinking the tea that’s been delivered and stare out the window.
I try not to think about my future. I know it’s short.
I know I will not live to be old and gray.
Will I have a year? Five years? It’s hard to stare down my own mortality.
Roman will insist I have at least two of his children, preferably boys, and then he’ll be done with me.
I will have children and never see them become adults.
The sigh escapes me before I can stop it.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at my door. And then it’s thrown open.
Two guards escort my sister inside.
She looks terrified.
"Kira!" She runs to me. I catch her in a hug that feels like drowning.
"Are you okay?" I pull back to look at her. "Did they hurt you?"
"No." But her eyes are red. She's been crying. "They just said Roman wanted me to visit. To discuss wedding arrangements. They snatched me and dragged me here."
The guards remain by the door, watching. Listening.
We're not alone. We'll never be alone here.
"How thoughtful," I say loudly enough for them to hear. "Come sit. Tell me about your art classes."
We move to the couch, and I keep one arm around her. Protection I can't actually provide.
"I'm scared," she whispers.
"I know." I smooth her hair like when she was little. "But it's going to be okay."
"Is it?" Her voice drops even lower. "Kira, they're talking about my wedding. To Artem. It's real. It's actually happening."
The guards are watching. I smile like we're discussing pleasant things.
"You need to leave," I whisper against her hair. "Get out of the country. Now."
"I can't leave you—"
"You have to." I pull back, keeping my expression neutral for the watchers. "Anya, listen to me. The money I set aside—it's in the account we discussed. Enough for a ticket to Paris and six months living expenses."
"But you'll be punished if I run—"
"I'll be fine." The lie tastes bitter. "I'm marrying Roman. That protects me. But you—you need to be gone before they can stop you."
"When?" Her hands grip mine.
"As soon as possible. Tomorrow if you can." I keep my voice low, casual, like we're discussing art school applications. "Pack light. Take only what you need. And don't tell anyone—not Father, not friends. Just go."
"Kira—"
"Please." I squeeze her hands. "Please, Anya. For me. Get out while you still can."
One of the guards shifts, and we both glance over. He's watching us with narrow eyes, like he knows we're planning something but can't quite hear what.
"Tell me about your latest painting," I say louder. "The one with the sunset."
Anya understands. We spend the next thirty minutes talking about art while the guards listen.
“Can we have some tea please?” I ask politely.
They hate when I do that. Hate when I act like they are my servants rather than my guards. They speak in low voices before one walks away.
Anya grins at me. “You know they hate you, right?”
I flash a smile that is all about trying to prove to her I’m okay—even when we both know I’m not. “I do.”
The guard returns with tea service, setting it on the table between us with more force than necessary. Water sloshes over the rim of the pot. I don't react, just pour for both of us with steady hands.
"Thank you," I say sweetly. "That will be all."
He glares but returns to his post by the door.
Anya lifts her cup, and I notice her hands are shaking. I cover one of them with mine, steadying it.
"Remember that summer we spent at Grandmother's dacha?" I ask, keeping my voice light and nostalgic. "You were what, ten?"
"Eleven," she corrects, catching on. "You taught me to swim in the lake."
"You were terrified of the water." I smile at the memory, genuine despite everything. "Cried for an hour before you'd even put your feet in."
"Because you kept telling me there were monsters." She kicks my foot gently under the table. "You were mean."
"I was preparing you." I take a sip of tea, watching the guards from the corner of my eye. They're still listening but seem less interested in childhood stories. "Teaching you that sometimes you have to face scary things."
Anya's eyes meet mine. She understands what I'm really saying.
"You made me jump off the dock," she murmurs. "Said I had to trust you to catch me."
"And did I catch you?"
"Every time." Her voice breaks slightly. "Even when I thought I'd drown, you were always there."
"I'm here now too. Even when you can't see me. Even when it feels like you're alone. I'm catching you."
She blinks rapidly, fighting tears. "I don't want to leave you."
"I know." I set down my cup and lean closer, lowering my voice to barely above a breath. "But you have to. Tomorrow. Early. The account number is in your jewelry box, hidden in the lining of the bottom drawer. Memorize it and destroy the paper."
"Kira—"
"Promise me." I grip her hand. "Swear you'll go."
One of the guards shifts, and I immediately raise my voice. "And then you dumped that entire bucket of lake water on my head! I was furious!"
Anya catches the shift, laughing though it sounds forced. "You deserved it. You pushed me in first."
"Fair point." I pour more tea, the picture of sisterly bonding. "You always were good at revenge."
"Learned from the best." She takes a shaky sip. "When you taught me to be strong. To fight back."
“You’ve always been strong enough to do what needs to be done. Even when it's hard."
"Even when it means leaving the people I love?" Her eyes fill with tears.
"Especially then." I brush my hand across her cheek.
This is goodbye. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. I force down the lump in my throat.
“Time to go.” One of the guards appears beside us and grabs Anya’s arm.
“Don’t touch her!”
Anya gets to her feet. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
I stand and follow them across the room, but I’m not allowed to leave the confines of my space. I watch the guard practically drag her own the hall.
She looks back at me with tears in her eyes.
“Go,” I mouth.
She nods and then she’s gone.
I don't know if she'll do it. But I pray she does.
Because one of us needs to survive this.
Two days before the wedding…
The wedding dress is beautiful—I have to admit that. Cream silk, gorgeous lace overlays, a train that goes on forever. The kind of dress every girl dreams about.
Except I'm not dreaming. I'm living a nightmare in expensive fabric.
"Turn," the seamstress orders, pins in her mouth.
I turn mechanically, staring at myself in the mirror. The woman looking back is a stranger. The Ice Queen in bridal white.
The irony would be funny if it wasn't so tragic.
I haven’t heard from Anya. I have no way to know if she managed to escape, but I pray she did. I heard Roman yelling yesterday. I hope it’s because she got away, and he can’t find her. I don’t dare ask.
"Perfect," the seamstress declares. "You'll be the most beautiful bride in Moscow."
The most trapped, more like.
"Can I have a moment?" I ask. "Alone?"
The seamstress glances at the guards. They nod once.
“I’m alone,” I say when the guards look like they plan on staying in the room. “I’m not going anywhere.”
When they don’t budge, I roll my eyes. “I’m going to take off this dress and get very naked. Do you think your boss is going to appreciate the fact you saw his wife naked?”
To make my point, I start to unzip the gown, letting it fall forward.
Suddenly, they’re scrambling to leave the room.
I smile as I pull the zipper the rest of the way. I step out of the dress and leave it in a heap on the floor. I’m wearing nothing but the white bustier and lacy panties when I hear voices in the hall.
Curious, I walk to the door, open it just a little and poke my head out.
Down the hall, I can hear men talking. They’re trying to be quiet but failing miserably.
"She’s asking too many questions," someone says. Viktor. I'd recognize his voice anywhere.
What's Viktor doing here? He was my father's associate, not Roman's. Why is he in the compound?
"Maksim's getting suspicious," another voice. One of Roman's lieutenants. The man that grabbed Anya. "He's been digging into the financial records."
My heart stops. Maksim is investigating. He's finally seeing the truth.
"We need to handle it," Viktor says. "Before he finds evidence."
"Roman says wait. Maksim's useful for now. Once the wedding is done—"
I step halfway out of the room trying to hear more. Trying to understand what they're planning. No one is in the hall and I’m too curious to care about my state of undress. This is the information I’ve been desperate to get my hands on.
"We’ll have to eliminate the problem. Make it look like—"
A hand clamps over my mouth from behind.
I'm jerked backward into a hard chest, with one arm wrapping around me like a vise. I try to scream but the hand muffles everything.
I kick backward, connecting with a shin. My attacker grunts but doesn't release me. He's too strong, too big.
Panic floods through me.
I fight harder, desperate, using every dirty trick I know. But it's useless against someone this much larger and stronger.
He drags me backward, away from the door, away from the voices I was trying to hear.
Then I smell my captor. I’d know that smell anywhere.
Maksim.
The realization makes me stop fighting.
He drags me into his room. His hand is still over my mouth, his body pressed against my back, holding me immobile. "Stop fighting," he breathes against my ear. Too quiet for anyone else to hear. "It's me."
I nod, and slowly he lowers his hand from my mouth.
I spin around, fury overriding fear. "What the hell—"
He covers my mouth again. "Quiet. They're right outside."
He's right. I can hear footsteps in the hallway.
“Just stay here,” one of my guards says. “I’m going to get something to eat. She’s not going anywhere.”
Thank God. They believe I’m still in the room.
I relax just a little. Until I remember I’m nearly naked.
In Maksim’s room.