Chapter Twenty-Four - Dimitri
The change happens gradually, then all at once.
Janice moves through the penthouse with a confidence that wasn’t there a month ago.
She no longer hesitates before entering rooms, no longer seeks permission with her eyes before speaking.
When Oleg and Felix arrive for morning briefings, she pours coffee without asking, settles into discussions about territory disputes and revenue projections like she’s always belonged there.
“The Williamsburg situation is escalating,” Felix says, spreading documents across the dining table. “Residents are organizing. There’s talk of a lawsuit.”
“Let them sue,” Oleg dismisses. “We have the permits. They have complaints.”
“Public opinion matters,” Janice interjects. Both men turn to look at her. “Lawsuits we can win legally. The court of public perception is harder. One viral video of displaced families, one sympathetic news story, and suddenly every project you have faces scrutiny.”
“So what do you suggest?” Felix asks, genuinely curious.
“Community investment. Dedicate ground floor space to local businesses at reduced rent. Fund a playground. Something visible that says you’re building with them, not just over them.” She sips her coffee. “It costs less than the PR damage from a prolonged fight.”
Oleg looks skeptical. “That’s not how we operate.”
“Maybe it should be.” She meets his gaze steadily. “You want to keep making money in this city? You need the city to tolerate you. Smart investment now prevents expensive problems later.”
Silence settles. I watch the exchange without commenting, curious how this plays out.
“She’s not wrong,” Felix says finally. “The optics alone would be valuable.”
Oleg grunts, which from him counts as agreement. The conversation moves on, but I catch Felix’s glance—acknowledging what just happened. Janice didn’t ask permission to speak. Didn’t defer to me for approval. Just offered strategic advice that both men are clearly considering.
She belongs here now.
Later that afternoon, I’m in my study when raised voices carry from the hallway. I move to investigate and find Janice facing off with Taras, one of my senior lieutenants, a man who’s been with the family for fifteen years.
“Mrs. Rudenko,” Taras’s tone drips condescension. “Perhaps you should leave security decisions to those with experience.”
“Perhaps you should explain why you reassigned guards from the east perimeter without authorization,” Janice counters, arms crossed. “That’s a direct violation of the rotation protocol Dimitri established.”
“I made a judgment call. The west side needed—”
“The west side has adequate coverage. The east perimeter has had three incidents in the past month. Leaving it undermanned isn’t a judgment call; it’s negligence.
” Her voice stays level, but steel runs underneath.
“You want to make changes to security protocols? Bring them to Felix. Don’t just decide you know better than the system in place. ”
Taras’s face flushes. “You’ve been here five minutes. You don’t understand.”
“I understand that you’re testing whether I’ll notice when you break established rules.
I understand that you think being here longer gives you the right to dismiss oversight.
” She steps closer, and remarkably, Taras actually retreats.
“I’m not dismissing you. I’m not reporting this to Dimitri.
I’m telling you directly: follow the protocols or explain to him why you think they don’t apply to you. Your choice.”
The hallway goes quiet. Taras’s jaw works, calculating whether to push back or back down. He glances past Janice, sees me watching from the study doorway.
“Understood, Mrs. Rudenko,” he says finally, stiff with barely controlled anger. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Janice’s voice softens slightly. “You’ve been doing this a long time, Taras. I’m not trying to undermine that. I’m trying to maintain the systems that keep everyone safe. Including you.”
She walks past him without waiting for acknowledgment, heading toward the library. Taras stands frozen for a moment, then catches my eye.
“She’s… ” He stops, searching for words. “She’s learning fast.”
“Yes,” I agree. “She is.”
He leaves, and I return to my study, something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Pride, maybe. Or recognition that the woman I forced into this marriage is claiming space I didn’t give her permission to occupy.
She’s not asking anymore. She’s taking.
***
That evening, I find Janice in the library with Misha curled in her lap. She’s staring out the window at the city lights, expression distant.
“Taras spoke to Felix,” I say from the doorway. “Confirmed the protocol violation. He’s been reassigned to a position where he can’t make independent decisions.”
She turns, surprise flickering across her face. “I didn’t ask you to punish him.”
“You shouldn’t have to. He challenged your authority, tested boundaries he knew better than to test.” I cross to pour myself a drink. “What you said to him was correct. He needed to hear it from someone other than me.”
“I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”
“I know. That’s why it worked.” I settle in the chair across from her. “You didn’t assert authority for the sake of it. You identified a genuine security concern and addressed it. That’s exactly what you should be doing.”
Misha stretches, yawning to show needle teeth, then settles back into Janice’s lap. The kitten has become a fixture, her presence somehow making every room feel less like a fortress and more like a home.
“Can I ask you something?” Janice says after a moment.
“Always.”
“Why did you really leave me? Four years ago, after that night, why did you disappear?”
The question lands heavier than I expect. I’ve avoided this conversation, deflected it, given her pieces but never the full truth.
“You want the real reason,” I say slowly. “Not the version I told myself, or the justification I gave Damien.”
“Yes.”
I take a long drink, buying time. “The Bratva noticed you. Noticed my distraction. Damien called me in, told me in very clear terms that you were a liability. That keeping you close would either get you killed or get me compromised.”
“So you chose to protect me by destroying me.”
“I chose to protect you by removing myself from your life before my world could consume you. The internship ending was… clinical. Clean. I thought cutting ties completely would keep you safe.” I meet her eyes. “I was wrong.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t disappear. You came back. Published that exposé that proved you’d been paying attention all along, that you’d seen more than I realized.
” My grip tightens on the glass. “I spent four years trying to forget you existed. Four years convincing myself that was mercy. Then I walked into that boardroom, and I understood—there was never any escaping this. Us. Whatever this is.”
Janice is quiet for a long moment, stroking Misha’s back with absent focus. “You could have told me back then. Given me a choice instead of making it for me.”
“Would you have walked away if I’d asked?”
“Probably not.”
“Then I made the choice you couldn’t. I was older, understood the stakes better, knew what my world would do to someone like you.” I lean forward. “I thought I was saving you. Instead, I just delayed the inevitable and made sure you hated me when we met again.”
“I don’t hate you now.”
“No. Now you’re trapped, and hate would be easier than whatever this is becoming.”
She shifts Misha carefully aside and stands, crossing to where I sit. Her hand finds mine, fingers threading through.
“I want to tell you something,” she says quietly. “About why I came to New York in the first place. Why journalism mattered so much.”
I wait, sensing this is important.
“My father was a small-town developer. Nothing like you. It was little projects, local buildings, honest work.” Her voice stays steady, but I hear the weight underneath.
“When I was sixteen, a bigger company wanted his land. He refused to sell. They manufactured a scandal, destroyed his reputation, drove him into bankruptcy. He killed himself six months later.”
The words make me wince.
“I came to New York to understand how power works. How men like the ones who destroyed my father operate. How money and influence can erase people who get in the way.” She meets my eyes.
“That’s why your world fascinated me. Why I couldn’t leave it alone even when I should have.
I wanted to understand the machinery so I could break it. ”
Understanding crashes over me. “The exposé wasn’t just revenge for what I did to you.”
“No. It was revenge for my father. For every person like him who gets crushed by people like—” She stops.
“People like me,” I finish. “I’m exactly what you came here to destroy.”
“Yes.” The admission is barely audible. “You were.”
“Now?”
“Now I don’t know anymore. You’re cruel and controlling and you’ve caged me in ways my father never experienced.
Except you’re also the man who saves kittens and checks locks obsessively and holds me like you’re terrified I’ll disappear.
” Her hand tightens around mine. “You’re the machine I wanted to break, but somehow, you’re also human. ”
The confession sits heavy between us. All this time, I thought her investigation was personal—about us, about what I’d done to her. It was bigger than that. Older. Rooted in trauma that predates me by years.
I’m a stand-in for the men who killed her father. A convenient target for rage that has nowhere else to go.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Meaning it. “For what happened to him. For being the kind of man who makes that possible.”
“Don’t apologize for what you are. Just… ” She stops, searching for words. “Don’t prove me right about you. Please.”
The plea is quiet, desperate. She’s asking me not to be the monster she feared. Not to become the thing that justifies the hatred she arrived with.
I don’t know if I can promise that.
“I can’t guarantee I won’t hurt you again,” I say honestly. “My world is violent. The choices I make have consequences for people who don’t deserve them. You already know that.”
“I know.”
“I can promise I’ll remember you’re not just mine to protect. That you came from something real—loss and grief and the kind of pain that shapes people into fighters.” I pull her closer, needing the contact. “Your father would have hated me.”
“Probably.” She rests her forehead against my chest. “He would have hated that I care about you even more.”
We stand like that for a long moment, Misha watching from the couch with feline judgment. No words needed. Just presence, understanding passing between us in the silence.
This isn’t conquest. Isn’t obsession alone.
This is trust forged under pressure, through honesty that cost us both something to give. It binds tighter than chains ever could, more permanent than marriage certificates or forced vows.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a warning sounds.
If she betrays me now—after this, after she’s shown me her scars and I’ve shown her mine—it won’t just destroy me. It’ll destroy us both. Everything we’ve built, every moment of understanding, every careful step toward something that might actually resemble partnership.
Choose freedom, or choose this.
Choose me.
I should confront her now. Should force the issue, demand she tell me about the phone I know exists, the contact she thinks I haven’t discovered.
Instead, I hold her. Let her rest against me while Misha purrs from the couch and the city glitters beyond windows that never close.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” I say quietly, “remember this. Remember us. Remember that you have a choice, and that choice matters more than whatever they’re offering you.”
She goes very still. “What happens tomorrow?”
“The Volkov meeting. I’ll be gone for hours. You’ll be here, alone with your thoughts and whatever decisions you need to make.” I tilt her face up. “I’m trusting you, Janice. Completely. Don’t make me regret it.”
Her eyes search mine, fear and understanding warring in their depths. She knows I know. Knows this is the test.
“I won’t,” she whispers. “I promise.”
I want to believe her.
God, I want to believe her.