17. Lessons in Power
Lessons in Power
Roman
Fear is useless if it stays fear.
It becomes valuable only when it turns into awareness.
Vera stands in the center of the penthouse training room, barefoot on the matte floor, hair tied back tightly. The cathedral chaos has burned away any illusion she had left about the world she married into.
Good.
Illusions get people killed.
“Again,” I say.
She exhales slowly and moves across the room toward the mirrored wall.
Not walking.
Scanning.
“Who’s the threat?” I ask.
She pauses halfway.
“The man by the door,” she says.
“Why.”
“He hasn’t moved in ten minutes.”
“Wrong.”
Her eyes flick sideways, recalibrating.
“The woman near the elevator,” she corrects. “She’s watching reflections instead of people.”
I nod once.
“Better.”
Viktor watches from the edge of the room, arms crossed, silent approval in the slight tilt of his head.
Vera turns back toward me.
“This is exhausting,” she says.
“Survival is.”
“I used to just worry about infections.”
“You should still worry about infections,” I reply. “But now you also worry about men who hide knives under smiles.”
She rolls her shoulders slightly, tension lingering from the drills.
“Next,” I say.
She sighs softly.
“Code words.”
“Already memorized.”
“Then prove it.”
She crosses her arms.
“If I say winter?”
“Immediate evacuation.”
“Chapel?”
“Safe room one.”
“Mercy?”
She hesitates a fraction too long.
“Safe room two,” she says.
“Too slow.”
“I’m learning.”
“You don’t have time to learn slowly.”
Her eyes flash.
“I’m aware.”
The tension between us crackles—not anger exactly.
Friction.
Necessary friction.
“Stance,” I say.
She groans softly but steps forward.
I move behind her, adjusting her shoulders.
“Feet apart.”
“They are apart.”
“Not enough.”
I nudge her foot with mine.
She stiffens slightly when my hands settle at her waist to correct her balance.
Her breath changes.
Mine does too.
I ignore it.
“Weight forward,” I instruct.
“Like this?”
“No.”
My hands slide lower along her hips, guiding the angle.
“Here.”
She inhales sharply.
“Roman.”
“Yes.”
“You’re very aware of where your hands are.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
My restraint tightens like a wire being pulled.
“Focus,” I say quietly.
“I am.”
But her pulse is visible now in the hollow of her throat.
I step closer, adjusting her arm position.
“Your center of gravity is wrong,” I murmur near her ear.
Her breath catches again.
“This is a training session,” she says.
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel like one.”
I step back abruptly.
Distance restores control.
“Again,” I say.
She turns to face me this time.
Eyes sharper now.
“Why are you really doing this?” she asks.
“So you live.”
“No,” she says quietly. “The training.”
I study her carefully.
“Because you’re a target.”
“That’s not the whole answer.”
No.
It isn’t.
“You adapt quickly,” I say instead.
“That’s not an answer either.”
She steps closer.
“You married me as bait,” she says softly. “You’re training me like a soldier.”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel anything about that?”
“Efficiency.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Silence stretches.
I look at her—really look.
The ring catches the overhead light.
The same ring that placed a target on her chest.
“You want honesty,” I say.
“Yes.”
It surprises me when the truth arrives before I can filter it.
“Yes.”
Her brow furrows.
“Yes what?”
“Yes,” I repeat. “I feel something about it.”
“What?”
I hold her gaze.
“Guilt.”
The word sits strangely in my mouth.
She looks startled.
“You?” she says softly.
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For dragging you into a war you didn’t choose.”
“You warned me.”
“That doesn’t absolve me.”
She studies my face like she’s seeing something new.
“You’re serious,” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
Silence settles between us again.
“You hide it well,” she says.
“I hide everything well.”
Her eyes soften slightly.
“When does the guilt show up?” she asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard.
I could lie.
It would be easier.
But the truth is already there.
I look at her.
At the ring.
At the determination in her stance.
At the woman who stood in a cathedral under threat and didn’t break.
“At predictable moments,” I say.
“Such as?”
My voice lowers without meaning to.
“Only when I look at you.”