It wasn’t a question.
“No.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Don’t insult me.”
I held his stare evenly. “I’ve handled everything you’ve asked of me.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Silence stretched between us, and I knew this wasn’t a discussion. It was positioning.
“You know why you’re here,” he said finally.
“Yes.” I did have an idea. After all, lately, Kliment had only been obsessed with one thing.
He leaned back slightly in his chair. “And what is it?”
His need for verbal confirmation was telling.
“You want to dismantle the Chernykhs, and you want to make sure everything goes right.”
“Yes, but more importantly, I want to bring our sister home.”
There it was. The delusion wrapped in devotion. He had been losing his mind since Ilana had chosen to leave. She was the golden girl of the Romanovs. The sister who had always been soft and bright. She was the one Kliment had tried to control like a strategic asset until she’d slipped through his fingers and married Avgust Chernykh.
The Chernykhs were our biggest enemies right now only because of this one thing. I had been there when all of it fell apart. When Kliment’s pride detonated the room, words turned into threats. All of it had gone down too quickly, but I can never forget how Avgust had saved my life once. He wasn’t a bad guy, and most importantly, I knew Ilana loved him. She wouldn’t have chosen to go with him otherwise.
But Kliment pretended that didn’t matter.
“You seriously think destroying them will make her return?” I said carefully.
“I know it will.”
“You think she’ll come back ashamed and regretful of her decision?” I scoffed. Even Kliment was smarter than this.
His eyes sharpened. “She will see what she chose is wrong for her.”
“She chose him, and I think we need to accept that,” I said quietly.
The air in the room dropped ten degrees, and Kliment stood up slowly. He walked toward the window, hands clasped behind his back.
“She was manipulated.”
“No, she wasn’t.”
He turned sharply. “You weren’t there when he took her.”
“I was there when he protected her.”
A second passed between us, and Kliment’s expression shifted, turning to fury.
“You’re sentimental and compromised,” he said flatly.
“No, I am not.”
He stepped closer to the desk, palms braced against it.
“Blood loyalty is not optional, Fyodor.”
