“I need stability.”
A long silence followed. When Kliment spoke again, his voice had cooled into something sharper.
“I can see how her presence is already affecting your judgment.”
“No.”
“You dismantled my operation tonight because of her.”
“I dismantled your operation because it was reckless.”
“You’re prioritizing damage control over loyalty.”
“I’m prioritizing survival.”
“You forget who leads this family.”
“I don’t.”
“And yet you act independently.”
“So do you.”
That was the fracture between us, sharp and visible. I waited as rain soaked through my jacket while neither of us spoke for several seconds.
“You think you can manage this alone and protect her?” Kliment asked finally.
“Yes.”
“And you think she’ll stay?” A muscle ticked in my jaw at the question.
“That’s not your concern.”
“The moment the Chernykhs come to rescue her, you will be the first person she leaves, Fyodor. You might be doing all of this for her, but remember that she will never be loyal to you the way she is loyal to her name and her family. You will regret all of this soon.”
I ended the call before I could say something back and stepped back into the warehouse. The rain came harder now, the falling droplets creating a soft music all around us. Viktor stepped beside me under the awning, probably having heard my end of the conversation already.
“He won’t stand down, will he?” he said.
“Never. Let’s get out of here.”
Viktor nodded and began redirecting men back to the cars while Kliment’s men were sent back home. The night had already gone on long enough, and I had no desire for it to go on any longer. It took us longer than usual to get back to the penthouse because of the rain, and I returned just past midnight. The city glowed below, deceptively calm, but inside, the lights were low and soft. It almost felt a little different, and for all I knew, Elisse might have also changed the lights.
Just the way she had changed the cushions. They were emerald now, the exact swatch I had picked up the other day and had told her it would look beautiful on her. The color made the place warmer, making me feel as if I were actually home. The guards at the entrance nodded.
“No incidents?” I asked.
“No, sir.”
I nodded at them and moved back inside, the scent of charcoal lingering faintly in the air. It was late, but I knew she would not be asleep yet. She had been spending most of her time working since she had decided to get back to it. I found her in the spare bedroom, which she had turned into her studio. I stood at the open door, watching as she worked at a mannequin, barefoot and beautiful. Her hair twisted loosely at the back of her neck, and she stood in front of a mannequin which was nearly as tall as she was, hands moving in a slow, deliberate fashion while she played with the fabrics in her hands.
She didn’t hear me at first, or at least pretended not to, so I leaned against the doorframe silently watching. I loved watching her work, or read, or simply go about her day. It grounded me. She’d transformed the room entirely. Drop cloths covered the floor, and sketches were pinned to the walls. Fabric was draped over the dress form in the corner. It was no longer just another room in the penthouse, but it belonged completely to her.
The anger in her movements had softened even when it was not gone. But it was now refined and clearly directed towards art. Everything about what she was doing seemed rather intentional now. She stepped back slightly to assess the canvas, and only then did her gaze flick toward the doorway.
She didn’t jump. She rarely did anymore.
“You’re home late today. Where were you?” she asked, the question strangely domestic and intimate. She must have realized it too, because her eyes widened the moment it escaped her lips, but she didn’t try to overcorrect herself.
