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The latter, more than anything else I’d said, seemed to settle it. Sokolov lowered his gun.
“Aslanov gets out in a week. We leave for Russia in a few days.”
I nodded. “I will be there.”
***
KATYA
I found myself back in my place of solace—Kristoff’s study, amidst my beloved books.
I slumped onto the couch. I was spent and could no longer keep up with the emotional roller coaster my life had turned into. Within twenty-four hours, I’d gone from ecstatic, to hurt, to horrified, and now dazed. My mind could barely process what had just happened. The hate in Sokolov’s eyes had scorched me. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d come to take me with him. He would have dragged me on a plane so he could put a bullet in my brain in front of my father. I felt sick.
I hugged my legs and put my head on my knees. I couldn’t even blame him. He was blinded by hatred, but also by grief. I’d heard it in his voice when it cracked. Aslanov—my father—had almost wiped out his entire family. Who wouldn’t want to exact vengeance?
In a sick and twisted way, Kristoff had saved my life by marrying me. I could see that now. It changed nothing, though. He had lied to me for years. If I were to believe Svetlana—and why wouldn’t I at this point—he’d married me for my inheritance. Talk about the long game. The icy pit in my stomach had grown into a winter scene from Narnia. I feared I was turning into the Ice Queen. It was easier this way, because if I allowed myself to feel, I might shatter.
Kristoff walked in. I hated that my heart rate sped up. I loathed that my body still longed for him.
I was married to him now. Forced to, under duress. And all because of a vow. All because his allegiance to Bratva law trumped everything.
He remained silent, probably waiting to see what I would do. There was only one thing I wanted. A single thing I could hurt him with. My absence.
I jumped off the couch and walked up to him.
“I saw a documentary once about people climbing Mount Everest. They talked about how it was their dream, and about the ecstatic feeling that surged through them when they reached the top. In reality, none of them could ever have gotten there without the help of their Nepalese guide, who basically carried all the equipment and the climber. You were my guide, Kristoff. And until yesterday, I felt like that climber, like I was on top of the world. But now? It’s as if you shoved me down the mountain and I landed face-down in the snow.”
A muscle ticked in his temple. Otherwise he didn’t move, didn’t react. Once again he had the audacity to not even give me any words after I poured out my heart to him.
I grabbed the first book on his shelf of favorites. It was a volume ofThe Prince.
“And I hate Machiavelli,” I snarled. “‘It is better to be feared than loved’. Who thinks like that, let alone writes it down? He is so full of himself!”
I couldn’t stop my mouth. It was as if a demoness had taken over my body, and was wreaking havoc with my vocal cords, turning them raw and harsh. I wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt me.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Actually, he said that it’s better to be feared than loved, if you can’t be both.”
I was going to murder him. I dropped Machiavelli and grabbedOn Warby von Clausewitz. My chest heaved as I perused the other books on Kristoff’s favorite shelf. Each one of them mocked my naivete, shouting at me that this was what Kristoff was—a brilliant strategist. His true nature had been right in front of me all along. I had just ignored it.
“I bet you can quote from every one of these books.”
He eyed the one in my hand. “’It is even better to act quickly and err than to hesitate until the time of action is past.’”
I dropped the book before I had a chance to throw it at his head. I grabbed Musashi’sA Book of Five Ringsand cocked a brow.
“’The only reason a warrior is alive is to fight, and the only reason a warrior fights is to win.’”
“’Never stray from the Way’,” I whispered, remembering a quote from this book as well. And wasn’t that the gist of Kristoff’s core? He only knew, onlywantedone Way. A path of vengeance and destruction.
His jaw clenched. “Never.”
My heart was an ashen wasteland. I imagined wading through the burned soil as I walked up to him.
“I’ve been such a fool. I’m done. We are done. See, I can live with the self-hatred, but I could never live with losing my self-respect. When I wake up in the morning, I need to like myself. I need to be able to look into the mirror and smile, feel happy. It’s what I did with my mom as a morning ritual. Every morning we stood before the mirror and listed the things we were grateful for. She found it important to remind ourselves. Every day I got to live was something to be grateful for, so she always started with that. I can live with hating myself for still loving you. I can deal with my body aching for you, even though I wish you would leave me cold. But I could never live with losing my self-respect. And that’s what would happen if you kept me in this cage and I would let you.”
He grabbed the back of my neck in a startling quick move. “If this is a plea for me to let you go, forget it. That’s never going to happen. I will never let you go.”
I pried his fingers from my skin and laughed. It was a bitter sound. “You misunderstand, Mr. Romanov. I’m not pleading for anything. We don’t live in the nineteenth century. I don’t have to ask my husband—especially a husband I didn’t want—for anything. I amtellingyou what’s going to happen.” I poked his chest because I didn’t have something sharper to stab him with. “Since you are so keen on vows, hear this. I vow on my blood that I will leave you, if it’s the last thing I do.”
His eyes turned to steel. “You can try.”
The die had been cast, the glove thrown down.
“Hominem te esse memento,” I whispered.Remember that you are mortal, a man.
I, on the other hand, was a determined woman with nothing to lose.
Game on.
