Anna
For once, the silence wasn't tense.
She sat near the fireplace in Ivan's personal quarters, legs tucked beneath her, watching the flames dance across logs that looked too polished to be real. A glass of untouched tea rested on the small table beside her, forgotten. She wasn't used to quiet feeling this soft. Usually it was just the waiting room for fear.
But not tonight.
Ivan had left her with a blanket, a change of clothes, and the freedom to move through this room without eyes watching. No guards. No cameras. He'd even removed the lock from the inside of the door.
A strange gesture from a man who once measured control like currency.
She heard the soft creak of the door before she saw him enter. He looked different now. Still dangerous, still sharp—but there was something dulled in his posture, as if the weight of the earlier attack still hung from his shoulders.
"You stayed," he said quietly.
"You gave me the choice."
He nodded once, then crossed the room to the liquor cart. He poured two fingers of something amber and dark, then paused.
"Would you like one?"
"No," she said. "I want you to stay sober."
That surprised him. He tilted his head, then set the glass down without drinking.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know if tonight shook you too."
He came to stand near her, but didn't sit.
"It did."
"Then tell me why. Tell me something real, Ivan."
He looked into the fire. "I killed my first man when I was seventeen. I remember it. Not because of the blood—but because I didn't feel anything."
Anna's throat tightened.
"I've done things I can't atone for," he continued. "And I made peace with that. Until you."
She reached out, fingers curling lightly around his wrist.
"You think you're broken," she said. "But you're still protecting things. Me."
His voice dropped. "That's what terrifies me."
And for a long moment, they just stood like that—hands touching, no war between them, only the echo of one.
---
Ivan
He watched her fall asleep on the couch, blanket half-draped over her legs, mouth slightly parted. The firelight cast her in gold. She was the only softness left in the world he'd built. And he didn't know how to protect her without destroying everything else.
He didn't sleep that night.
Instead, he reviewed the security footage, interrogated two men whose access logs didn't align, and issued silent orders to his inner circle. Someone had sold a keycode. Someone had let that killer in.
The betrayal was internal.
And it would not be forgiven.
By dawn, he had names. Faces.
But one stood out.
Konstantin.
A man who had once been closer than a brother.
Of course.
He picked up the encrypted phone and dialed.
"It's me," Ivan said.
"I heard about the breach," Konstantin's voice replied. Calm. Too calm.
"Funny. I haven't told anyone outside this compound."
Silence.
Ivan's voice turned to ice. "We're going to finish this in person. Today."
Konstantin laughed softly. "You always did love theatrics. Shall I bring flowers for the grave?"
Ivan ended the call.
He didn't need threats. Not anymore.
---
Anna
She woke to find him gone, but a note had been left in his place.
Stay in this room. No matter what. – I.
It should have made her angry—another order, another cage.
But it didn't.
It scared her.
She dressed quickly, braided her hair back, and paced. Something was wrong again. She could feel it in her chest, like a barometric drop before a storm.
Then a sound split the quiet.
Gunfire.
Two sharp cracks.
Close.
Too close.
Her heart lurched. She moved toward the door, then stopped. Stay in this room. His voice echoed in her head.
But what if he was hurt?
What if he was dying?
She opened the drawer where he'd stored his backup pistol. It was still there. Small. Cold. Heavy.
She took it.
And opened the door.
---
Ivan
The warehouse was quiet except for the buzz of old lights and the breathing of men trained not to speak.
Konstantin stood at the far end, hands raised in mock surrender, a pistol still holstered at his hip.
"I see you came alone," he said.
"I'm not the one who needs protection," Ivan replied.
He raised his weapon. No threats. No speeches.
"You betrayed me," Ivan said flatly.
"And you betrayed the cause," Konstantin snarled. "You're soft. Protecting a girl who should have been leverage, not a liability. You've gone weak."
Ivan's finger tightened on the trigger.
"You think love is weakness?" he said.
"No. I think forgetting who you are is."
He fired.
Once.
Konstantin dropped.
The silence afterward was clean. Final.
Ivan turned—and saw her.
Anna.
Standing in the warehouse doorway, pistol in hand, fear in her eyes.
"I told you to stay in the room."
She stepped forward. "I thought you were dead."
"You should've listened."
"I didn't come to be obedient," she said. "I came because I chose to."
He didn't speak for a moment.
Then he lowered his weapon and crossed to her.
"You shouldn't have seen this," he whispered.
"I've seen worse. I've lived worse."
They stood there, surrounded by death and decisions.
Then Anna said, "Let's stop pretending this ends in chains."
And Ivan, for the first time, didn't argue.