She bites my palm. I feel the spurt of blood. “You bastard. This is your fault!” She’s screaming, clawing, a wild thing unraveling in my arms. My grip tightens—not enough to bruise, never enough to hurt—but she twists like a gutshot animal.
“Listen to me!” I roar over the gunfire.
Her elbow cracks against my ribs. “You lied!”
Across the ballroom, Feliks drags Gina behind a marble column. Pavel’s got Lora slung over his shoulder, sprinting for the service exit. Good. My men know their roles. But my role—the one that matters—is crumbling in real time beneath my hands.
Ariel bucks against me. “Let me go to him!”
“He’s gone,” I tell her. “Your father’s gone, ptichka.”
She stills. For one second, I think she’s finally hearing me. Then her palm cracks across my cheek.
“You don’t get to ca
