He shoves me into his car and locks the door before I can try to leave. I watch him stumble around to the driver’s seat and get in.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“We’re getting married. Remember?” He nods toward the backseat. “Your dress is there. You can change when we get to the church.”

“Boris, this is crazy. You’re kidnapping me. My father wanted you to protect me. Not do this.”

“Your father wanted to see you married,” he says, driving away from the theater. “And so, you’re going to marry me. I could tell you wanted to run, so this is me making sure you can’t do that.”

I could still run even after we’re married, but there’s no use telling Boris that. I don’t want to make him more upset. The image of pointing his gun at Vik’s face is seared into my mind. Boris is a dangerous man if provoked.

“Don’t you want me to agree to marry you willingly?” I ask, trying a different tactic.

Boris scoffs. “I don’t care about that. A beautiful woman like you would never willingly marry a man like me. So, I’m taking what I want. I learned that from Mikhail.”

I whip my head around to stare at him. “Mikhail?”

“He’s a man who gets what he wants. I figured I could be the same. He wants you, and I won’t let him have you.”

His words make me blush. Mikhail wants me? Why? A powerful man like him could have his share of women, but he wants me. The thought is flattering but also intimidating. Mikhail intimidates me.

But right now, it’s not Mikhail I need to fear. It’s Boris.

“You can’t just take me,” I say. “I’m a woman. Not property.”

“To me, you are. You really think your mother wasn’t property to your father? She was his plaything. His trophy. And now, you’ll be the same to me.”

“But—”

“You’re not going to get a better offer than me, Sofiya.” He swerves around a car, making them honk at us. I grip the door to steady myself. “I have money. I can protect you. I can protect your whole family. If you’ll let me.”

You’re not offering me a choice, I think.

“What if I want to be with someone else?” I ask. Instantly, I regret it. Boris grabs his gun from his jacket pocket and aims it at me while steering with his other hand. I press back into my seat, trying to get as far from the gun as possible, though it’s futile. If he wants to kill me, he can.

“There’s no one else,” he growls. “You think a man like Mikhail will treat you with respect? He’ll want you to be his trophy, too. All his Bratva men are like that. Time to get used to it, Sofiya. I want you, so I’m taking you. I’ll protect you, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

“But you’re pointing a gun at me.”

He briefly looks at me before slowly lowering his gun. “There? Better?”

“Yes.”

“See? I’m not a bad guy. You can trust me, Sofiya.” He plants his palm on my knee. All I want is to push it away, but I don’t dare. “Your father would approve of us getting married. This is for the best. For everyone.”

For you. No way is this the best for me.

The best thing for me is freedom. The chance to make my own choices in life. To choose what I want to do, ballet or not. I don’t even know what I like outside of ballet, and I want to find out.

But now, I never will. Because Boris will control me until I can’t breathe. The Bratva will never let me go.

Boris stops the car in front of a church. I notice his hand remains on my knee. He’s rubbing my skin, and it’s taking everything from me not to vomit all over again. I don’t think my throat could take it.

“We’re here,” Boris says, smiling at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. He licks his lips.

“Do you need lip balm?” I don’t even know why the question escapes me. It just does.

Boris frowns. “Why would I need lip balm?”

“Because you’re … your lips. You’re licking your lips. I thought maybe they were dry.”

“No,” he says gruffly, turning away from me. I’ve embarrassed him. “Now, let’s go. You can change inside.”

He unlocks the door so I can get out. The moment my feet touch the ground, I take off running. I don’t even think. I just do.

Boris runs after me, but he’s not very tall and not very fit. I practice ballet every day, and I do other forms of workouts like yoga and Pilates. I’m in great shape. I can outrun Boris any day of the week.

Except I’m in my ballet shoes, which were not made for running on the sidewalk. I accidentally step onto broken glass shards and stumble. I cry out, clutching at my foot. Who leaves broken glass shards on the ground? It’s New York, I remind myself. The streets are filthy.

I hobble around, trying to look at my foot. Blood is already seeping through my ballet shoe. “Oh my god.”

“Got you,” Boris says, grabbing my arm. I wrench away from him and start running again, but it’s harder with a messed up foot.

“Stop!” Boris shouts before a loud gunshot goes off. I freeze and look back at him. He has his gun aimed to the sky, but then he lowers it to face me. The few other people on the street run away screaming. “Get into that church. Now.”

“If you kill me, you can’t marry me.”

“No. But I can just marry your younger sister, Mila.”

And that does it. Boris doesn’t want Vik because she’s impossible to control. But I am. I’m softer than Vik. I don’t have the same backbone.

As for Mila—she’s the sweetest out of us. The most kind. She would crumble if she had to marry a man like Boris.

I can’t let that happen.

So, I limp back to his side, trying to keep weight off my hurt foot.

“Good choice,” he says, tucking his gun away. “Now, let’s get married.”

The inside of the church is grand and ornate. Russian Orthodox, after all. Boris pushes me into a small office where I can change into my gaudy wedding dress.

I expect Boris to shut the door and lock me in here until we’re ready to be married, but instead, he joins me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m going to make sure you actually change into your dress. I paid good money for it. I don’t want you trying to escape again.”