It feels amazing to have my cast removed and the x-rays show my ankle has healed up nicely. I’ll just need a few weeks of physical therapy, and then I can return to dancing.

My body itches to dance again, but my body is also stopping me from doing it. I’m not ready yet, but I will be soon. I have to be. Dance is my life. Sofiya might not care. She hasn’t shown any interest in ballet since marrying Mikhail. Whatever. It’s her life. If she doesn’t want my help, then so be it.

But it’s not too late for Mila. I can still encourage her to return to New York with me and take to the stage again.

Oh, the stage. That’s where I belong. Where I don’t belong is in Moscow, surrounded by men who want to hurt me and where my creativity is stifled.

When I get back to Mikhail’s house, Sofiya is on the couch with Mila, looking sad. I don’t want to say, “I told you so,” so I don’t. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like seeing either of my sisters sad.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Your foot,” Mila says, jumping up from the couch. “How does it feel?”

“It’s still tender, but I can walk on it. I just can’t dance yet.”

“You will. Soon.”

I appreciate Mila’s enthusiasm, but it’s also annoying sometimes. “What’s going on?”

“Mikhail is having another party. He’s inviting his men over,” Sofiya explains.

“But why?”

Sofiya sighs and looks away from me. “Mikhail likes to make his men feel welcomed in his home. It creates loyalty.”

“Why do you look upset?”

“Because I know what happened last time. I’m not looking forward to it. But … Andrei shouldn’t be here, at least.”

“Isn’t Andrei Mikhail’s second in command?” I ask, sitting down.

“Yes. Until Mikhail blinded him.”

I do a double take. Surely, I didn’t hear Sofiya right. “What? Did you say he … blinded him?”

“Yes. For looking at me. Mikhail got tired of it.”

“And you say we’re safe with him.”

“Vik, don’t start again,” Sofiya sighs. “Mikhail would never physically hurt you, ok? Now, I just want to get this party over with.”

“Me, too.”

Mila raises her hand. “Me three.”

The party is once again filled with men. Mila and Sofiya cling to each other as they make rounds around the room. My eyes land on Mikhail, chatting with his guests. How easy life must be for him. It makes me sick, and to think at one point, I wanted to marry him. If my time in Moscow has taught me anything, it’s that no man is worth it.

I remain standing in the corner, glaring at any man who dares approach me.

Until Aleksander enters the room. I remember him from the first party. He had the audacity to tell me to be careful how I act around men. Well, fuck him. I do what I want when I want.

He sets his sights on me and walks right over. “Nice seeing you again.”

“No, it’s not,” I reply.

“Didn’t I tell you before to watch your attitude around men?”

“You did, and I didn’t appreciate it, so I’m choosing to ignore you.”

His eyes flit down to my ankle. “I see your cast is gone. Does that mean you can dance again?”

“Not yet, but hopefully in a few weeks.”

“Hmm.” He grabs a champagne glass from a waiter nearby and lifts it to his lips. For some reason, I tingle under his gaze.

I hate it.

“I’d like to see you dance. Why don’t you put on a show for all of us?”

I glare harder at him. “I just told you. I can’t dance right now.”

“But I’d like to see it. Dance for me, Viktoriya.”

I laugh haughtily. “I am not going to dance for you.”

He claps his hands together and draws the attention of everyone in the room. “Who would like to see Viktoriya dance? I hear she’s a lovely ballet dancer.”

There’s a murmur of agreement throughout the room.

“See?” Aleksander says, turning back to me. “So, dance.”

I am being humiliated again. I told Sofiya I wasn’t safe here, and she didn’t believe me.

With everyone’s eyes on me, I feel the pressure to walk forward and begin to move. My dress is too tight to do much, but I still manage to be graceful. My eyes catch Sofiya’s, and she looks worried. Worried for me? I didn’t think Sofiya cared enough about me to be worried for me.

I finish the dance with a bow.

Everyone claps.

“Again,” Aleksander says.

I straighten up. “What?”

“That was beautiful. So … again.”

I look at Sofiya, and she shrugs, shaking her head. “No,” I tell Aleksander.