“Dance,” he repeats.

The room is deadly quiet as Aleksander and I have a stare-down.

“No,” I enunciate. No one will force me to do anything I don’t want to do. That is my worth, and I’m sticking to it.

But I can feel the pressure building in the room like it’s going to explode at any second.

SOFIYA

I walk over to Mikhail’s side. “Help her,” I ask.

“Who?”

I stare at him for a moment. “Vik. That man is forcing her to dance. You know her ankle is still weak. Please, Mikhail. Stop this.”

“My men can do what they want. Aleksander wants to see your sister dance, so he’s allowed to see your sister dance.”

“What about Andrei? Andrei thought he could look at me, but you didn’t allow it.”

“That’s because you’re my wife, Sofiya. Viktoriya isn’t my wife.”

“So, you don’t care what happens to her?”

He sighs deeply. “I only care because you care.”

“So, stop this. Stop humiliating her. If you really care for me, you’ll do this.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then …” I know the answer as soon as it hits me. “I can never love you, Mikhail.”

His eyes turn intense. “Sofiya …”

“I can never love you if you hurt my family. I realize that now. I’ve given you all of myself, Mikhail. You’ve opened up to me. We’re supposed to trust each other. So, if you care for me, you will stop this.”

“I need to be strong in front of my men.”

“Showing compassion isn’t weakness. I’m going to stop this.” I walk away from Mikhail before he can stop me and grab Vik’s arm. “Come on. We’re heading upstairs.” I nod at Mila to join us. She hurries to my side.

Vik gives Aleksander a snotty look before following me up the stairs.

When I glance back down, I see Mikhail looking up at me, an unreadable expression on his face. A part of me wants him to stop me, to punish me for acting out.

But he doesn’t.

He lets me walk away with my sisters.

And the moment I’m alone in Vik’s room with them, I break down in tears. Mila looks scared while I cry. Vik takes a moment, then wraps her arms around me.

The three of us hold each other as I cry. I cry over my lingering loneliness. I cry over Mikhail hurting my heart and choosing his men’s desires over my sister’s safety. I cry because I’m not sure Mikhail can ever let himself fully open up to me enough to love me.

Because I’m already falling in love with him, and if he doesn’t feel the same, then my loneliness will eat away at me until there’s nothing left.

MIKHAIL

I send all my men home and head upstairs to check on Sofiya. I’m angry with her for embarrassing me in front of my men. She needs to be punished.

But she’s not in our room.

It’s then I hear crying coming from the guest bedroom. I’ve heard Sofiya cry before. I recognize the sound.

I rest my ear to the door and listen. She’s sobbing while her sisters softly comfort her.

That should be my job. I should be the one comforting my wife right now.

Instead, I’m the reason she’s crying.

I should have stopped Aleksander from humiliating Viktoriya. But the reality is I just don’t like Viktoriya one bit, and it’s hard for me to care for those I don’t like.

But she’s Sofiya’s family. I have to remember what that feels like—family.

I had a family until it was ripped away from me. The moment Alexei died, all the joy left my life. And then, when Natasha died, the last shreds of happiness disappeared.

On the day of Alexei’s funeral, I shut my heart off. I explored relationships with women, but I never formed personal attachments. It’s how I was able to kill Irina so easily. She meant nothing to me.

No one did.

Not until Sofiya.

Not until I saw her dancing on that stage and knew I had to have her.

She’s slowly opened my heart back up, but I don’t know what to do with that. Being emotionally available has never been my strong suit.

Now, she’s crying with her sisters because I didn’t save Viktoriya from embarrassment. The natural part of me wants to say Viktoriya is a big girl and can handle herself. But Sofiya is my wife now. I care about what happens to her.

Which means I need to care about her sisters, too.

With a deep sigh, I resist the urge to grab Sofiya and drag her into the playroom to punish her. That can wait until another day. For now, I’m going to be a good husband and let someone else comfort my wife, even though it hurts my entire being to walk away.

Chapter

Seventeen

BORIS

Before the party …

I fucking hate Moscow. Dirty streets and dirty homes. New York is similar, I’ll admit, but at least New York has that something special quality. Moscow is just a poor man’s New York.