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For once, it is not me standing under Nikolai’s scrutiny, not my judgment being weighed and measured for weaknesses that would soon become the pressure points to twist me into an impossible position. Watching Volkov squirm beneath that gaze is… satisfying in a way I don’t often indulge.

“No,” Volkov answers at last, his voice noticeably subdued.

Nikolai inclines his head slightly, the matter apparently settled for now. And just like that, the conversation shifts. But I know better than to mistake this moment for a victory.

He may have sided with caution today, may have chosen evidence over impulse, but he has not abandoned his suspicions. If anything, he has simply filed them away to revisit later. Perhaps in a private meeting with just the two of us. Morozov remains on borrowed time, and by extension, so does Alina.

The moment Nikolai decides that Viktor’s guilt is no longer a question but a certainty, he will not hesitate to order me to get rid of both of them. A father and daughter disappearing within the same breath would be framed as tragedy, collateral damage in the war against instability. Regardless, the city would move on within weeks.

It always does.

I keep my expression neutral when Nikolai’s attention returns to me.

“See to it that you clear out your district. Figure out whoever is responsible and bring them here.”

His voice carries no anger. That, more than anything, is what makes it dangerous. When he raises his voice, you can predict the explosion and how bad it will be. When he speaks like this, the decision has already been made. There is no talking him down or renegotiating.

“If another bombing occurs before then, I will be sending my own men in to do it for you,” he adds.

My jaw tightens. I incline my head in acknowledgment. “Understood.”

I do not argue back. That would be suicide. Nikolai is not asking for my agreement. He is informing me of the consequences of failure. Sending his men into my territory would be more than an insult. It would be a public declaration that I am no longer capable of controlling my own domain.

And once that door opens, it will never close again.

I meet Nikolai’s gaze steadily. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” he says simply.

The meeting moves on after that, but my attention does not because I know exactly what this means. I am on borrowed time.

Every step I take from this moment forward will be scrutinized. Every move I make will either reinforce Nikolai’s confidence in me or confirm his suspicion that I’ve become compromised. If I fail to produce answers quickly enough, he won’t wait. He’ll act. And when he does, he won’t give me the courtesy of choosing who dies.

He will make that choice for me.

I rise when the meeting adjourns, offer the appropriate nods, the necessary respect, and leave the room with my spine straight and my mask firmly in place.

But inside, the calculation has already begun. I will not hand Alina Morozova over to be erased like a misfiled document.

If Nikolai forces my hand, then he, and Moscow, will learn just how dangerous it is to corner a man who has already decided what he’s willing to burn to protect what’s his.

12

ALINA

For three days, I don’t step past the threshold of my room.

The curtains stay drawn, suffocating the daylight before it can reach me. Shadows cling to the corners like dust, thickening every hour I remain curled into myself under my covers. The air grows stale and too warm from the fireplace.

Even breathing feels like work.

Food comes and goes untouched. The tray Lev leaves each morning sits near the door until someone collects it and replaces it with another I ignore. I eat only enough to keep my stomach from twisting. A few bites, a little water, nothing more.

I don’t want nourishment. I don’t want comfort. I don’t want anything except answers that I’ve been denied my entire life. This estate feels like my tomb and my silence is apparently the only rebellion I have left.

I don’t scream, I don’t argue, I don’t cry where the cameras can see me.

I refuse to give Sasha any more vulnerable pieces of me like that. Not like the night of the storm when my body betrayed me. When I leaned into him and let him hold me as if he were something safe and steady to help me weather the storm raging inside my head.