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“I. Am. His. Mother.”

“She's gone because of you!” Dmitri snarls, lunging forward with unexpected speed. His fingers clamp around my wrist, twisting until pain shoots up my arm. The speculum clatters to the floor as he wrenches it from my grasp.

I refuse to cry out, even as his grip tightens to the point of agony. His face contorts with rage, features twisting into something barely recognizable as he raises his hand, palm open and ready to strike.

“Dmitri!” Victor's voice cracks like a whip from the doorway. “Lower your hand. Now.”

Dmitri freezes, his arm still raised, fingers still digging into my wrist. His breathing comes in harsh pants.

“Release her,” he commands. When Dmitri hesitates, Victor's expression hardens. “I won't ask again.”

The pressure on my wrist vanishes as Dmitri drops my arm. I immediately pull my dress down to cover myself, the humiliation burning hotter than the pain.

Victor moves with surprising speed for a man his age, crossing the room to grab his son by the collar. “Out,” he hisses, shoving Dmitri toward the door with enough force to make him stumble. “We will discuss your behavior later.”

As Dmitri disappears through the doorway, Victor eyes the disheveled state of my dress and the red marks deepening on my wrist.

“My apologies for my son's...enthusiasm,” he says with chilling formality. “He's taking his wife's death rather personally, it seems.”

I yank my dress down further, desperate to cover myself. “Get out.”

Victor's eyebrows rise fractionally at my tone. “This examination will happen, Miss Rossi. One way or another.”

He turns toward the door, his movements unhurried as he steps into the hallway. I hear his voice, low and commanding, followed by heavy footsteps. My stomach drops as Dr. Lebedev reappears.

Victor shoves the doctor back inside. “Do your fucking job. Properly this time.”

The door slams shut, leaving me alone with the doctor again. He approaches the examination chair, latex gloves snapping as he pulls them on.

“Please don’t do this.”

"Orders," he says simply, gesturing toward the stirrups. “Will be quick.”

I bite back a sob as Dr. Lebedev's clinical touch invades me once more. His examination is thorough but impersonal, his breathing steady while mine comes in ragged gasps. I focus ona single point on the ceiling, counting each second that passes. One, two, three...

The watch vibrates against my wrist again. I can't look at it now, can't risk drawing attention to it. Instead, I retreat into myself, building walls around my consciousness brick by brick.

“Is normal,” Dr. Lebedev announces after what feels like an eternity. He withdraws his instruments and steps back, stripping off his gloves with a snap that makes me flinch. “No pregnancy. Get down now.”

I move mechanically, lowering my legs from the stirrups. My muscles protest, cramped from tension and the unnatural position. My feet touch the cold floor, legs trembling as I stand.

Dr. Lebedev's eyes dart to the door, then back to me. His massive frame suddenly seems to shrink as he hunches forward.

“Listen carefully,” he speaks in unexpectedly clear English, all traces of his thick accent vanishing. “We have less than a minute.”

He moves to open his medical bag, but instead of retrieving more instruments, he pulls out a sleek handgun. The metal gleams under the chandelier light as he presses it into my palm.

“From your grandfather,” he says, closing my fingers around the weapon.

I stare at the gun, then at the doctor's face, understanding failing to penetrate my shock. "What? My grandfather? I don't?—"

“Quiet, woman." Dr. Lebedev glances nervously at the door.

My mind reels as I clutch the cold metal. “But the examination...you just?—”

“Had to be convincing. Victor watches everything. Hide it.”

“Are you even a doctor?” I gasp.