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Nikolai's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “That's different.”

“How?”

“Because Sofia is my wife.”

“And I want Katarina to be mine.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Alexi whistles low. “Well, shit.”

Dmitri leans forward despite his injury. “Does she know that?”

“It doesn't matter what she knows.” I push back from the table again, but this time, nobody moves to stop me. “What matters is that she's being sold off like cattle to strengthen an alliance between two families who see her as a bargaining chip.”

“Erik—” Nikolai starts.

“She built something. From nothing. Her own company, her own reputation, her own life.” My hands curl into fists. “And now Igor's stripping all of that away because it's convenient for him.”

The room falls quiet except for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantel.

“She chose to leave with him,” Dmitri points out.

“To save your girlfriend's life.” I turn on him. “She made that choice to protect someone she'd never even met. You think she wanted to go back to that prison?”

Sofia clears her throat. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“I don't know yet.” The honesty burns. “But I'm not sitting here eating dinner while she's locked in some room being told her life is over.”

“Even if it means going against family?” Nikolai's question carries weight.

I meet his eyes. “She belongs with me.”

The words hang in the air like smoke from a gunshot.

She belongs with me.

Even as I say it, part of my brain—the tactical part, the part that's kept me alive through dozens of missions—screams that this is insanity. That I'm throwing away everything I've built, everything I've sworn to protect.

But for once, I don't listen.

“This isn't about family loyalty or business strategy.” I look each of my brothers in the eye. “This is about me. What I want. What I need.”

Nikolai's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. “And what you want matters more than?—”

“Yes.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “For once in my life, yes. What I want matters more.”

“Well, fuck me sideways. Erik Ivanov just chose himself over duty,” Alexi quips.

“Twenty-eight years.” I pace, unable to stay still. “Twenty-eight years I've been the good soldier. Following orders. Protecting the family. Putting everyone else's needs before my own.”

The memories flood back—every mission I didn't question, every assignment I completed without complaint, every time I swallowed my own desires for the greater good.

“Remember when I was sixteen and wanted to join that exchange program in Germany? You said the family came first.” I point at Nikolai. “When I was twenty-two and I was offered a job in Paris? Family came first, then too.”

Sofia shifts beside Nikolai, her expression thoughtful.

“I've never asked for anything.” My voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Not once. I learned to kill because you needed me to. I learned to fight, to plan, to follow orders without question. I became the weapon you needed.”

Dmitri winces, and it's not from his gunshot wound.