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The truth settles between us like broken glass. Dmitri's always been the one who could compartmentalize, who could separate the businessman from the criminal. But love doesn't respect compartments.

“She won't even take my calls,” he adds quietly. “I will go to see her, of course, but...”

“But you won't force her.”

“No.” He meets my eyes. “I won't become the monster she already thinks I am.”

The parallel isn't lost on me. Both of us fell for women who should hate everything we represent. Katarina is sitting three doors down from where I am, probably wondering what comes next.

“At least Katarina is here,” Dmitri says, his voice gaining strength. “At least she chose to come with you, even if it was the lesser of two evils. She could have screamed when you opened that door. Could have fought you, stayed with her father.”

“She was escaping an arranged marriage. That doesn't mean?—”

“Doesn't mean what?” He leans forward again, pinning me with that calculating stare. “That she feels something for you? We all see the way she looks at you.”

I knock back the rest of my drink, the whiskey hitting my system like liquid courage. The glass hits the desk with a decisive clink as I push myself to my feet.

“You're right. I'm done hiding in here.”

Dmitri nods, something like approval flickering across his features. “Good. Go to her.”

The corridor stretches ahead of me, each step echoing off the walls. My heart hammers against my ribs as I pass the familiar doors—Alexi's room, where he's probably still recovering, the spare bedrooms, the office spaces. Each footfall brings me closer to a conversation I'm not sure I'm ready for.

But I can't keep running from this. Can't keep drowning my feelings in alcohol while she sits alone, probably wondering what the hell happens next. She was probably planning her escape route, knowing Katarina.

The thought almost makes me smile. Even rescued, she's still thinking three moves ahead.

Her door looms in front of me, solid wood that might as well be a fortress wall. I raise my hand to knock, then hesitate. What exactly am I going to say? That I started a war for her? That seeing her in that room, knowing what Anton planned to do to her, made something snap inside me?

That somewhere between watching her push my buttons and feeling her fall apart in my arms, I fell completely?

My knuckles rap against the wood before I can second-guess myself again. Three sharp knocks that sound louder than gunshots in the quiet hallway.

“Katarina?”

The silence stretches for several heartbeats. Then footsteps, light and cautious, approaching the door.

“Erik?” Her voice carries through the wood, uncertainty threading through the syllables.

“Can I come in? We need to talk.”

Another pause. I can almost hear her thinking, weighing options, calculating risks. Always calculating, my brilliant captive who's no longer my captive at all.

The lock disengages with a soft click.

When the door swings open, she stands there in jeans and one of the soft sweaters from her wardrobe, hair falling loose around her shoulders. No makeup, no armor—just Katarina, looking at me with those sharp green eyes that see too much.

“We need to talk,” I repeat, my voice dropping to something quieter, more honest.

She steps back, opening the door wider.

“Yes,” she says simply. “We do.”

The door clicks shut behind me, and suddenly, the room feels impossibly small. Katarina leans against the closed door, her fingers still wrapped around the handle like she might need to escape at any moment.

“Thank you.” The words tumble out of her. “For coming for me. For risking everything.” Her voice cracks. “I didn't think?—”

“You didn't think what?”