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“I don’t know what’s more fucked up: sitting here before a real-life judge, or watching the smirk on your face grow wider and wider.”

I peeled my eyes away from the boring brown-colored wooden structure where the judge sat tall, with her black robe draping over the bench. It was the center of attraction in the room—the center that thought it had the power to decide my fate. Such a comical relief to watch.

Meanwhile, Damir’s eyes held restrained anger when our gazes locked, and the storm in his matched the suit that fitted him perfectly. One of the many gifts I’d given him for his loyalty.

He flexed a muscle and clamped down his jaw before whispering. “Respectfully, why is any of this funny to you?”

At the left wing of the courtroom, Jeffery sat forward with a thick white bandage wrapped around his head, glaring intensely. The sight of his red, swollen face and childlike scowl was amusing. I wiggled my fingers and looked away.

“Do you see me laughing, Damir?”

If we weren’t in an ongoing court session, I just might have been wiping happy tears from my eyes.

“Fuck.” He blew out a breath. “You know what I mean. The evidence against you is irrefutable. You saw them, didn’t you? The number of eyewitnesses the prosecution had lined up, willing to testify. Miron, Christ. Jeffery is literally before the judge, wrapped in a fucking bandage. It’s even a miracle he survived that.”

Disinterested, I arched a brow. “And you are, what, happy he survived?”

“Happy?” He scoffed. “I’m fucking elated.”

I dismissed him with a small hovering smile, but apparently, courtrooms appeared to mess with Damir’s reign over his emotions.

“ Aren’t you worried that things could turn south?”

Worried?

“Let me see….” I folded my arms across my chest, tilted back, and paused for a moment to ponder on his word choice.

I had to give it to him; for a man who could snap another grown man’s neck in fifteen seconds and of a dozen men with his fingers on the trigger and eyes closed, he’d maintained his capacity to care about the slightest details I considered insignificant.

Linking my fingers under my chin, I shook my head, and the smirk on my face did grow wider. “No, I am not. I’m not worried about anything. For men like me— like us —the system bends in our favor.”

Briefly burying his face in his hands, Damir scoffed. “Maybe, sometimes, I want your confidence. Do you know how many times I’ve almost shit my pants because of the possibilities?”

He was being sarcastic. My confidence had nothing to do with the way he looked at me like I was crazy. But I was used to it now; almost everyone thought I was a maniac. And maybe I was.

I patted him on the shoulder. “The day you shit your pants like a coward, pigs will fly. Save the tears, Damir. I’m not going to prison.”

“One count of aggravated assault and another for felony battery. This is a high-stakes situation. I know you’re invincible, but Jeffery knows how to pull strings.”

“Maybe. But I’m the master puppeteer.”

Damir narrowed his eyes. “Miron, you could go to prison.”

“And yet, I’m walking out of here with a slap on the wrist and nothing more. If you don’t trust me, trust that Viktor won’t mess this up.”

The best part was that Damir did trust me. Sometimes, more than he trusted anyone else in the world, including himself. He wasn’t convinced about this case but didn’t press. He knew when to drop it, and for that, he’d gained a bit of my respect.

We both leaned back, watching and waiting, when Viktor rose to his full height to address the court and present his—or rather, my— defense.

Viktor was one of the most formidable attorneys in the legal profession. Fully experienced, ruthless when he needed to be, and great at his job, with a ten-star rating—if that was permitted. And not only was he completely immersed in the knowledge of the law, he knew the buttons to push for its perfect manipulation.

So, when he brushed a piece of lint off his navy-blue suit, flexed his muscles, arranged his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and began speaking, I knew I was going to have the judge eating out of my palm in seconds.

“Your Honor.” His posh voice bounced off the imposing traditional courtroom walls, and I suppressed a smile at the sudden attention it commanded. “The prosecution would have you believe that my client is a cold-blooded individual, devoid of remorse. But I implore you to consider the circumstances leading to this moment. My client has, no doubt, been assessed to have uncontrollable anger issues, but, as the old saying goes, ‘There is no smoke without fire.’ His explosive temper stems from a deep-rooted trauma. And with that said, kindly permit me, Your Honor, to start with the subject of Miron Yezhov’s father.”

An impact akin to the feeling of a sledgehammer crashing into the walls of my chest instantly consumed me. Just for a second, I was left breathless and reeling, like a massive unforgiving weight came crashing down, squeezing the air from my lungs and making my heart feel like it’d been punched.

“Miron?”

I glanced to my side only long enough to icily dismiss the lingering question in Damir’s raised brow and steely gaze.

At the moment, I was unsure what I had done to give my unease away— Oh, right. It was the fucking grin. Must have faded— but Damir relaxed almost immediately when I put back on the armor.

Viktor was still talking when I turned back to him.

“…and he died before his eyes. At the time, my client was only a child. I don’t intend to waste the time of this honorable court by highlighting the psychological and emotional short and long-term effects that such an incident could have on any young person when it is a known fact that we are already acquainted with. It should be expected that such a child might not function as properly as his or her peers in society. My client seated right here is an example of such a case being overlooked….”

Before attending the court session today, I’d provided Viktor with all the information and details he considered relevant for this case, and I expected that he’d use whatever he had received as a weapon for my defense. I had expected more legal-related gibberish arguments, more gavel pounding, more flipping of papers and systematic things only the lawyers understood.

What I hadn’t expected was to listen to Viktor use his skills to weave a narrative of my past into present existence or feel this strange tug that pulled me back into a time I thought I had successfully buried in a capsule, never to be reminded of again.

“His death shaped him into this…this man, who is now guarded, mistrusting, and a literal representation of a short fuse just waiting to blow. Regardless, he is just a man who was deeply affected by his loss, like any other human being could be. His anger dysregulation is a defense mechanism, not malice.”

About that perspective on the defense mechanism, I wasn’t sure. But the judge seemed to be eating it up. Or not. Her thoughts were difficult to decipher through her stone-cold expression.

Keeping his eyes on the judge, Damir leaned into me. “You think she’s buying it?”

“What in the hell is wrong with you today?” I was starting to believe he was on something that was making him extra jittery, but the problem was, Damir didn’t snuff that shit. Still, his constant prodding was starting to grate my nerves. And my irritation had nothing to do with a defense mechanism.

“I don’t think anything. I know I’m walking out of here without cuffs on my wrist. That’s for the last time, Damir.”

Message passed loud and clear.

He nodded in understanding and backed off.

“My client, as we know, is a controversial and, if I must add, powerful figure. He does understand the gravity of his explosive outbursts and has made efforts to seek improvement in anger management. I will leave my submission at that, Your Honor.”

Viktor passed me a hopeful glance before resuming his seat while the judge announced a fifteen-minute recess before she gave her judgment.

Time passed rather quickly, and we spent it in utter silence. Bothering Viktor with questions or small talk was unnecessary, while Damir, on the other hand, seemed to have gotten himself back. Having a conversation seemed to be the last thing on his mind as he sat stiffly on the chair, scrolling through his phone with the unflappable expression I was used to seeing on him.

Before long, fifteen minutes were up, and we were on our feet, rising as the judge strode in.

The moment she sat down, her eagle eyes locked me in as a target.

“Mr. Yezhov.”

Slightly caught off-guard by her forwardness of bypassing Viktor and addressing me directly, I rose to my feet. “Um, yes. Yes, Your Honor.”

“The court acknowledges the efforts you have made toward managing your temper. However, your history of violent altercations presented by the prosecution remains a matter of serious concern. While this court recognizes the psychological impact a loss like yours had on your emotional and social childhood development, it also recognizes a pattern—one that must be addressed through structured intervention. And that is why, as tough as this decision is, I am not putting you behind bars.”

Triumph.

I could feel the corner of my lips rising and a grin steadily spreading across my cheeks….

“However, you are hereby mandated to attend regular therapy sessions—”

The smirk melted off my face faster than a sheet of ice being thrown into a furnace.

“Did she say therapy?” I overheard Damir ask Viktor.

“—with a licensed mental health professional. These sessions shall occur no less than once per week for a minimum of one year. You are required to provide documented proof of attendance and progress reports from your assigned therapist or the licensed clinical center in which the therapist operates to this court on a bi-monthly basis.”

I shook my head, attempting to snap out of the trance I’d fallen into because her pronouncement couldn’t be real. Therapy ? No. No way. This center of authority had to be out of her mind to think I was going to sit on some chair to spill my guts to a complete stranger. It had to be a joke. It had to be—

“—a goddamn fucking mistake!”

The judge’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Excuse me?” Then, with lightning speed, she faced Viktor. “Mr. Reznikov, I’m going to let that outburst slide given the circumstances, but get your client under control before I change my mind and charge him for contempt of court.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He nodded, cursed under his breath, and whispered into my ear with rapid-fire, “Miron, please. You cannot interrupt her delivery, and you most certainly cannot oppose it that way. Besides, this is the best shot we’ve got to keep the cuffs off.”

I ignored him and stared straight into the judge’s eyes while she rattled off something about consequences.

“Failure to comply with this order—whether by missing scheduled sessions, refusing to engage in participation, or failing to submit required documentation—will result in legal consequences. Let this serve as your formal warning, Mr. Yezhov. The court expects full compliance and will not tolerate negligence or defiance in this matter. This order is issued in the interest of your rehabilitation and the safety of those around you.”

Silence reigned in the room while I was on the verge of losing my cool.

Damir saw my restraint—Viktor did, too—and the judge looked at me like she eagerly waited for the slightest reason to pronounce a prison sentence.

That spurred me to kill the temptation to smash something, and exhibiting any more lack of control over my emotions wasn’t going to help my case. There was nothing I could do at the moment but pretend to go along with it.

Talk about walking out of this place with a mere slap on the wrist. The word “therapy” was more than just a goddamn bruise on my ego.

Roughly, I sat back on my chair and finally exhaled the pent-up internal heat under my breath. “As the court fucking pleases then.”