Page 119 of Jewel of the Assassin

“I’ve missed you so much. That night feels like a lifetime ago.” She curls her hand through the bars again.

“Valya, Koroleva, Samotsvet. Klyanus’, ya ne mog by lyubit’ tebya bol’she, chem lyublyu seichas, no znayu, shto budu tochna tak zhe lyubit’ tebya zavtra.”

Her tears are the worst possible torture when she gazes at me and says, “I love you, Roman. Nothing, no one can ever take that away.”

“No, but I will be taking you away now, my naughty bride,” Anton’s voice cuts through our moments, shattering them.

My jaw turns to iron, my muscles bulging steel as he strolls into the dungeon without a care in the world. Dark hair slicked back, dressed in one ofmyfucking power suits, and his hands slapping his black leather gloves against his palm.

All the blood drains from my wife’s face. Terror in her eyes. But it wars with rage.

“Come now, moya novesta,” he croons, lowering one hand to her cheek.

I read her body language. I know what’s coming. Pride fills my chest. Her strength spears through me the moment she bites his hand. Hard enough to make him howl. Hard enough to draw blood.

He’s still roaring when he calls for the guards. Two enter, andAnton barks orders. Valentina grips the bars with everything she has.

“Roman, I’m Valentina Makarova, your Valentina,” she says as they haul her away, kicking and screaming. “What did it mean, Roman? What did it mean?”

“Valya!” I lunge just as the door slams shut.

Anton flexes his ailing hand while appraising me, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll turn her into a doting wife soon enough. Or I’ll find endless ways to torture you both.”

“You will spend endless nights losing sleep, Anton, wondering if it will be your last when you find her wrapping a noose around your throat.” I lean back against the stone wall, musing, mocking. “Or stabbing you through the heart. Or a bullet to the brain. After all,mywife is a crack shot.”

“She can try. I will thoroughly enjoy cracking my whip when she does,” he fires back, his dark eyes sharpening on mine. “Do get some rest, brother. You have a big night ahead of you.”

The dungeon door groans shut behind him. But I do rest. Filled with more hope and power from her presence, I close my eyes. I’ll need every drop tonight.

And in the isolation and darkness, I murmur the meaning of the old Russian quote I spoke to her. “I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow.”

I imagine it like a whisper, traveling until it finds her—and gives her as much hope and power as she has me.

I’m draggedthrough the snow and mud back into the ring again.

The marks on my back still feel like fiery lashes.

The crowd is just as ruthless, whole rows of bodies leaning closer, on the edge of their seats, waiting. Waiting for my blood to spill.

I envision spilling their blood. No mercy. I’ll make it last.Make it hurt. Make them bleed out slowly until their souls are washed down the drain.

Godfuck, there’s my father sitting next to Anton’s throne. Inmygoddamn office chair! Son of a bitch peddled me out for years, doing all his dirty work. And now, he’s leering down at his own son, marking my eyes for a grave.

I don’t give a fuck how many blows I take. Every lash, every hit hashername on them. And I vow to whatever gods are listening: Anton will die with me writing my name in his chest—with his own intestines.

Snow drifts down from the sky like a curse, promising ice and wrath.

My blood boils at the sight of my brother practically draggingmywife onto the platform, clothed in a purple dress this time. It’s barely a transparent scrap.

The violence stokes me, fuels me with an adrenaline high, preparing myself. I rock on the balls of my feet, bracing my fists, jaw hard, spine harder.

Anton stands from his golden throne, the crowd’s noise fading until only the wind and his voice fill the arena. “Last time, you all enjoyed watching my dear brother break his oldest friend. Tonight,”—he sweeps an arm wide—“I bring you something even better. Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh.” His grin glints like a blade. “Tell me, Roman…who do you think I’ve sent to you now?”

Bloody Christ, no…

My chest tightens. I search the shadows. Then I see her.

The breath leaves my lungs in a violent rip.