Chapter 22 Nikolai
I watched them mock her all evening.
I watched Alexei's smug smile as he introduced his politician's daughter.
I watched the blonde woman laugh when Anya stumbled during the dance.
I watched the other guests whisper and point fingers at her.
My hands clenched into fists under the table as we sat. My jaw ached from keeping my expression neutral for too long.
But I had learned long ago to control my rage. To let it simmer beneath the surface until the right moment. Because violence without purpose was wasteful.
So I watched. And waited.
Anya tried so hard. She walked in that silver dress like she was born to wear it, even though I could see her hands shaking. And damnit, she looked so beautiful. Her beauty was natural unlike some politician daughter who's had her nose and lips done.
Anya followed my lead on the dance floor even though she had no idea what she was doing. She wanted to cry, but she fought back her tears.
She was braver than any soldier I had ever commanded.
And they dared to mock her. To treat her like she was nothing.
My anger rose with every whispered insult.
But I kept my face blank. Because the moment I showed anger, they would know she mattered to me.
So I smiled. I made polite conversation and pretended not to notice.
Until the wine spilled.
It was an accident. Anyone could see that. Anya's hands were shaking so badly from nerves that the glass just slipped. The wine splashed across the table, onto Svetlana's emerald dress.
I saw Svetlana's face change. And then her hand moved. I watched her arm swing through the air and her palm connect with Anya's cheek.
The sound echoed through the hall.
Anya's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin.
Something inside me shattered.
All the control I had built over twenty years. All the walls I had constructed. All the coldness I had cultivated were gone in an instant.
My hand moved without thinking. I grabbed the fruit knife from the table.
I stood up and took one step toward Svetlana. No body knew what was about to happen. Even I didn't know what I was about to do.
Svetlana was still smiling, proud of herself for putting Anya in her place.
Then, the knife came down.
There was a wet sound. A loud thud.
Something fell to the floor.
I blinked and looked down.
It was a hand. Severed cleanly at the wrist. It still wearing rings and was painted with red nail polish.
Blood pooled around it, spreading across the white marble.
I looked at my own hand. The knife was dripping with blood. Blood splattered across my shirt.
The room was silent. Hundreds of eyes stared at me. All shocked and terrified.
Svetlana stared at the stump of her arm. Her mouth opened and then she screamed.
The sound cut through my fog amd brought me back to reality.
I had cut off her hand completely. In front of everyone.
Because she slapped Anya.
I took a deep breath, steadied myself and let the cold mask slip back over my face.
I dropped the knife and it clattered on the table.
"No one," I said quietly, my voice carrying through the silent hall, "touches what is mine."
I looked around the room. Alexei, stood frozen at the center of the hall with his mouth open.
Good. Let them see. Let them know what happens when they hurt her.
Then I looked at Anya.
She was staring at the hand on the floor. Her face was white. Her whole body was shaking. Blood splattered her silver dress. Her perfect makeup was ruined by tears.
She looked like she might faint.
"Anya," I said, keeping my voice calm. "We are leaving."
She did not move. She just kept staring at that severed hand.
"Anya," I said again, firmer this time. "Now."
Finally, her eyes lifted to mine. They were wide and terrified. She looked at me like I was a monster.
Her legs moved. She stood up slowly, swaying. I caught her waist and held her steady.
We walked through the crowd. They parted for us like we were diseased.
Alexei blocked our path immediately. His face was pale, his eyes were wild.
"You cut off her hand," he hissed. "You cut off Svetlana's hand."
"She touched what is mine," I said simply. "The rules are clear. No one touches my property."
"She is the daughter of a politician! Do you have any idea what you have done?" His voice rose.
"Yes. I have just sent a clear message." My voice was ice. "Anyone who touches Anya answers to me. I do not care if they are a politician's daughter. I do not care if they are the president's daughter. Touch what is mine and lose the hand that did it."
"You have started a war," Alexei spat.
"Good. I was getting bored with peace." I said calmly.
I pushed past him and led Anya out of the hall.
We got to our car and Mikhail was already waiting, his face shocked at the blood on our faces and clothes.
"What happened? I heard screaming." He asked, worried.
"We are leaving," I said. "Now." I ignored his question. Because I knew it would lead to a series of correction.
"But…"
"Now, Mikhail!"
We got in the car. Mikhail drove fast. Away from that house of horrors.
Anya sat beside me in the back seat. Her whole body shook. She stared at her hands, at the blood covering them.
"You cut off her hand," she whispered.
"Yes." I nodded.
"Because she slapped me." Her voice shook. She would break down anytime from now.
"Yes." I nodded again.
"Why?" Her voice broke. "Why would you do that? Now everyone will…"
"Everyone will know that you are protected," I interrupted. "Everyone will know that touching you means death. Or even worse."
"But the politician. Her father. He will come for you."
"Let him try." I looked out the window. "I am not afraid of politicians."
"You should be." Her voice rose. "You should be afraid. You just cut off someone's hand. At a party. In front of everyone. This is insane. You are insane!"
"Probably," I agreed.
"This is not funny!" Her voice cracked.
"I am not laughing." I raised my brows.
She looked down at her dress.
"I have her blood on me," she whispered. "Her blood is on my face."
"I know. We will clean you when we get home."
"Home." She laughed. It sounded broken. "That is not my home. That is a prison. And you are a monster. A real monster."
I finally looked at her. My eyes her terrified eyes. "I know what I am, Anya. I have never pretended to be anything else."
"You cut off her hand." She repeated.
"Yes. And I would do it again. And worse." I leaned closer. "You are mine. And anyone who hurts you will pay. I do not care who they are. I do not care what the consequences are. That is the rule. That is how my world works."
"Your world is sick." She shook her head.
"Yes. It is. But it is the only world we have."
The car pulled up to the estate. Mikhail opened Anya's door. She stumbled out on shaking legs.
"Take her to her room," I ordered. "Get her cleaned up. Have a doctor look at her. Make sure she is not injured."
"I am fine," Anya said. "She just slapped me. I am not the one who lost a hand."
"The doctor will look at you anyway." I said finally.
Mikhail took her arm to help her walk. And something hot and ugly twisted in my chest. I did not like the way his hands were on her. Even though I knew he was just helping.
I stepped between them. "I will take her myself. You go handle the aftermath of tonight."
Mikhail raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Yes, Pakhan."
I took Anya's hand. It was small and cold in mine. Covered in blood but still soft.
I led her inside into her room.
My hand was still holding hers. It felt right and natural. Like our fingers were meant to fit together.
Vera was waiting with warm water and clean clothes. She gasped when she saw the blood.
"What happened?" She asked.
"There was an incident at the party," I said carefully. "She needs to be cleaned up."
Vera nodded.
I realized I was still holding Anya's hand. Our fingers were intertwined already. I should let go. But I could not make myself do it.
Before I could release her hand, the door suddenly burst open.
Katya walked in. Her face was bright with her usual fake smile.
"Hello, soon-to-be husband," she said sweetly.