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Zevran sees me blinking back tears, and in an instant, his knee shifts, and he abruptly stands up. “That’s enough, Dragan. We’re done.”

“Zevran, I still need—” Dragan begins.

“Cora has relived enough of her pain for you,” Zevran says, his voice like steel. “Now she’s going home.”

I keep my head down, holding tight to Zevran’s hand as he thrusts the office door open and leads me back out into the main bar.

Once we’re among the hard-eyed people sipping cocktails, Zevran stops. He gently takes my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to his. “I’m sorry, printsessa. That was hard on you. Stand right here. I will get my weapons so we can go.”

I nod, desperate to leave.

He presses a slow, protective kiss to the top of my head and steps over to the attendant behind the glass.

I stand alone near the edge of the bar, wrapping my arms around myself and willing my trembling legs to hold me up.

I’ve only been waiting for a minute when Dragan emerges from his office, sending a sharp spike of anxiety through my chest. He ignores me, or just doesn’t see me, and moves past me to have a quiet word with a man in a dark suit.

How is Viktoriya’s father going to live the rest of his life without knowing how brave his daughter was? If Dragan doesn’t care, fine. But her father deserves the truth.

As Dragan turns back toward his office, I step directly into his path. His nostrils flare slightly as he realizes who is blocking his way.

“I want to speak to Viktoriya’s father myself,” I tell him, my chin lifted. “Will you please set up a meeting between us?”

Dragan smooths his tie, fixing his cold gaze on a spot somewhere above my head. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Banks.”

“It is necessary!” My voice trembles, dangerously close to cracking, but I force the words out, demanding to be heard. “Viktoriya fought them. Every single day. She argued, and she refused to be quiet, and she made herself as difficult as possible, and that’s why they drugged her. They drugged her so many times that her body couldn’t take it, and then they carried her out of that basement like she was broken cargo.”

I ball my hands into fists at my sides, tears spilling hot over my lashes.

“Her father should know that. Not the awful way she died. He should know that she never stopped trying to get back to him.”

The heavy chatter in the bar dies away. Silence falls over the room. I feel dozens of sharp eyes watching me.

“Who’s that?” someone whispers nearby.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natasha holding a martini glass. “Just one of Zevran’s strays.”

My insides burn with humiliation.

Everyone in this room thinks I’m weak and foolish in my floral dress, but screw their judgment. I care that a grieving father knows his daughter died fighting.

“That’s everything I wanted to tell you,” I say to Dragan, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. “That’s what I was hoping you’d ask me about. Because that is what mattered.”

I turn away from Dragan, intending to find Zevran, but I pull up dead in my tracks.

Zevran is standing just a few feet away, silent and unmoving. He’s already collected his weapons, and his face is set in a hard, cold expression. He overheard every single word I just shouted at a man who is probably his superior.

A wave of panic and fear crashes through my chest. I just shouted at a powerful member of the Bratva because my feelings were hurt. I’m a stray who slipped her leash and embarrassed him, and now he’s going to pull me back into line. He has to protect his reputation and his authority in this room.

My face burns. My hands shake uncontrollably. I want to find the door and run until my feet bleed.

Zevran starts walking toward me, his eyes blazing with barely controlled rage. My stomach plummets. I brace myself for a harsh grip on my upper arm, a raised hand, a stinging slap—

He stops right in front of me, towering over my smaller frame.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, then open them, my voice trembling. “Zevran, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” he orders through clenched teeth.