Page 40 of Empire
That almost gets a smile out of him, but not quite. He’s too unsettled. “You’d kill your father.”
“I’d kill anyone standing in the way of me and my freedom,” I say, and I see the way that lands. “You want honesty, there it is. No father, no rules. No man above me deciding what I’m worth, when I’m useful, and who I have to put in my bed or in the ground. No more pretending I owe my life to a dynasty that only values me as long as I stay shaped correctly.”
Salvatore remains quiet for a beat, and I can see my words sinking in. I hope he feels my confession in them, the truth I can’t admit, even though I want to.
“And then what? What happens after your Pakhan is dead?”
The question should be simple, but we both know it could never be with my last name. I’ve spent enough nights thinking about the removal, the aftermath, and the power vacuum he would leave. Viktor wouldn’t trust me, even though he’s supposed to be my blade. I wouldn’t have a second, because no one would trust me.
“Then I’d figure out how to live.”
Something flickers in his eyes; something painful. “Would you know how?”
I look at him fully and say, “No.”
At least that makes him smile, albeit a small, unwilling thing. I hold his gaze and ask the question that’s been sitting on my tongue since he let me speak my future out loud.
“What about you,malysh? What would you do if you were free of him?”
I don’t say the bastard’s name, because he knows I’m talking about his father. His answer comes faster than I expect; maybe faster than he expects, too.
“Lucia,” he breathes.
Of course. The only true, uncomplicated love I’ve ever seen on him belongs to that girl. His voice changes when he says her name; it always does. It turns softer, which would be dangerous in front of anyone but me.
“She comes first,” he continues. “She won’t be married off or traded to some old man because it benefits my father. She’ll paint if she wants to, dance if she wants to, and leave if she wants to. She’ll marry whomever she wants, or no one at all. She’ll be…” he trails off, and I see the ghost of pain in his eyes again. “Free. She’ll be free.”
Free—the word sits heavier on him than it does on me.
I watch him while he talks, because this is the version of Salvatore no one else gets. Not the heir, the cold son, or the man across conference tables cutting deals like he was born in a ledger.
This one—the brother. The one whose whole face changes around the thought of protecting that girl from the world he himself survives inside.
“And you?” I say quietly.
His gaze comes back to mine. “What about me?”
“What would you do for yourself, Salvatore?:
There’s a pause, and the answer—when it comes—is almost a shrug. “I don’t care much for myself, as long as the people I love are safe.”
It’s such a fucking terrible answer that for a second I don’t know whether to kiss him or shake him. Instead, I lean forward and stare at him. “That’s not an answer.”
He lifts his coffee cup again. “It’s the only one I have.”
“No,” I say, my voice slightly louder. “It’s the one you hide behind because it makes martyrdom sound noble.”
His eyes flash at that. “Fuck you. You don’t get to call me a martyr just because I know what matters.”
I shake my head. “What matters is that you say your sister’s name first then act like there’s nothing left under your skin worth saving.”
“That isn’t what—”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
He sets his cup down harder this time. “I said my priority is Lucia.”
“And I’m asking what happens when she’s safe. What the fuck happens then, Salvatore? What happens toyou?”
