Page 142 of Stolen Empire
"She's not just some woman," I say quietly.
"She's the one thing in my life that feels real. Everything else is politics and violence and maintaining power. But when I'm with her, I remember what it feels like to be human."
Rolan's expression softens slightly.
"Batya said something similar about Mamochka once. He told me that loving her made him weak and strong at the same time. Weak because she became a target for his enemies. Strong because she gave him something worth protecting beyond his own survival."
I've never heard this story before.
My mother died when I was young, and Batya rarely spoke about her after she was gone.
Batya raised me to survive in a world that shows no mercy, and now I'm trying to protect someone who represents everything he taught me to avoid.
Attachment.
Vulnerability.
Love.
"I'm not giving her up," I say.
"I'm not asking you to."
Rolan picks up his glass again and drains it.
"I'm telling you to be smart about how you protect her. Don't let your feelings make you sloppy. Don't let the Radiches or anyone else see how much she means to you. Because the moment they know she's your weakness, they'll use it to destroy you."
"I understand."
"Good."
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob.
"For what it's worth, I hope she's worth it. I hope she gives you what Mamochka gave Batya."
He leaves me alone in the study with my thoughts.
I stand there for a long moment, processing everything that was said in the command room and in this private conversation.
We're honoring the pact with the Morozov family, which means accepting Katya as an allied asset under our protection.
We're taking a financial hit to maintain our reputation.
We're searching for her family to understand the full scope of what we're dealing with.
And I'm standing in the middle of it all, trying to protect a woman who has become the center of my entire world in a matter of weeks.
I head outside to where my car waits.
Gavriil stands by the driver's door, and two other men wait in a second vehicle behind us.
The security detail Rolan insisted on.
I'm about to climb into the back seat when movement across the street catches my eye.
A black sedan sits at the curb with its engine idling and its windows tinted.
It's positioned with a clear view of the Vetrov compound's main entrance, and something about the way it sits there feels wrong.
