“We’re dead.” Stepan paced the floor of Kira’s foyer. “We’re both dead.”
Around him his soldiers shifted uncomfortably, exchanging wary glances; the only thing keeping them silent was the firm glare of their captain.
But Kira wasn’t so convinced. “They can’t do this,” she said. “I’ve got connections—I’m practically a celebrity—”
“What you are,” Stepan snarled at her, “is a coddled, spoiled brat who has never faced a real challenge in her life. Everything you have—everything—was handed to you because of me. And when you’re found at the bottom of this pretty, expensive staircase with a broken neck, none of your famous friends, none of your stupid things, will have mattered one bit.”
Fear was an unfamiliar sensation, but now it fluttered at the back of Kira’s throat.
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