His eyes widen, a flicker of understanding breaking through the haze of pain. He swallows hard, his throat working visibly.
"Jasmine? That bitch stole from me. From the Serpents. She ran off with money that wasn’t hers. I was just trying to get it back."
I straighten up, letting the silence stretch until it presses against him like a weight. The lie hangs in the air, flimsy and obvious, but I want the truth. I need it, not for mercy, but to feed the fire burning low in my gut.
"Tell me everything. The real story. Or I will make this last longer than you can imagine."
He hesitates, his gaze darting to the door as if salvation might burst through it. But he knows better. Everyone in this city knows what happens when you end up in a room like this with a man like me.
Hell, I’m not even the worst of my own brothers.
His shoulders slump, defeat carving lines into his face.
"Fine. It wasn’t her. She didn’t steal anything. I... I fucked up. I was playing both sides. Working enforcement for the Serpents, but I owed money to the Drakov’s. Big money. From a bad deal gone south. So I skimmed from the Serpents' take, used it to pay Drakov off. When the Serpents noticed the shortfall, I needed a scapegoat. Jasmine was convenient. Living with me, trusting me. I figured I could pin it on her, say she ran with the cash. They would go easier on a woman. But she wouldn’t go along with it. Fought me. So I lost my temper."
The words sink in, confirming what I already knew but igniting something fiercer inside me. He never saw her as anything real, just a mark, a disposable piece in his pathetic game of survival.
My fists clench at my sides, but I keep my expression blank, my breathing even.
"She was nothing to you. A tool. And when she wouldn’t bend for you, you tried to break her instead."
Kane nods weakly, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Yeah, that is it. She was just there. Easy to blame. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Please, Korolyov. I’ll leave her alone. Whatever you want. Just let me go, and I’ll disappear."
I step back, letting the full weight of my gaze settle on him. The darkness uncoils fully now, filling my veins with ice and purpose. I pull a knife from my jacket pocket, the blade glinting under the harsh light as I twirl it casually between my fingers.
"Disappear? No. You do not get that mercy. You put a price on her head. You made her run until she had nothing left. And now, she is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe from scum like you."
His breath comes in short gasps, panic flooding his eyes as I approach. "No, wait. Please. I’ll call it off. Tell everyone she’s innocent. Anything!"
I grab his chin, forcing his head up, the knife pressing lightly against his throat just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"Too late. You made your choices. Now I make mine." The blade sinks deeper, precise and unyielding, carving through flesh and sinew as his screams fill the room. I work methodically, drawing it out, making sure every cut sends a message that will echo long after he is gone.
His body jerks against the restraints, blood pooling on the floor, but I don’t stop until the light fades from his eyes and he slumps lifeless in the chair.
I wipe the blade clean on his shirt and sheath it, stepping back to survey the ruin. My pulse remains steady, the darknesssatisfied for now, retreating but not vanishing. It lingers, a reminder of what I’ll do for her. Always.
Damian enters quietly, his face impassive as he takes in the scene. "All done, Boss?"
I nod, turning to him with a voice like steel.
"Clean this up. And spread the word. Make sure every crew, every boss, every lowlife in this city knows Jasmine Boothe is under my protection now. If anyone comes for her, if anyone even whispers her name with intent, they will end up just like Kane. Dead. Forgotten. An example or a statistic. I don’t care which.”
Jasmine
The suite feels unreal in the quiet that settles after Adrik leaves. Not the kind of quiet that comes before something bad happens, not the suffocating silence I learned in houses where kids cried into their pillows because no one came when they called. But a warm, shimmering stillness that wraps itself around me and refuses to let the panic in.
The lamps cast soft golden light across the room, turning everything hazy at the edges, like a dream I might ruin if I move too quickly. I’m sitting cross-legged on top of the huge bed, the mattress swallowing me whole, a plate of food beside me that still radiates heat, scents of herbs and butter filling the room in a way that makes my eyes sting.
It hits me how long it’s been since I smelled food made for the sake of comfort, not survival.
For months I’ve eaten in alleyways, in the back of cheap Ubers, crouched behind dumpsters while keeping one eye open for trouble. And now I’m here, in this ridiculous, impossibly luxurious suite, with warm rolls and roasted chicken and vegetables that haven’t come out of a microwave packet.
New clothes, still folded and crisp, sit in glossy bags on the armchair as though I’m someone worth shopping for, someone who belongs in designer and soft fabrics instead of thrift store castoffs.
It would be laughable if it didn’t feel so fragile. So dangerous. So… intoxicating.
