I can barely move, barely speak. Shock roots me to the spot. “A-Anton?” My voice trembles, disbelief spilling into it.
He smirks faintly, but it doesn’t reach the wildness in his eyes. “Yes,” he says, dark and smooth. “It’s me.”
My stomach twists. Months of distance, of trying to forget, of surviving on my own—all of it crashes down. And now, in the cold, empty warehouse, I’m confronted by the man I never thought I’d see again. My stomach twists, part fear, part fury.
“Was it you?” I croak, my voice hoarse. “The messages…the text that lured me here. Was it you?”
He shakes his head, but the look in his eyes is as unhinged as it is familiar. “No…not me,” he says, voice low and raw. Then, almost casually, almost venomously, he adds, “But you…you were always mine. You should never have left.”
My heart slams against my ribs, a cold dread mingling with anger. Every muscle in me tightens. I want to scream, to pull against the ropes, to strike him—but the warehouse swallows my voice.
I shake my head, trying to steady my racing heart. “I…I was never yours, Anton. I’m not yours. I never will be.”
His expression darkens, black eyes narrowing as he steps closer, the space between us charged and suffocating. “Don’t lie to yourself, Noelle,” he says, voice low but edged with possessiveness. “You were always mine. You always will be. No matter how far you run, no matter how long you think you can hide.”
I recoil slightly, anger and fear mixing. “You don’t get to decide that. I make my own choices.”
He tilts his head, a dangerous, calculating smile ghosting across his face. “Oh, but I already decided a long time ago.” His tone leaves no room for argument, heavy with certainty and obsession.
I want to tell him about Niko, but I’m sure he already knows that. Plus, a sudden sound to my right has my head jerking.
Kirill steps out of the shadows, tall and terrifying. Recognition strikes me like a blow. This is the man—the man from the picture with my mother, the one who haunted the scraps of my past. And now, he’s here. In the same warehouse as me.
Anton doesn’t move, but I sense the tension spike between them, the kind of unspoken understanding that chills me to the bone. My mind races. I swallow hard, my throat tight. Whatever game I’ve been pulled into is far bigger—and far more dangerous—than I ever imagined.
I choke on my fear and disbelief, barely able to form words. “Kir…Kirill?” My voice trembles, and my hands clench at my sides.
He tilts his head slowly, a small, cold smile playing on his lips. “Yes,” he says, his tone calm, unnervingly confident. “That is me.”
I open my mouth to speak, to ask why I’m here, how he knows anything, but the words catch in my throat. I can’t respond.
Kirill turns his sharp gaze toward Anton, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable authority. “You’d best not get too attached,” he warns. “She has to pay for her mother’s sins.”
The words hit me like ice. My stomach drops. I feel trapped, powerless. Anton’s dark eyes flick between Kirill and me, and I see a flash of possessive fury that makes my blood run cold.
I take a shaky breath, confusion twisting in my chest. “Wait…what do you mean?” I demand, my voice barely steady. “I saw you in a picture with my mother. This…this is about her, isn’t it? But I’m not—none of this has anything to do with me!”
Kirill’s eyes narrow slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching in something close to amusement—or is it menace? “You think this is about you?” he asks slowly, each word deliberate. “No, little one. This is about her. Your mother made choices that drew attention, that broke rules, that cost lives. And now…you carry the price.”
“That’s not fair! I wasn’t even there. I didn’t do anything!” My voice cracks, rising with panic. “I’m not linked to any of this. None of it is mine!”
Anton doesn’t speak, but his eyes are dark and scalding. I can feel his warning simmer beneath the surface. Kirill, on the other hand, just tilts his head, letting the words hang in the air like a knife.
“You think blood can erase responsibility?” Kirill asks quietly, almost mockingly. “Your mother ran, disappeared…but the debts remain. And now, they’re yours to settle.”
A cold dread seeps into my bones. This isn’t just about Anton. This is something far older, far darker, and far beyond anything I’ve ever imagined.
“Did…did you kill her?” My voice cracks, the words tasting like fear and hope all at once.
His expression darkens, but there’s a strange coldness in his tone. “No. She…got into an accident before I could reach her. It was…convenient, in a way. But I couldn’t let her body be found. People would have doubted and suspected me immediately—I was publicly furious at her, after all. So I disposed of her body by throwing it off a cliff.”
My chest tightens, and a cold lump settles in my stomach. “You…threw her body off a cliff?” I whisper, barely audible, horrified.
Kirill doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on me, unyielding. I can feel the weight of the past pressing down, but somewhere inside, a small part of me relaxes. At least I know what happened. At least…the mystery is gone. My mother is gone—but finally, the unknown that haunted me is gone too.
Kirill’s lip curls as if he’s savoring my pain. “And I don’t regret it,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “Your mother got what she deserved. She was weak. Treacherous. The Bratva is better without her.”
The words slam into me like a punch. My breath hitches, and I feel the sting of tears rising. I want to cling to the tiny thread of relief, but his voice poisons even that fragile comfort, twisting it into something unbearable.
