The doors close, and it’s just the two of us. The space is too small suddenly. Claustrophobic.
I glance at him. A question niggles at my brain, trying to form through the panic.
Why would Dmitri be here? What's his plan?
It doesn't make sense. You don't walk into a restaurant like this and start shooting. Not with witnesses. Not with security. Not in a place that caters to people who have the police commissioner on speed dial.
That's not how this works.
Except what do I know about how this works? What the hell do I know about Bratva politics, gang warfare, or any of that?
Nothing. I know nothing. I'm a waitress who fell for the wrong man, and now I'm in an elevator with a stranger who says he works for Ivan, but I've never seen him before, andsomething feels wrong, but I don't trust my own instincts anymore.
The elevator opens to the ground floor. We exit fast.
He's walking quickly now. Too quickly. My heels click against concrete, struggling to keep pace. The sound echoes. Loud. Too loud.
"Where are we going?"
"Secure location. Mr. Petrov’s orders."
We’re outside now, entering an alley that reeks of garbage, rain, and decay. He turns toward a darker stretch away from streetlights.
I stop.
Ivan isn’t here. Shouldn’t he be? Shouldn’t Pyotr or Misha be leading me instead of this stranger?
The man notices. "Everything okay, ma’am?"
What the hell do I know? About procedures, security, evacuations? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I should trust Ivan’s men. Trust that this isn’t a trap.
I take a step.
His grip tightens.
Fingers press into my arm. Hard. Bruising. All professionalism gone.
"You’re not one of Ivan’s?—"
"Dmitri sends his regards, sweet girl."
Every thought scatters. My vision narrows. Logic evaporates. Pure terror, sharp, and immediate surges through me.
I open my mouth to scream.
And then… Ivan.
He appears from nowhere. One second, shadows, and the next, he's here—terrifying in a completely different way.
He doesn't speak. His hands find the man's head, and in one smooth motion, a sharp twist.
Snap.
Oh God, the sound.
Wet. Crunching. Final. A sound I'll hear in every quiet moment for the rest of my life.
