Somewhere below, guards move through the shadows, quiet as ghosts.
No chains, he said, like the absence of shackles makes this freedom.
I test the bedroom door first. It opens. It closes. It doesn’t lock from the outside, which is almost worse because it’s another illusion of control that I don’t have. I test the hallway, moving like I did in my uncle’s compound, ear tuned for the soft tell of footsteps and radio static. Nothing. Just silence and the faint hum of a house that runs itself like a well-oiled machine.
I go downstairs because he told me dinner is in an hour, and I refuse to be trained by a schedule like a pet. The kitchen is pristine. The living areas are controlled luxury, all dark woods and stone and glass that reflects me back to me in pieces.
I find a library. Shelves that reach too high. A ladder on a rail. Leather chairs. A fireplace that isn’t lit but looks like it’s waiting to be. I walk through it, fingers brushing spines I don’t recognize, because my uncle never let me read anything he didn’t approve of. Even books were out of my reach in his world.
Then I find the first locked door.
Not my suite. Not the front entrance. A side corridor off the main hall, disguised behind a panel of wood that looks seamless until you’re close. The lock is electronic. Clean. Modern. My pulse picks up as my body recognizes a boundary.
His office.
I don’t have to try the handle to know it.
I stand there for a moment, breathing, listening. Nothing. I could go back upstairs. I could wait, pretend, play nice, see what kind of game he thinks this is.
But Leonid Brovin didn’t bring me here to play nice. He brought me here to break me down with kindness until I didn’t recognize the difference.
I walk away before my hand betrays me and reaches for the lock.
Dinner comes without ceremony. I don’t hear staff moving, but when I enter the dining room the table is set. One place on each side. Food already plated, steaming, the smell rich and warm, designed to trigger hunger like another weakness I can’t afford to have. Leonid is there, sitting like he’s been waiting, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The ink on his arms shows again. Bratva marks, peeking like a quiet warning under civility.
He looks up as I enter, and I hate the immediate awareness in his gaze, the way it flicks over me like he’s cataloging every detail of my posture.
“Good evening,” he says.
I take my seat and pick up my fork. “Am I supposed to thank you for feeding me?”
His mouth curves. “I don’t expect your gratitude, but I do expect you to eat.”
I take a bite. The food is good. Too good. A steak cooked perfectly, vegetables still bright and glossy, the kind of meal you serve a guest you want to impress.
I swallow, set my fork down. “I want to make a deal.”
He doesn’t look surprised. He looks interested, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“Go on,” he says.
“I’ll give you the diamonds and tell you where you can find your watch,” I tell him. My voice stays steady even though my throat tightens around the words. “All of it in fact. Every lastthing I stole, minus one diamond, which I sold for cash to get here. Then I’ll walk away, and you can tell whoever you need to tell that you handled it. That I’m gone. No longer a threat to anyone’s belongings… or egos.”
He leans back slightly; gaze fixed on my face like he’s enjoying the show.
“You think this is about the diamonds,” he says.
“It’s about what I took from you,” I snap, because my patience is thin and my fear is starting to itch. “You said I stole from you. Fine. Take it back. Take everything back and let me go.”
He laughs, amused in a way that makes my skin prickle. Like I’ve offered him something small and cute, not the entire haul from six months of practicing my escape.
“You don’t understand,” he says calmly.
I clamp down on the urge to throw my wine in his face. “Then please explain it,” I say through a clenched jaw.
He watches me for a long beat, eyes steady, expression unreadable. Then he says, “I don’t want the diamonds.”
My stomach drops. I grip my fork like a weapon. “Then what do you want?”
