And through it all, Oliver just stands there giving me an amused look. And when he leans down to look at me, his face turns serious, all traces of humor gone.
“On your feet, Lucas,” he says, voice tight. “We have so much to discuss, you owe me money, remember?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
LUCAS
Oliver keeps playing freaking candy crush on his tablet, that annoying smirk glued to his face. The old foldadble chair I'm sitting on might as well be made of bricks with how tense I am. My mother’s beside me, her breathing shallow, eyes narrowed and trained on Oliver like she’s trying to keep herself from lunging at him again. Her chest rises and falls too fast. She’s scared—but she’s trying not to show it.
We’re not tied up. Not bound. But we might as well be. The two men Oliver brought with him are posted just behind us, tall and unblinking, their silence more threatening than any weapon. I can feel their presence like guns at my back.
One wrong move and it’s over. I know it. We know it.
Oliver lounges on the couch like this is his home, like he’s some king and we’re just in his court, waiting for his sentence. He’s toying with a cigarette lighter in his tattooed hands, clicking it open and closed, flames dancing for split seconds, like sparks teasing gasoline.
“We have been sitting here for the past thirty minutes, and you are still not saying anything,” my mother spits, her voice cutting, edged with fury and fear. “How did you know my son was going to be here?”
Oliver chuckles, slow and deep, as he drops the tablet on the table then pulls out a cigarette and lights it in one smooth motion. He takes a long drag, the ember glowing red before smoke coils out between his lips.
“Been keeping track of him,” he says, and then his eyes slide to me, sharp and amused. “Nice necklace, by the way. Cartier, right? That little Love line— it’s about $6k, maybe more?”
My stomach sinks.
My fingers twitch on my lap, curling tighter. I don’t look down, but I feel the necklace against my skin, the warm weight of it. One of the pieces Alex gave me. I should’ve taken it off. I should’ve known better before coming here. But I didn’t think. Fuck, I didn’t think.
My mother’s eyes shift to me, sharp and questioning. I know she’s looking at the necklace now, too. She hadn’t noticed it before.
“How long have you been watching me?”I ask, signing slowly as I glare at him. My hands feel like they’re trembling. I don’t care if he doesn’t know sign language. I need to know why the hell he’s been keeping track of me. My mother translates it for him.
Oliver grins, blowing another lazy puff of smoke toward the ceiling.
“Long enough,” he says. “Long enough to see where you’ve been sleeping, who you’ve been sleeping with.”
My heart drops. Then his smile twists into something cruel.
“So, you’re Alexander Petrov little toy, huh?”
His words land like a slap.
How the fuck does he know that name?
I can’t mask the panic fast enough. I see it in Oliver’s face—the way he eats it up like candy. He leans back against the cushions, spreading his arms across the top like he’s the goddamn king of this moment. Like he’s got me cornered.
“What?” My mother’s voice breaks through, confused. “Who is Alexander… Pe-tov?” She mispronounces his name, frowning hard. Then she turns to me, eyes narrowing.
“What is he talking about, Lucas?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
I stare at Oliver. My mouth is dry. My mind is spinning. How much does he know? How close has he been watching me? Has he followed me? Watched Alex’s home? What the fuck does he want?
I don’t look at my mother. I can’t stand the idea of her knowing anything about Alex. That world doesn’t belong in this place.
“You know, Lucas,” Oliver says, his voice shifting—no longer mocking, but something far more dangerous: calm. Serious. “When I met you for the first time two years ago… I was impressed.”
His cigarette glows as he takes a slow drag, smoke curling up toward the flickering ceiling light. He watches me like I’m something he’s studying, like I’m a puzzle he already solved, just picking apart the pieces for fun.
