I struggled to stay awake, but my eyes fluttered closed—out like a light.
Chapter 8 – Roman
I stepped out of the vehicle, adjusted the tie around my neck, and headed toward the giant building looming in front of me. Under the cold, distant stars, my shoes scuffed against the pavement, and the night’s air was cool against my skin.
The door swung open, and I stepped into the foyer, squinting against the bright light. My footsteps echoed off the high walls as I strolled deeper into the mansion. I’d had a long day with some of the Bratva elites—discussing territorial disputes and how to punish trespassers. All I needed was a warm bath and some sleep to calm my head. I’d almost forgotten about the errand I’d sent my men on until one of them cornered me in the living room.
“Boss,” he greeted me, bowing his head slightly in reverence. “We’ve got her.”
For a moment, I wondered who or what he was talking about. Then the image of the petite blonde flashed through my mind. A crooked grin tugged at the corners of my lips, warming my stony heart. At last, I had her in the palm of my hand.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Locked up in one of the rooms upstairs,” he answered, then described the exact room.
I couldn’t help but notice the fresh claw marks across his face—like he’d been attacked by a tiger. He didn’t have that scar this morning when I left the house, and now I was wondering how he got it.
“Did she do that?” I asked him.
“The bitch put up a fight,” he answered, his scowl deepening.
I raised my eyebrows, a bit shocked that she’d managed to leave a lasting impression on Ilya—one of my most ruthless foot soldiers. The fact that she hadn’t given in without a fight piquedmy interest. It was a testament to the fact that she wasn’t just another weakling. This one was a fighter. A faint smirk tugged at my lips, and I went upstairs, exuding my usual calm and composure. I reached the room, grabbed the door handle, and quietly pushed it open.
I stepped inside, my footsteps silent on the polished marble floor. The chandelier cast a warm glow over the plush couches and sofas that adorned the exquisite space. Considering who this petite blonde’s father was and why I had her kidnapped, she should be rotting in my dungeon right now.
But she was too pretty to be down there. Besides, she wasn’t my target—she was just a pawn, a tool to destroy the monster that brought her into this world.
She lay sprawled on the couch, like her body had been dumped there carelessly. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, strands framing her heart-shaped face. Her chest was rising and falling with steady breaths, and she looked so peaceful in that state of unconsciousness.
I unbuttoned my blazer, sank into the sofa across from her, and crossed my legs. My eyes roamed her body, drinking in the curve of her hips—outlined by the black skirt that hugged her like a second skin.
The top three buttons of her white shirt were undone, with the middle one missing. This revealed a teasing glimpse of the skin above her breasts and the curved edges of her red bra. The sight stirred something primal within me—but I was in control of my lust, not the other way around.
I shifted my eyes from her cleavage and set them on her face—innocent and gorgeous. Illicit thoughts began creeping into my mind the longer I watched her. I hated myself for it, especially because I wasn’t some pervert whose only goal was to get between his prey’s legs.
She was an instrument of vengeance—nothing more. Yet with each passing second, something swelled up inside me: an emotion I couldn’t name. I managed to take control of my mind and bury those crazy thoughts. However, my gaze was unwavering, and I couldn’t help basking in the euphoria of just staring at her.
Her beauty and innocence almost melted my stone-cold heart. A part of me was starting to think that perhaps punishing her for her father’s crimes was a bit cruel. But when I recalled the death of my uncle at the hands of her father, I remembered the reason I was doing this.
A slight groan escaped her lips, and she shifted her body, the couch crunching beneath her weight. Her hands rose slowly, her manicured fingers massaging her temples.
It took a moment, but she finally came to, her eyelids fluttering open.
It’s showtime.
I watched her in silence as panic gradually took hold of her, and she sat up immediately, panting.
“Wakey, wakey,” I said, my tone deep and husky.
She yelped at the sudden sound of my voice, her hand flying to her chest in an instant. Her head turned to face me the second I spoke, and in those hazel eyes I saw fear. Raw.
“Who are you?!” She rose to her feet, her eyes roaming the room. “Where am I? What do you want with me?!” The words tumbled out of her in a frantic rush.
Silence.
I stared at her with a blank expression.
Her eyes squinted after taking a good look at me, and I could tell she recognized me. The confusion in her gaze was priceless, blending seamlessly with the fear that overwhelmed her.
