The name slams into me like a physical thing. My eyes widen before I can hide the reaction. Oh.
I know the Rusnaks. Everyone in our world does. I know Lev and Sasha; they’re my friends. My only friends in the Rusnak line, really. If I had my phone, I could call them. They’d fix this. They’d make this go away.
But my phone is gone. My hands are bound. And I’m sitting across from a Rusnak I’ve never met, one whose eyes look like war.
Is that why his face seemed so familiar?
“Can you take these off?” I lift my bound wrists toward him, the plastic biting into my skin. “The zip ties. They hurt.”
He glances at me, expression unreadable. “What makes you think you’re in a position to make demands?”
I glare at him. “What makes you think you can keep me here?”
He turns as if to leave, utterly unbothered. Panic edges my voice before I can stop it. “My father will come after you, you know. He’ll tear this place apart.”
That gets him to pause. Slowly, he looks back, lips curling in something dark, almost amused. “Good,” he says. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I swallow, throat dry. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing complicated.” He stops walking, and I can feel the weight of his presence, the heat rolling off him. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Then ask,” I snap.
His head tilts, hazel eyes glinting. “Will you answer honestly?”
I nod, defiant. “Yes.”
A faint smirk ghosts across his lips. “Good girl.”
The words hit like a shock, and before I can even react, he turns and walks out, leaving me alone with the echo of his voice—and the uneasy flutter in my chest.
There’s a single chair in the room, but I don’t sit. I can’t. My body is too wired, my mind too loud. I pace instead, back and forth, the sound of my shoes muffled by the thick rug. I keep glancing at the locked door, half expecting Roman to return, half hoping he doesn’t.
He’s been calm so far, but that doesn’t fool me. Men like him are never calm; they just wait for the right moment to strike.
After what feels like an hour, the lock clicks. My breath stalls.
The door swings open, and another man steps in. I recognize him immediately—he was with Roman back at the museum, the one who tied my hands.
He’s broad-shouldered and ruggedly handsome, in a brutal kind of way. Short-cropped dark hair, steel-gray eyes that miss nothing, and rough tattoos crawling up his neck like smoke. A gun rests casually at his hip, gleaming beneath the hem of his leather jacket.
But what throws me off is his smile. It’s faint, almost kind, when he reaches for my arm.
“Boss wants me to bring you.”
My stomach twists. “To where?” I ask, voice tight.
“You’ll see,” he says simply, and before I can press further, he’s already pulling me out of the room.
Today has to be the unluckiest day of my life.
The man leads me up a flight of stairs, his grip firm but not cruel. I could fight him, maybe, but something tells me it would be useless. He moves like someone who’s seen too many fights to ever lose one.
“What’s your name?” I ask, mostly to distract myself.
“Luka,” he says without looking at me.
I nod, swallowing whatever smart remark I might have had. Silence feels safer.
