His disappointment cuts deeper than any insult. I force myself to meet his eyes, to hide the shake in my hands, to look unbreakable even as I crack apart inside.
Dad leans closer, his voice a warning. “From now on, you do exactly what I say. No more games. Understood?”
My throat tightens. “Understood.”
That’s the end of it. No embrace, only a verdict and a leash.
We walk back to his car, the world spinning on the edge of an ending. I should feel victorious, vindicated, free. Instead, I’m ragged, unfinished, every step dragging a thread of me back toward the man I’m leaving behind.
I want to scream at Leon, to make him pay for every bruise and humiliation, to force a confrontation that would finally give me closure.
The moment’s slipping away. There’s too much to say, and not enough air to say it.
I glance back, just once, unable to help myself. Leon stands by his car, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed in the harsh light. He doesn’t look relieved, doesn’t look triumphant. He looks… hollow, as if letting me go costs him something he doesn’t want to admit.
I look away first, pride burning in my throat, and let Dad’s men guide me into the back seat. The engine growls. The city begins to blur outside the window—neon and glass, all the places I’ve ever wanted to escape and all the ones I’ll never be allowed to run to.
My father sits in the front, silent, already pulling out his phone. I want to ask if he’s proud of me, if I did enough, if I’ll ever be more than just a bargaining chip. He’s busy already, barking orders, moving on.
The answer is clear.
I press my forehead to the cold window, watching the world smear past. Every mile that takes me further from Leon, further from the electric, dangerous space we carved out of violence and want and accident, feels like a little more of me is unraveling.
I should be glad. I should be grateful to be free. Instead, my chest aches with the things I didn’t say, the way I didn’t scream, the way I let myself matter to someone I was supposed to destroy.
It’s over. It has to be.
Except the pain in my chest is sharper than I expected. I wonder if freedom is just another lie—if all I’ve won is a new kind of cage. If the real cost of playing these games is never getting to choose your ending.
All I know is that I’ll never forget the way Leon looked at me across the pavement—like I was the only thing he couldn’t afford to lose, and the only one who ever made him hesitate.
Chapter Ten - Leon
Days blur together after the exchange. Each morning, I wake to the taste of victory—a brother returned, a deal closed, peace on paper and bodies left to rot in some other part of the city.
Nikola is alive, whole, his worst bruises already fading beneath his grin. The house is quieter, more orderly. No more strangers with guns. No more tense negotiations over encrypted lines. It should be a relief.
Instead, every hour is painted in a kind of gray, like someone stripped the color from the world and left me with nothing but memory.
Tonight, I force myself out. We meet at the club—the old haunt, all velvet banquettes and ceilings thick with bass. It’s the kind of place that’s supposed to remind you you’re still alive.
Nikola is already there, holding court with Simon and Boris, drinks in hand, laughter rolling like thunder. The crowd is thick, women and men moving in a restless tide, music pulsing through the walls. I tell myself this is what celebration looks like.
But nothing feels right. I move through the crowd by habit, shake hands, murmur greetings. I smile when I’m meant to, laugh when the others do, and all the while my mind drifts to a place I shouldn’t go.
Every reflection catches me off guard—the bar mirror shows a face I barely recognize, shadows under the eyes, lines that have deepened in a week. I look older, as if the cost of everything has finally settled on my bones.
Nikola is subdued, even as he grins. He claps me on the back, leans in for a toast, but I see it: a wariness, a distance, a knowledge that something essential was lost in all the winning.Boris is loud, Simon cracks jokes, but they’re just noise to fill the gaps. The mood never quite lifts.
I’m halfway through another drink when I feel it—a shift in the air, a ripple running across the floor, as if some silent current just changed direction. I turn toward the entrance, half expecting another threat, another enemy to handle.
Instead, it’s her.
Suzy enters on a wave of light and sound, as if the whole club is an audience for her alone. Her confidence is almost violent—no collar, no leash, nothing left of the hostage. She wears danger like a perfume.
A cluster of admirers forms instantly, drawn by her laugh, the dare in her eyes. She’s dressed in black and silver, hair swept up, neck bare, no sign of anything that could bind her.
The sight hits me like a punch, low and hard. I see the line of her jaw, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the spark in her gaze as she scans the room and dares anyone to question her right to be here. For a moment, I forget the club, the crowd, even my own name.
