No smug enjoyment of control.
Fear.
It was written clearly across their expressions.
They weren’t in charge anymore.
Then—
A shadow moved between them.
My breath caught.
Ruslan stepped forward.
My heart stopped.
He looked exactly as I remembered him—but harder.
Stronger. Deadlier.
His dark shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the scars along his forearms. An eyepatch covered one side of his face.
His presence filled the doorway before he even crossed the threshold.
Behind him stood Petros.
And at least six other men I recognized from the estate—men who followed him without question.
Men who had come for war.
I tried to stand.
My legs gave out instantly.
Pain shot through my knees and I collapsed back to the floor.
Ruslan saw it.
His jaw tightened.
He crossed the room in three long strides.
He didn’t slow down at the sight of blood.
He dropped to his knees in front of me.
Right there.
In the filth.
In the mess.
He didn’t care.
“Elena...”
My name left his lips like a wound.
