And when Klaus finally died—when cancer did what I couldn't—I'd make sure his empire died with him.
Klaus leaned close, his breath smelling like blood and decay. "I want you to have that star for three reasons," he said quietly. "One: so you know where you belong. Two: so you remember what it cost to get it. And three—" he tapped Alena's face on the screen, "—so you never forget for whom you earned it."
I gritted my teeth against the pain but kept my eyes on Alena. On her shaking shoulders. On her hands covering her face. On the woman I'd do anything—anything—to keep breathing.
"Good boy," Klaus murmured. "You're learning."
The tattoo artist worked in silence. Minutes stretched into an hour, maybe longer. The burning never stopped—just layer after layer of ink driven into skin, marking me as Klaus's. As Bratva. As exactly what I'd spent my whole life trying not to be. But with every bite of the needle, I felt my resolve harden.
This wasn't surrender. This was camouflage.
I'd wear his star. Learn his world. Earn his trust.
And then I'd tear it all down from the inside.
When it was finally done, the artist stepped back. Wiped away the excess ink and blood with steady hands. Applied a bandage. "There," Klaus said, satisfied. "Now you're one of us. Officially."
I looked down at my collarbone. The star was perfect. Black ink stark against pale skin. Eight points. Traditional Bratva symbol. Proof I was his. Proof I'd sold my soul to keep her safe.
But under the surface, under the ink and blood and performance of obedience, I made a different vow. This mark would be temporary. This empire would fall. And I would make sure Klaus never saw it coming.
Klaus turned the tablet toward me one more time. Alena was lying down now on the couch, eyes closed, one arm hanging limply over the edge. Still breathing. Still alive. Still wearing my hoodie like armor that didn't fit anymore.
Still suffering because of me.
"She's safe," Klaus said. "As long as you obey. Remember that."
He stood—slowly, oxygen tank rolling beside him with a metallic rattle. "Go back to the safe house. Rest. Tomorrow we discuss your next assignment."
I stood. Pulled my shirt back on, wincing as fabric brushed the fresh tattoo, still burning. Walked out without a word. But as the elevator doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of the tablet. Of Alena.
And I made a promise to myself:
I would wear this star.
I would become whatever monster Klaus needed.
I would kill, lie, destroy—whatever it took.
But I wouldn't just survive this. I'd dismantle it. Piece by piece. Name by name. I'd learn every weakness in Klaus's organization. I'd find the men who were tired of his reign. I'd become indispensable until the moment I burned it all to the ground.
And when this was over, when Klaus was dead and his empire was ash, I would find my way back to her.
I'd spend the rest of my life earning her forgiveness.
Even if it took forever.
Even if she never gave it.
Because she was worth it.
She was worth everything.
Even this.
24
ALENA
