The ring is in his possession now. A Lawrence family heirloom, claimed by the man systematically destroying everything the Lawrence name represents.
It feels like a warning. Like he took the ring first to show us how easily he can take everything else.
History and security, stripped away with equal ease.
My phone buzzes. A message from my father:Family dinner tonight. 7pm. Important discussion.
I stare at the screen, anger burning through the fear. He’ll tell me some sanitized version, I’m sure. Pretend things aren’t as bad as they are. Try to protect me from the reality of our situation.
Like he protected me from knowing about his Bratva connections. Like he protected me from understanding the danger we were in until it was already too late.
I’m so tired of being protected.
I’m tired of being left in the dark, treated like I’m too fragile or too stupid to handle the truth. I’ve spent my whole life proving I’m capable, proving I deserve a place in this family despite being the unwanted daughter, the one born from the wrong woman at the wrong time.
And still, when things get serious, they lock me out.
Not this time.
I close the laptop and stand, decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. If Aleksandr Sharov is dismantling my familypiece by piece, I won’t sit here waiting for explanations that will never come or mercy that doesn’t exist.
I’ll find the proof myself. Gather evidence of exactly how he’s doing this, who he’s paying off, where the pressure is coming from. Build leverage or find weaknesses or do something other than watch helplessly while everything crumbles.
Even if it means stepping into Bratva territory.
The memory of those pale blue eyes surfaces, watching me across the auction hall with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The certainty in his voice when he bid. The faint smirk when the gavel fell.
I pull out my phone and start making calls. I know people—not Bratva people, but people who know people. The kind of connections you make growing up in a family that operates in the spaces between legal and criminal. I need information. Access. A way in.
By the time I head down for dinner, I have three leads and a plan that will probably get me killed.
Doing nothing will definitely get my family destroyed, and I’d rather die trying than live knowing I stood by and watched it happen.
My father is already seated when I enter the dining room,Marcus on speaker phone again. Dad looks up [1]when I walk in, and I see my father’s expression shift: guilt, worry, the desire to protect me from what he’s about to say.
I sit down across from him and meet his eyes.
“Tell me everything,” I say. “No more protecting me. No more hiding the worst of it. I want the truth.”
He looks old suddenly. Tired in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Elena—”
“Everything,” I repeat. “Or I’ll find out myself.”
The threat hangs in the air between us. He knows I mean it. Knows I’m stubborn enough and smart enough to follow through.
Finally, he nods. As he starts talking, laying out the full scope of our crisis, I’m already planning my next move.
Aleksandr Sharov thinks he’s dismantling the Lawrence family.
What he doesn’t know is that he just gave the most dangerous member a reason to fight back.
Chapter Four - Aleksandr
The gym is silent except for the rhythmic strike of my fists against the heavy bag.
Four thirty in the morning. The city outside still dark, Moscow sleeping off its excesses while I’m already awake, already working. Discipline doesn’t sleep. Neither do I, most nights.
