He holds the man’s left hand in his own, cradling it gently, like a doctor examining a patient.
"You stole from the shipments, Alexei," Konstantin says. His voice is a low murmur, almost gentle. "You know the rules. We don’t steal from family."
He grips the man’s hand and snaps it.
The sound is sickening.
My stomach lurches.
The man in the chair arches his back, straining against the ropes. A muffled, high-pitched scream tears through the gag, vibrating in the air.
I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp, but I’m too late. I stumble back, my shoulder hitting the doorframe.
The door creaks open wider.
Konstantin stiffens but doesn’t startle.
Slowly, he releases the man’s broken hand. His arm flops against the armrest.
Konstantin picks up a white towel from the desk. He wipes a speck of blood from his knuckles before he turns to the door.
His eyes lock with mine.
Without a word, he tosses the towel onto the sobbing man’s lap and starts walking toward me.
Brain and body alike short-circuit. I saw him break a man’s bones with the same indifference he used to order a drink.
He isn’t a businessman. He’s a butcher.
I try to back away, but my legs move like they’re encased in cement, sending me stumbling until my spine hits the hallway wall. There’s nowhere left to go.
Konstantin is on me in a second.
He slams his hand against the wall next to my head, boxing me in.
He invades my space, looming over me and pressing his body close enough that I feel the heat radiating off him. His chest heaves slightly, his eyes wild, dilated with the adrenaline of violence. It’s intimate and overwhelming.
"You should have stayed in your room, Helena," he snarls.
"You..." I choke out, my eyes wide, staring at his hands. The hands that just shattered bone. "You tortured him."
"He broke the rules," Konstantin says, leaning down until his lips are brushing my ear. "Actions have consequences."
My breath catches. The closeness is overwhelming. I can feel the hardness of his body, the latent brutality coiling under his skin. The pulse beating in his throat.
He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.
"You’re not safe anymore," he whispers. "You think this is a game? That because you are a woman... because you arecollateral... that you are safe?"
He tilts my head back, exposing my throat to his gaze.
"Your father's survival depends on you staying in line," he says, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, dangerously close to where he choked me earlier. "I told you I hold the leash. If yourun... if you fight... if you ever enter a room without invitation again... I won’t break his fingers."
He leans back, his focus dropping to my lips, lingering for a heartbeat, then snapping back to my eyes. It’s a look of absolute ownership.
"I’ll break yours."
I shudder, a tremor running through my entire body.
