A pause. My chest heaves. I’m trembling. My fingers curl into fists. My legs feel like lead.
He takes one last step back, his presence still pressing into the room, impossibly large and impossible to ignore.
“Wedding is in forty-eight hours,” he says.
Then he turns and walks out.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Chapter 4 – Mike
It’s been hours since I left Ellie in the room, and I still haven’t relaxed. The fear in her eyes. Her anger. I understand the anger. Imagine waking up in a strange house to see a man saying he’ll marry you. The anger is understandable.
But the fear? Why does she look at me like that? It breaks something in me. I saved her last night. Every move, every calculation, every ounce of control I exercised—it was to keep her alive. I never want to see her hurt. I never will.
I sigh and rub a hand through my hair, leaning back on my swivel chair. The leather creaks beneath me as I roll slowly, taking in my office.
It’s large. Cold. Functional, but every detail screams power. Dark mahogany panels line the walls, polished until they gleam under the low amber light of the chandelier. Shelves of books—strategy, history, criminal psychology, languages—stand like sentinels. Each spine is a weapon, each title a reminder of control.
My desk is massive, blackened wood with a leather blotter stretched across the surface. Sparse, almost clinical, except for the encrypted devices and monitors that glow faintly, feeding me live security feeds, logistics routes, and encrypted messages. Every screen, every device, is a node of my empire—my kingdom, under my control.
A Persian rug stretches underfoot, dark red and black, heavy enough to swallow sound. Personal touches are few, deliberate: a framed photo of my parents, a black-and-white shot of the old Rusnak compound in Moscow, a hand-inked calligraphy of a Russian proverb I memorized as a boy. They remind me of where I came from. Where I must go.
Everything in this office speaks of discipline, strategy, and control.
Yet, I feel that control slipping.
The office door swings open, and I swivel my chair, expecting Sergei. He’s been running errands since morning—sending news of my coming marriage to my brothers, organizing venues, arranging the perfect wedding dress for Ellie.
This isn’t what I want. Not that I don’t want to marry Ellie. If I were ever the “marriage type,” it would be her. But this isn’t about choice. It’s about survival—hers, first and foremost.
She won’t understand that. She’ll hate me for it. And the thought kills me. I can’t even allow myself to be involved in the details, because guilt eats at me every second. Yet I cannot stop. This is the only way to keep her alive until I figure out who sent those men last night.
But when I turn, it’s not Sergei.
It’s Anya.
My ex-girlfriend. We dated a few years ago, ended it shortly after, and had a few reckless, quick sexual encounters afterward, but that was months ago.
Yet she’s refused to leave me alone.
I haven’t taken any harsh action before because she’s tangled up in Bratva business and is technically harmless, but right now, the sight of her makes something coil tight in my chest. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t dare.
She walks toward my desk, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Her face is contorted in anger, a familiar mix of entitlement and defiance. She’s wearing a short skirt, netted stockings, and a fur jacket. Designer bag—one I bought her—dangles from her arm like a statement. Every inch of her is meant to seduce, but it infuriates me instead.
I don’t move. I don’t react. My gaze pins her, sharp and cold.
“I see,” she says, voice sharp, dangerous. “You’ve been busy. Very…busy.”
I let the silence stretch. Every second she’s here is a challenge, a test. I tighten my jaw. “Anya. Leave.”
“Tell me it’s a rumor,” she growls.
I know exactly what she means. News like that travels fast—the whispers, the speculations. The fact that she’s heard already doesn’t surprise me.
“It’s not,” I say, flat.
She tilts her head, mockery curling her lips. “A British student? That’s who you choose? You?”
