Captured Heart

Prologue | Aleksandras

Prologue

Aleksandras

F ive years ago...

The soft chime above the jewelry store door announces my arrival. My polished leather shoes echo against the tiled floor as I step inside, my eyes discreetly scanning every inch of the place. Cameras: two in the corners, one directly above the entrance. Security beams: hidden in the glass displays, their faint shimmer barely perceptible unless you’re looking for them. I’m always looking.

The store screams wealth. Gleaming marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and display cases so spotless they might as well not exist. It’s a world away from where I grew up. Places like this didn’t exist in Richmond. Back there, you didn’t have shining surfaces and quiet ambiance. You had bars on windows, cash-only signs, and customers sizing each other up, wondering who might make a move first.

I adjust my tie, a cheap knockoff that looks like a million bucks when paired with a well-fitted suit. At twenty-one, I’ve learned appearances are everything. A suit makes me older. Wealthier. Trustworthy. People don’t ask questions when you look the part.

It’s not just about how I look, though. It’s how I sound. I clear my throat to smooth out the rough edges of my usual tone, shedding the clipped, fast cadence of the streets I grew up on. The right words, spoken the right way, can open doors you didn’t even know existed. I wasn’t born with it. Sophistication isn’t something many people pick up in Richmond. It’s a skill I had to learn the hard way, just like everything else.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you with anything today?” A sales assistant appears, her bright smile warm and inviting. She’s about my age, maybe a year or two older, but polished in a way that says she’s never had to scrape for anything.

“Yes, I’m looking for a necklace for my fiancé.” I soften my voice, layering in just the right touch of sincerity. “Something elegant, with an emerald. It brings out her eyes.”

I watch as her expression shifts, her shoulders relaxing. The mention of a fiancé makes me less of a threat and also makes her believe I’m older than I am. The way I said it—smooth, calm, like I have money to burn—makes me worth her time.

“Well, you’re in luck. We just got a few new pieces in.” She motions me toward a section closer to the corner. “Let me get them.”

I follow, maintaining the perfect balance of interest and detachment, my gaze flicking over the jewelry while my mind calculates angles, distances, and weaknesses. She doesn’t notice. Why would she? To her, I’m just another wealthy customer with an eye for emeralds.

She goes to her office at the back of the store and returns with a tray of necklaces, each one more dazzling than the last. The one Victor wants is unmistakable, a delicate gold chain with an emerald pendant surrounded by tiny diamonds. I feign casual interest, leaning in slightly as if I’m captivated.

“How much?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

She names a price that would make any sane person blanch. Nodding thoughtfully, I pretend to weigh my options. I watch her every move as she places the necklace back in its velvet-lined case with the others and takes them back to her office. I note every detail. Where she stores it, how she locks it, the subtle flick of her wrist as she keys in the security code.

“Thank you for your time,” I say, flashing her a charming smile. “I’ll be back later to get it.”

It’s not a lie. I just leave the vital details up to her imagination, small things like when I’ll be back and how I intend to get it.

IT’S ALMOST ELEVEN p.m. The air inside the abandoned warehouse is heavy with dust and decay, the kind of place where secrets thrive and sunlight never reaches. The faint creak of old metal beams and the scurry of rats in the shadows are the only sounds, apart from the low murmur of voices around me.

Victor has a thing for places like this. He says they’re perfect. Off the grid and forgotten by the world. Good cover for illegal dealings, hideouts, or stashing people and things he doesn’t want found. Looking around, I can’t disagree. The crumbling walls and broken windows scream desolation, the perfect backdrop for the night’s work.

I sit on an overturned crate, the faint glow of a single hanging bulb illuminating the blueprint I’ve spread across my lap. The paper is worn, creased from hours of study, every line and mark etched not just on the page, but in my mind.

Bowman (not his real name) leans against a rusted support beam, arms crossed, his sharp features cast in shadow. Smith (not his real name either) is perched on a nearby stack of pallets, idly flipping a knife in one hand, the metallic snick of the blade grating my last fucking nerve.

The two rookies hover near the far wall, their faces pale and their postures stiff, like they’re afraid the building itself might collapse on them. It’s understandable. They’re new, and they have no idea what to expect.

“Alright, listen up,” I say, my voice cutting through the stagnant air. “This is how it’s gonna go down.”

I lay the blueprint flat on the crate, my finger tracing the jewelry store’s layout. I’ve planned this out to the last detail because there’s so much riding on tonight.

This heist isn’t just about a payout. It’s about time. About life.

I picture my mother when I left our small apartment earlier, her frail hands clutching the edges of the bedsheet, her breathing shallow and labored. The oxygen tank by her bedside hissed faintly, a constant reminder of the emphysema that’s been slowly stealing her life away. Her eyes were sunken but still holding on to hope. I looked into those eyes tonight and promised her that I’d fix this.

Her treatment’s overdue. Oxygen therapy, inhalers, and the pulmonary rehab sessions the doctors insist she needs to keep her lungs functioning. The clinic won’t administer any of it until I pay off the outstanding balance. There’s no room for error tonight. No mishaps, no rookie mistakes.

If we mess this up, I won’t just lose the money. I’ll lose her.

The weight of those consequences presses down on my shoulders, but I shove it aside. This isn’t the time for emotions. Emotions can get us caught, get us killed.

The dim flashlight glints off Bowman’s face, his features locked in concentration. Smith leans back, cracking his knuckles rhythmically. And the two rookies are still as statues, their pale faces screaming inexperience.

They don’t have names. Not yet. They have to prove their loyalty to Victor and earn his respect to get a name. I got mine last year when I proved I’d sacrifice myself to protect his empire. Now I go by John Turner.

“There’s a vent on the north side of the building, just past the dumpster,” I explain, pointing to the blueprint. “That’s our way in. Bowman, you’re handling the security system. The store’s running an old setup, infrared motion detectors and rotating cameras. Time it right, and you’re invisible. Screw up, and we’re lit up like a Christmas tree.”

Bowman nods, his confidence unshaken. I trust him to get it done. He’s ruthless but meticulous, one of the few people who shares my attention to detail. It’s obvious why he’s Victor’s righthand man.

“Smith, you’re on the safes.” I tap the spot marked in red. “There are two at the back, but don’t waste time on both. The necklace Victor wants is in the locked drawer in the manager’s office. Top right-hand corner of the desk. The key isn’t there. It’s in the back safe, third shelf on the left.”

Smith nods, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He loves a challenge, especially one that involves cracking locks.

“We’ll take out the feed and loop the footage before anyone knows we’re in.” I shift my focus to the rookies. “You’re the pack mules. Grab everything you can in this area, so you don’t get caught by the beams near the door.” I point to it on the map. “If you start getting greedy, we’re screwed. Just follow Bowman and Smith’s lead. No improvising. No heroics. This isn’t a game. If you trip an alarm or touch something you’re not supposed to, you’re dead weight. Got it?”

They nod, but I can see the fear in their eyes. I push down my frustration. I can’t believe any part of the plan is riding on these two. They’re fucking amateurs.

“Smith, when you get the key, take it to the manager’s desk,” I continue. “The drawer has a backup trigger alarm. It’s pressure-sensitive, so you’ll have to use the key. No brute force.”

“What about the cameras?” one of the rookies pipes up, his voice cracking.

I point to the blueprint again. “Cameras are positioned here, here, and here,” I say, tracing the spots. “They rotate every ten seconds. You’ll have a five-second blind spot to move, so you’ll need to time it perfectly.”

“And the beams?” Bowman asks.

“Infrared,” I reply. “They’re crisscrossed at ankle height and just below the waist. Bowman, once you’ve cut the alarm, you’ll need to disable the beam triggers near the safes and the manager’s office. They’re hardwired, so there’s no wireless signal to hack. You’ll have to work fast.”

I glance around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes. “We’re in and out in under five minutes. Bowman handles security. Smith cracks the safe and retrieves the necklace. The two of you grab what’s easy to carry. No overstuffing. When the clock hits four minutes, I don’t care if you didn’t get a damn thing, get out. Got it?”

A chorus of nods and mumbled agreements follows. I fold up the blueprint, the crinkling of the paper loud in the silence. The weight of the job presses down on me, heavier than usual. Maybe it’s the stakes, or maybe it’s the gnawing feeling that no matter how perfect the plan, something can always go wrong.

Twenty minutes later, I park our black van in the dark alley behind the jewelry store and exhale sharply. “Alright, let’s move.”

Bowman and Smith take the lead, hopping out of the van and slipping through the shadows toward the vent. Bowman unscrews the grate with practiced ease, and one by one, they crawl inside. The rookies fumble slightly, but they manage to keep up.

From the van, I listen through the earpiece. Bowman’s low voice comes through, calm and precise. “Security system bypassed. Cameras frozen. Moving to the safes.”

I grip the steering wheel tightly, my palms slick with sweat despite the cool night air. My heart pounds as I wait, every second stretching into an eternity.

“Safe’s open,” Smith reports. “Got the key. Heading to the desk.”

The seconds tick by, and I clench my jaw, silently willing them to hurry.

“Drawer’s unlocked. Got the necklace,” Bowman’s voice cuts through, and relief washes over me.

But then there’s a sharp beep in the background.

“What was that?” I snap.

“Fuck!” Bowman growls. “Rookie tripped a beam at the door. Alarm’s triggered. We’re coming out.”

The sound of chaos ensues, panicked voices and hurried footsteps. I hear the wail of a siren in the distance, and I curse under my breath. We’ve only got a minute or so before the cops get here.

“Get to the van!” I yell.

The first figures appear in the alley, sprinting toward me. Smith dives in first, then Bowman. One rookie stumbles, his bag spilling onto the ground, and Bowman curses, dragging him in.

“Go!” Bowman shouts, and I slam the gas pedal, tires screeching as we peel out of the alley.

The sound of sirens is deafening, and my pulse races as I swerve through the streets, trying to lose the cops. The rookies are yelling in the back, their fear palpable, but I block it out, focusing solely on the road.

“Take a hard right here, Johnny!” Bowman orders, and I obey, tires skidding as the van swerves.

Bowman and Smith leap out, rolling across the pavement and disappearing into the shadows. The rookies freeze, too scared to move, and I curse under my breath.

The sirens are closer now, red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror. My knuckles turn white as I grip the wheel tighter. I floor the gas, the engine roaring under the strain. My eyes dart between the road ahead and the mirror, calculating every move, every turn.

I weave through traffic, dodging cars with barely an inch to spare. Horns blare, tires screech, but I don’t flinch. There’s no time for hesitation, no room for error. The van rattles as I take a sharp left, the weight shifting dangerously, threatening to tip over.

The rookie in the passenger seat lets out a panicked yelp, his hand gripping the door handle so tight it might start bleeding. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouts.

“Shut up!” I snap, my eyes locked on the road.

Behind me, the sirens wail louder, closing the gap. A second cop car joins the chase, its headlights cutting through the darkness. I zip through an intersection, ignoring the red light. Cars screech to a halt, narrowly avoiding a collision as I barrel through.

The rookie in the back tumbles against the side of the van as I make another reckless turn. “They’re gaining on us!”

“I know! Now, shut the fuck up and let me drive.”

I spot a narrow alley up ahead and immediately take the sharp turn. The van scrapes against the brick walls on either side, sparks flying as the side mirror shatters. The alley is tight, too tight for the police cruisers. For a brief moment, the sirens fade, and I think I’ve lost them.

But as I burst out onto another street, a third cruiser appears from the right, its siren high-pitched and piercing through the night.

“Shit!” I slam the brakes just enough to avoid smashing into it before jerking the wheel to the left. The van fishtails, the tires barely gripping the pavement as I regain control.

The rookie beside me is pale, his breaths coming in short gasps. “We’re not gonna make it,” he mutters.

“We’ll make it,” I grit out through clenched teeth, though even I’m starting to doubt it.

The highway entrance is right in front of me, a chance to put more distance between us. I merge onto the ramp, the van roaring as I push the engine to its limits. The cityscape gives way to open road, but the flashing lights remain in the mirror. These guys are fucking relentless.

Another cruiser cuts onto the highway from an on-ramp ahead, boxing me in. My pulse pounds in my ears as I veer onto the shoulder, kicking up gravel and debris. The van jolts violently, and I wrestle with the wheel to keep it steady.

“Take the next exit!” the rookie shouts.

“No!” I shout back, my mind racing through every possible escape route. An exit means slowing down, and slowing down means getting caught.

The highway stretches out ahead, but there’s no escape in sight. Another cruiser closes in, its driver skilled and unyielding.

And then I see it. A barricade up ahead, a wall of police cruisers blocking the road. My heart sinks as I realize there’s no way through.

“Hold on!” I slam the brakes and swerve to the left. The van skids out of control, hitting the barrier, the impact jarring every bone in my body.

We come to a grinding halt, smoke billowing from the crumpled hood. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline filling my nostrils.

The sirens stop, replaced by the sound of car doors slamming and boots hitting the pavement. A shadow looms outside the driver’s window, and I look up to see Detective Collins smirking at me, his badge glinting under the streetlights. Man, I hate the sight of this guy.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, tapping on the glass with two fingers. “Mister Turner. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Collins isn’t just some beat cop. He’s a bulldog. For over a year, he’s been sniffing around Victor’s operations, desperate to find a crack in the armor. He’s the type who doesn’t let go once he sinks his teeth in, and unfortunately for me, I’ve been in his crosshairs for months.

The last time he took me into custody, it was all smoke and mirrors. A knock at my door in the middle of the night, two officers dragging me to the station. Collins thought he could intimidate me, scare me into talking. “Give me something on Victor,” he’d said, leaning across the table, his coffee-stained breath invading my space. “A name. A date. Anything.”

I gave him nothing. Not a word, not a flicker of expression. He tried everything—good cop, bad cop, hell, even sympathetic cop. But I sat there, stone-faced, knowing the walls probably had ears and Victor would hear every damn thing. Eventually, they had to let me go. Insufficient evidence.

It worked out well for me. I proved my loyalty and earned Victor’s trust. I got a promotion and a new ID carrying the same fake name I gave to the cops. Didn’t work out so well for Collins, though. Even when I left the station that night, I could see the frustration simmering behind his eyes. The kind that eats at a man and keeps him up at night.

And now, here we are. No more games. No more second chances. I’m caught red-handed, the getaway van mangled against the barrier, stolen goods scattered in the back. Collins doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction as he opens the door.

“Out,” he barks, grabbing my arm and hauling me onto the asphalt. His grip is iron, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Don’t you have anything better to do on a Saturday night, Collins?” I mutter, shaking his hand off my arm as I stand. “It honestly seems like making my life miserable is the only hobby you have.”

He shoves me toward the hood of the squad car. “It is.”

“You should try crocheting. I hear it’s very relaxing.”

“Maybe you should take it up because the way I see it, you’re gonna have nothing but time on your hands for the next few years.”

For all the bravado and indifference I’m trying to show, those words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. The sharp click of the cuffs biting into my wrists stings more than I want to admit. Not because of the pain, but because I know what comes next. A trial. Prison. Victor cutting ties because I’m now a liability. It’s over. Everything I’ve been fighting for, scheming for. Gone in an instant.

My mother’s face flashes in my mind, pale and worn, the lines of worry etched deep in her forehead. So much was riding on tonight. The money from this job would’ve paid for her next round of treatment, maybe even given her a real chance. And now? Now I can’t do a damn thing to help her.

I feel the weight of it settle in my chest, heavy and suffocating. Every decision I’ve made, every risk I’ve taken, it was all for her. To fix what I couldn’t when I was younger. To make up for the times I wasn’t there. And now, because of one stupid mistake, I’ve failed her again.

Collins’ voice cuts through the haze as he reads me my rights, his tone smug and unsympathetic. But his words barely register. All I can think about is her sitting in that dingy apartment, waiting for me to come home, hoping that maybe I found a way to make things better.

Instead, she’ll get a knock on the door. Two officers will tell her where I am. And that’s all she’ll have left of me. A son who couldn’t even keep a promise. A son who let her down when she needed him most.

The weight of it all crushes me. I can never be the son I should’ve been, the son she deserved. I can never give her the life I wanted to give her. And now I’ll never have the chance to make it right.