Chapter 23 #2
The needle touched my skin—sharp, burning, immediate. I didn't flinch. Years in the pit had taught me how to take pain. How to breathe through it, compartmentalize it, turn it into fuel. The trick was to find something to focus on. Something worth the suffering.
I stared at Alena on that screen. At her broken, beautiful face. At the life I was damning myself to save.
The needle drove deeper, outlining the first point of the star. Pain lanced through my collarbone, white-hot and precise. But I didn't look away. Couldn't. The artist worked methodically—drag, wipe, drag, wipe. Blood welled and was wiped away. The outline took shape, point by point.
On the screen, Alena shifted. Pulled my hoodie tighter around herself. Buried her face in the fabric like she was trying to breathe me in. And I felt something crack open in my chest—not guilt, not regret. Rage. Pure, cold, calculating rage.
Klaus was watching me. Enjoying this. The power he held. The son he'd broken and remade in his image.
But he'd made a mistake.
He thought pain would make me loyal. Thought the tattoo would bind me to him, make me Bratva, make me his.
But pain was currency I'd traded in long before he found me.
And I knew something he didn't—pain could be turned into focus.
Into strategy. Into the kind of cold determination that burned everything else away.
I let the needle bite deeper and started planning.
Klaus was dying. Weeks, maybe less. The guards were loyal to the organization, not to him personally—I'd seen it in how they watched him, the way they exchanged glances when he coughed blood. They were waiting for the transition. Waiting to see who'd take over.
I could use that.
The tattoo artist moved to the second point.
More blood. More pain. I breathed through it, let it sharpen my thoughts.
Klaus wanted me committed? Fine. I'd play committed.
I'd do the jobs, earn the trust, learn the structure.
Find the weak points. The men who were tired of Klaus's brutality.
The ones who'd turn if the right opportunity presented itself.
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.