3. Katarina
KATARINA
I rub my temples, staring at the lines of code on my screen. Another late night at the office, but these security protocols won't write themselves. The faint glow of my desk lamp casts shadows across my keyboard as I type, the familiar click-clack almost soothing.
A sound. My head snaps up.
Footsteps in the hallway - too many, too coordinated. My pulse quickens as I grab my phone, but it slips from my trembling fingers as the door bursts open.
Three men enter, and I recognize them instantly—Ivanovs. My stomach drops, but I force myself to stand slowly, keeping my face neutral even as my heart hammers against my ribs. Years of my father's training kick in—assess, analyze, survive.
“Ms. Lebedev. You'll be coming with us.”
Rough hands grab my wrists. I don't resist—that would be foolish. Instead, I catalogue faces, voices, and movements. Information is power, Father always said. Even as a cold sweat breaks out along my spine, I memorize details.
The service elevator descends, and my mind races through scenarios. Father is attacking their warehouses—this is retaliation. I'm leverage. The thought should terrify me, but somehow, the clinical analysis helps me maintain composure as they usher me into a waiting van.
“Father will kill you all for this,” I say in Russian, lifting my chin. My voice comes out steady despite the fear churning in my gut. Show no weakness. Never let them see you break.
Nikolai's lips twitch. “Your father's too busy burning our warehouses to notice you're gone yet.”
I feel Dmitri's calculating gaze on me, those ice-blue eyes taking in every detail. He sits across from me in the van, his Armani suit pristine despite the late hour. I match his stare, refusing to look away first.
His manicured fingers tap against his knee rhythmically. One-two-three. One-two-three. The motion draws my attention to his Rolex—set five minutes fast, I note automatically. Every detail matters when you're trying to survive.
“Your security protocols are impressive,” he says in perfect English. “The blockchain integration, especially.”
I keep my breathing steady. Of course they've been monitoring my work. “If you wanted a consultation, you could have scheduled one during business hours.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. The van hits a pothole, and I use the movement to test the zip ties around my wrists. Industrial grade. No give.
Four men in the van. Two up front. Dmitri across from me. Nikolai beside me. The route feels familiar—we're heading toward the waterfront. Multiple possible destinations, none of them good.
I catalog escape scenarios, discarding each one.
The doors are child-locked. The windows are reinforced.
Even if I could break the zip ties, the two Ivanov men would subdue me before I reached an exit.
Then there's the question of where I'd run if I managed to escape unscathed from a moving vehicle.
My tech knowledge is useless here. No phone, no computer, no way to send an SOS. Just me, two Ivanovs, and the growing distance between safety and whatever awaits at our destination.
Dmitri's eyes haven't left my face. He's reading me just as I'm reading him. Two predators sizing each other up, except I'm the one in restraints.
The van slows, its tires crunching on the gravel. Through tinted windows, I glimpse dense forest stretching in every direction. The isolation hits me harder than any physical blow—no witnesses, no cameras, no digital footprint to follow.
My captors guide me from the van. Their grips are professional rather than brutal. The house before us is modern, with all clean lines and reinforced glass. Security cameras dot the roofline. Motion sensors nestle in the landscaping. A fortress disguised as a luxury retreat.
The front door opens with a soft click. Inside, blue light bathes the open-concept living space emanating from a wall of screens. Alexi Ivanov hunches before them, his fingers flying across multiple keyboards. He doesn't turn as we enter.
“Perimeter secure,” he mutters, eyes fixed on his screen. “No tails.”
I study his setup while I can. Six monitors. Custom hardware. His workspace alone probably costs more than most people's homes. But it's the programs running across his screens that catch my attention—cutting-edge security protocols, some I recognize, others completely foreign.
The room itself is sparse but expensive. Marble Floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on nothing but trees. A perfect prison wrapped in modern architecture.
My mind catalogs entry points, security measures, and possible weaknesses—but I know it's futile. If Alexi Ivanov has declared this place secure, it is. His reputation in cybersecurity circles is legendary. He's the ghost in the machine, the hacker other hackers fear.
A hand at my elbow steers me toward a hallway. I commit every turn to memory, though I doubt I'll get a chance to use the information. These men don't make mistakes.
I try not to flinch as Erik emerges from the back room. Our eyes meet for a split second before I force myself to look away, but not before I notice how his stride falters. The memory of our encounter at the tech event burns fresh in my mind.
“Secure her,” Dmitri orders. I wonder why they are doing this themselves instead having their men handle me, but it’s most likely because they want to keep my kidnapping and location to a need to know basis.
Erik's hands are surprisingly gentle as he guides me to a chair. His fingers brush my shoulders as he secures my wrists, and I can't stop the shiver that runs through me at his touch. The contact feels electric and dangerous. I hold myself rigid, fighting the urge to lean into his warmth.
“Careful with the merchandise,” Nikolai's voice drips with amusement. “We need her intact for leverage.”
Erik steps back, but I can feel his gaze on me like a physical weight. It traces the line of my neck and follows the fall of my hair. The intensity of his attention makes my skin prickle.
“I'm not merchandise,” I snap, testing the restraints. They're secure but not cruel. “And if you think?—”
“Save your breath, princess.” Dmitri cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “You'll be our guest until your father learns to play nice.”
I notice Erik hasn't moved far, positioning himself where he can keep me in his sightline. His face remains impassive, but there's something in his eyes that makes my pulse quicken.
“Need anything else with the prisoner, Erik?” Alexi's voice holds a teasing note. “Maybe you'd like to personally handle her interrogation?”
Erik's jaw clenches. “Someone needs to keep watch.”
“I'm sure you'll keep a very close watch,” Nikolai says as they file out. “Especially on certain... assets.”
The door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone with Erik. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension. I shift in my chair, testing the restraints again while watching him from beneath my lashes. His gaze hasn't left me since the others departed.
Heat crawls up my neck at the memory of his brothers' suggestive comments. I force myself to meet his eyes, channeling years of boardroom negotiations into my voice. “Your brothers seem to think there's something between us.”
Erik's expression doesn't change, but his shoulders tense. He moves closer, checking my restraints with clinical precision. His fingers brush my wrist, and electricity shoots through me at the contact.
“They talk too much,” he says.
I lean forward slightly, letting my hair fall across my shoulder. “And what do you think?”
His hands pause on the restraints. For a moment, I think I've miscalculated. Then his thumb traces a small circle on my inner wrist, so light I almost miss it.
“I think you're dangerous.” His words come out barely above a whisper.
“Me?” I arch an eyebrow, playing innocently while my heart races. “I'm the one tied to a chair.”
He steps back, but his eyes linger on where my blouse has slipped slightly off one shoulder. I resist the urge to squirm under his intense gaze. If I can just get him to lower his guard...
“You know exactly how dangerous you are.” His voice holds a note of accusation. “I've seen your work. Your mind is a weapon.”
The compliment catches me off guard. Most men fixate on my looks or my family name. Erik sees past both to what really matters—my capabilities.
I tilt my head, studying him. “Are you afraid of what I might do with it?”
His lips twitch. “I'm more concerned with what you're trying to do right now.”
Caught. But instead of anger, I see something like admiration in his eyes.
I shift in the chair, testing his reaction. “And what am I trying to do?”
Erik's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. He takes another step back, widening the space between us. His eyes sweep over me, and I catch the way his gaze lingers on my lips, my neck, the curve of my shoulder.
“You're trying to manipulate me.” His voice comes out rough. “It won't work.”
“Maybe I just enjoy the conversation.” I arch my back, stretching my stiff muscles. His eyes track the movement before snapping back to my face. “You must get bored, standing guard.”
“I don't get bored.” His fingers flex at his sides, betraying tension. “And I don't chat with prisoners.”
I lean forward, letting my hair fall across my face. “Then why are you still talking to me?”
He moves with startling speed, closing the distance between us. His hands grip the arms of my chair, caging me in. The heat of his body radiates against mine, and my breath catches at his proximity.
“Stop.” The word comes out like gravel. His eyes bore into mine. “Whatever game you're playing, stop.”
I tilt my chin up, meeting his intensity. “Or what?”
For a moment, the air crackles between us. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel his breath stutter. Then he jerks back as if burned, retreating to the far wall. His posture is rigid, with his hands clasped behind his back in a military stance.
“Or I'll have someone else guard you.” But there's a roughness to his voice that betrays him.
I hide my smile. Erik Ivanov's control might be legendary, but I've seen the cracks already. Now, I just need to widen them.