Chapter 5
CINDY
Two weeks in Luka Markovic’s world feels less like survival and more like captivity dressed in silk. Endless food, an open bar, a theater, two pools—the whole fantasy package.
Too bad fantasies still have locks on the doors.
I don’t know where I stand here—hostage, guest, house pet? The roles keep changing.
I’ve stopped planning escapes. Mac’s happy. Leo’s laughter has filled the quiet corners. Even the staff have started seeing me instead of pretending they don’t.
But it’s a strange kind of peace—the kind that hums under your skin, waiting for the next order to break it.
What's happening in the outside world? Did Charles replace me at the garage? Is he telling customers I'm sick? Do I even have a job to go back to? What about my apartment and my few possessions?
And how long is this going to last? Forever? A month? Another week?
Every time I try to get answers from Luka, he gives me that stone-faced stare and changes the subject. The man is a vault when it comes to information about my future.
I'm in limbo, and I hate it.
Leo is in the study with his tutor. The kid is really smart, but I sense the trauma. It’s like my soul recognizes his pain. His attention span only goes so far before he starts fidgeting and staring out the window longingly.
I don’t know if it’s Luka who came up with the one hour of school and then two hours of playing or art or swimming, but it’s smart. It works for Leo.
I decide to take advantage of some alone time and do a little snooping. If anyone asks—I’m exploring.
Most of the house is open to me now, except for Luka's private office and a few rooms that stay locked. But there are plenty of other spaces I haven't fully investigated.
That's how I find myself rifling through the kitchen junk drawer while the housekeeper is upstairs cleaning rooms.
The drawer looks ordinary—menus, dead batteries, rubber bands stretched to exhaustion. My fingers brush plastic. Slim. Heavy. Too sleek to belong in a kitchen full of crumbs.
A phone. Still warm from whoever ditched it.
This was what I was looking for. Like any good mob boss, I’ve noticed Luka has, like, a million phones. Burners. I’ve seen some of his guards carry around two to three phones. For whatever reason, they’ll discard a phone and get a new one. Like, a lot.
Okay, I know the reason. They don’t want it traced back to them.
I’ve tried before—slipping fingers close, pretending curiosity while his guards watched. They’re always too careful.
But today, luck cracks the door open. And I’m reckless enough to walk straight through.
I slip it into the waistband of my jeans and make sure my t-shirt covers the phone. I rush to one of the three massive fridges and grab a can of soda and one of the sandwiches the cook always leaves. I do my best to look casual as I walk back to my room.
I know there are cameras everywhere. I smile at one of the guards before I slip into my room.
I quickly lock the door behind me. Mac lifts his head from the bed in the corner.
Luka bought the bed for Mac. He said it was because he didn’t want the dog all over the bed, but I think it’s because he secretly likes Mac.
I drop the sandwich on the bed. I pop the tab and take a long drink from the can.
“Please, let this work.”
My hands shake as I turn it on. The battery is nearly dead, but there's enough juice for one call. Maybe two, if I'm lucky.
I dial Charles's number from memory.
"Hello?" His voice sounds strained, exhausted.
"Charles, it's me. It's Cindy."
"Cindy! Where the hell are you? Are you okay? We've been—"
"I'm fine," I interrupt, glancing toward the door to make sure I'm still alone. "Listen, I need you to help me. I need you to call the police or—"
"No!" The word comes out sharp, panicked. "No police. You can't call the police."
"What do you mean I can't—"
"They'll kill us all if you involve cops. Please, Cindy. You have to help us. We're in so much deeper than I thought. They want more money, and we don't have it. If you could just ask him—"
"Ask him what?" Rage builds in my chest like a wildfire. "Charles, what the fuck did you do to get me taken?"
"It wasn't supposed to be you," he says, and I can hear him crying. Actually crying. "It was supposed to be Drew, but…” he takes a ragged breath, “Drew offered you instead.”
The phone nearly slips from my numb fingers.
Drew. Drew fucking offered me up like a sacrificial lamb to save his own worthless skin. At least he got a beating after trying to boss Luka around that day in the garage.
“Dad, please.”
I never call him Dad. Never. Maybe twice in the fifteen years he’s pretended to be my father.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so fucking sorry, Cindy. But if you could just talk to him, maybe convince him to give us more time—"
"You want me to help you?" My voice cracks with disbelief. "After what you let happen to me? Have you even tried to get me back?"
I know the answer.
"Please. Anna's scared, and Drew... Luka broke his ribs, Cindy.”
Good. I hope they break every fucking bone in his body.
"Cindy, are you there?"
I'm about to respond when I feel eyes on me.
That familiar prickle of awareness that means I'm being watched.
I turn slowly, the phone still pressed to my ear, and find Luka standing in the doorway.
His hazel gaze is colder than a Siberian winter.
He doesn't look angry, exactly—anger would be easier to handle. This is something much more dangerous.
Disappointment.
Betrayal.
The look of a man who's just been stabbed in the back by someone he was starting to trust.
He moves toward me with that predatory grace, never breaking eye contact. Each step is measured and controlled. Like he's hunting.
"Are you working against me?" His voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of a death sentence.
I fumble with the phone, my fingers suddenly clumsy. "Charles, I have to go—"
"Cindy, wait—"
Luka snatches the phone, drops it to the floor, and slams his booted foot on it. Then again.
When he pulls his foot away, there are pieces everywhere.
“Why?” Luka’s voice is full of hate.
"You stole me!" The words explode out of me before I can stop them. "You fucking kidnapped me from my life! I don't owe you shit! What do you mean, why?"
I can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. Every instinct screams at me to run, but there's nowhere to go.
I’m dead.
He’s going to kill me.
I take several steps back. I do have some self-preservation.
My escape is stopped when my back hits the wall.
His hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. Not hitting, not hurting, just... holding me captive with the sheer force of his presence.
I gulp down my fear. My chin raises, and I stare him in the eyes.
I know that’s the wrong move.
You never look an angry beast in the eyes.
"You'll learn," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear, "that betrayal has a price. Don't make me teach you."
Then he's gone, leaving me shaking against the wall.
I don't cry. Not while he might still be watching. I don’t know how I manage, but I walk to the door he’s left open.
I close it, but don’t bother locking it.
Clearly, locks don’t mean shit in this place.
I grab a pillow from the bed and scream into it until my throat is raw and my voice gives out completely.
Mac jumps onto the bed, his warm body pressing against my side. He licks the tears from my cheeks as I sob into his fur, clinging to the only constant I have left in this fucked-up world.
There has never been any love lost between Drew and me. He gave me away. I wasn’t his to give.
I wake to the soft creak of my bedroom door.
I stiffen, my whole body going into fight-or-flight mode.
I will fight to my death.
I open my eyes and, through the soft light of dawn, I see Leo's small silhouette slipping inside. His bare feet are silent on the hardwood floor as he approaches my bed, clutching something against his chest.
Mac's tail thumps once against the mattress in greeting, but he doesn't lift his head from where he's curled against my side. Smart dog knows when to stay quiet.
"Cindy?" Leo whispers, his voice barely audible. "Are you awake?"
“I am. Are you okay?”
“I got scared.”
I shift over to make room. He climbs up beside me without waiting for an invitation. He settles against my shoulder. Whatever he's holding crinkles softly—paper, maybe a drawing.
"You're not bad like they said," he murmurs into the darkness.
My throat constricts. "Who said I was bad, baby?"
"The men. They were talking in Russian, but I understand more than they think." His accent makes the words sound older than his six years. "They said Papa was foolish to trust you. That you would betray him like everyone else."
I close my eyes. Leo doesn't understand the complexities of what happened yesterday, but he knows something shifted.
"I'm not bad," I whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of his dark head. "But I made a mistake."
"Papa makes mistakes too," Leo says matter-of-factly. "Big ones. But he's still good inside."
The simple faith in his voice breaks something inside me. This kid has seen horrors I can only imagine, yet he still believes in redemption. Still believes people can be good despite their mistakes.
I hold him closer. "What did you bring me?"
He unfolds the paper between us. It’s one of his drawings. Even in the dim light, I can make out three figures standing in front of a house. A tall man in black, a woman with long hair, and a small boy. There's even a dog at their feet.
“It’s us,” he whispers. “Our family.”
The word barely leaves his mouth before it breaks something open in me.
For him, it’s a picture.
For me, it’s a trap I almost don’t want to escape.
"Leo, I need you to listen to me, okay?" I keep my voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill over. "Things might change around here. Your papa might decide I can't stay."
"No. You can't leave. You're my..."
He doesn't say the word, but I hear it anyway. The same word that slipped out during story time two nights ago. The word has been bouncing around in my head ever since.
“Shh, sleep,” I murmur.