Chapter 10
LUKA
The rage builds slowly, like a cancer eating away at my chest as I stare at the laptop screen in my office. The blue glow illuminates my face in the darkness, but all I can see is red. Betrayal tastes like copper in my mouth, metallic and bitter.
"Run it again," I growl to Dimitri, my hacker, though we both know the results won't change.
His fingers dance across the keyboard. Dimitri is barely twenty-five, all nervous energy and caffeine addiction.
He's the best at what he does. Has to be in my line of work. The screen flickers, data streaming in real-time, and there it is again—the proof that's been gnawing at my gut for the past hour.
"Same result, boss," Dimitri says, his Russian accent thick with exhaustion. He only arrived from Moscow about six months ago. I’m slowly recruiting men I know I can trust, building up my organization a little at a time.
Dimitri yawns and rubs his hand over his face. "Someone inside the compound has been leaking movement data. Real-time locations of your security details, entry and exit times, and patrol routes. Everything."
I lean back in my leather chair. Shipments are going missing.
Deals falling through at the last second.
I suspect we have rats in the organization.
It wouldn’t be the first or the last time rats infiltrated any organization.
Foot soldiers looking to make a quick buck by selling information to rivals or the feds.
But this is different.
"The tracker signals," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "Show me the pattern again."
The screen shifts, showing a map of the compound overlaid with movement patterns. Small dots trace paths throughout the property, each one representing a tracked asset. Most follow predictable routes—my men going about their daily routines, security sweeps, and supply deliveries.
But one dot moves differently. Erratically. It's been in places it shouldn't be, at times that don't make sense.
Cindy’s tracker.
I don't trust anyone.
Especially not her.
"Boss?" Dimitri's voice seems to come from far away. "What are your orders?"
I'm already standing, my chair rolling back to hit the wall with a dull thud. The Glock at my hip feels heavier than usual as I check the chamber, muscle memory taking over while my mind races through possibilities. How long has she been feeding information to my enemies?
Was this always the plan—to get close to me, to Leo? Destroy my organization from within?
I tell myself they couldn’t have known I would bring her here. Keep her.
But she hasn’t tried to escape.
Did she seduce me?
The thought pisses me off. Was I that weak that I allowed a woman to seduce me?
The thought of her hands on my son, reading him bedtime stories while plotting our downfall, makes something violent and primal claw its way up my throat.
"Keep monitoring," I order Dimitri. "And prep the interrogation room."
Clever girl. Beautiful, damaged, clever girl who I actually thought might—
No, I stop that line of thinking before it can take root. Whatever I thought was happening between us, whatever moments of connection I imagined, it was all carefully calculated manipulation. She's been playing a longer game than I gave her credit for.
The tracker interface in my hand shows her current location: Leo's room.
Of course, she's with him.
Using my son as cover for whatever she's really doing. The rage that's been simmering in my chest explodes into something white-hot and consuming.
I take the stairs two at a time, my hand already on my gun. The door to Leo's room is slightly ajar.
I push the door open without knocking.
The scene that greets me would be touching under different circumstances.
Cindy is curled up on Leo's bed with him tucked against her side, both of them fast asleep.
The book has fallen from her relaxed fingers.
The nightlight that projects stars on the ceiling casts her in soft lighting. She looks almost angelic.
My eyes go to the necklace.
I clear my throat, and her eyes snap open immediately. For just a second, before she fully wakes up, there's something soft and unguarded in her gaze. She starts to smile.
Then she sees my face, and everything changes.
"Luka?" She sits up carefully, trying not to wake Leo. "What's wrong? You look—"
"Get up." I make it clear I’m not fucking around. "Now."
She blinks, confusion flickering across her features. "Leo's sleeping, and I—"
"I said get up." I step into the room.
She must see something in my posture because she immediately slides off the bed, moving to put herself between my son and me.
Protective. Even now, she's protective of him.
The thought would normally make me pause, maybe even make me reconsider. Instead, it only fuels my fury. How dare she use Leo's affection for her as a weapon? How dare she make him care about someone who's been planning our destruction?
"Outside," I growl, jerking my head toward the door. "Now."
She follows me into the hallway. She’s wearing the pajamas I personally picked out and had delivered.
I walk toward her bedroom.
She follows.
I throw open her door and wait for her to walk inside.
I close the door and glare at her. She has the good sense to take a few steps back. Her arms wrap around her middle like she’s trying to shield her body.
"How long?" The words explode out of me, low and dangerous.
"How long what?" She looks genuinely confused.
"How long have you been feeding information to my enemies?"
The color drains from her face so quickly that I think she might faint. "What? I don't—what are you talking about?"
"Don't." I take a step closer, crowding her against the wall. "Don't fucking lie to me. Not anymore."
"I'm not lying!" Her voice rises slightly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
I pull out my phone, shoving the tracker data in her face. "This is you. Your location data for the past few weeks. You want to explain to me why you've been in places you shouldn't be? Why your tracker has been pinging anomalous signals?"
She stares at the screen. I watch her face carefully for any tell, any sign that she understands what she's looking at. But there's nothing but genuine confusion.
"My tracker?" she says faintly. "What tracker?"
"The necklace.”
Her hand flies to her throat, fingers touching the small pendant. "This? This has a tracker?"
The shock in her voice is too real to be faked. No one is that good of an actress.
“You think I’m going to let you roam around my compound without knowing what you’re doing!”
"I had no idea!" She backs away from me, eyes wide. "God, I'm so stupid. Of course you'd bug me. Like I’m a fucking dog.”
Mac takes that second to pop his head up from the corner of the room. He seems to have just figured out his owner might be in danger.
"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in you right now."
I watch the fear bloom in her eyes. I hate myself for the part of me that enjoys seeing her finally understand what I'm capable of.
"Because I've done nothing wrong," she says defiantly. "Because I've spent every day for the past month taking care of your son. Because I've—"
"Prove it." The words come out like a gunshot. "Prove to me you're not working with my enemies."
"How? How the hell am I supposed to prove a negative?
" She's getting angry now, color returning to her cheeks.
"You want to know what I did today? I made Leo breakfast. Pancakes, because that's his favorite.
Then I helped him with his math homework while you were doing whatever the hell it is you do all day.
After that, we worked in the garage—you can check the security cameras. I taught him how to change oil.
“We had lunch, then he napped while I read in the library.
When he woke up, we played video games until dinner.
After dinner, I bathed him and read him three stories before he fell asleep.
That's my day, Luka. That's what I do every day. Remember, you fucking kidnapped me. I’m your prisoner. What makes you think I owe you shit? Loyalty? Fuck you.”
She's breathing hard now, hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You want receipts? Video footage? Do it. I don’t care. I'm not going to stand here and let you accuse me of betraying the only family I—"
She stops abruptly, as if she's said too much.
"The only family you what?" I press, but she just shakes her head.
The fury in me is reaching a crescendo, a red tide that threatens to wash away any remaining rational thought. She's standing there looking hurt and betrayed.
I reach for her necklace, my fingers closing around the delicate chain. She gasps, probably thinking I'm about to strangle her with it. Instead, I yank hard, breaking the clasp and pulling it free.
"Luka, wait—"
I slam the tracker against the wall and let it fall to the floor.
"Next time," I say, turning back to face her, "I'll put a bullet in you. I won’t fucking ask."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I expect her to fight back. Instead, her face crumples.
The first tear slides down her cheek silently, followed by another. Then her breath hitches—a small, wounded sound that cuts through me like a blade. Her hands come up to cover her face, but they can't muffle the sob that escapes.
"No," she whispers through her fingers. "No, not again. I can't do this again."
Her knees buckle. I watch her slide down the wall in slow motion, her spine dragging against the wallpaper until she hits the floor. She pulls her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible, like she's trying to disappear entirely.
The sobs come in waves now, each one ripping through her small frame. Her shoulders shake so violently I think she might fly apart. This isn't manipulative crying or angry tears. This is grief. Raw, bone-deep grief that speaks of old wounds torn fresh.
"I tried so hard," she gasps between sobs. "I tried to be good. To be what you wanted. What he wants. What everyone wants. But it's never enough. I'm never enough."
Each word is a knife between my ribs. Because I know that script. Know what it means to never be enough for the people who should protect you. Know how it feels when trust becomes just another weapon to be used against you.
It's the first time I've ever seen her cry. After everything I've put her through, she's never once broken down like this.
And I did it. I'm the one who finally broke her.
The rage drains out of me so suddenly that it leaves me hollow, replaced by something that feels suspiciously like shame. I stand there watching her fall apart. All I can think about is how small she looks, how utterly defeated.
I turn and walk away. Behind me, I can hear her crying. Each sob feels like a nail being driven into my chest.
I return to my study.
My hands are shaking.
Luka Markovic's hands are fucking shaking because I made a woman cry. Because I threatened to kill someone who's done nothing but love my son and try to survive in the hellish situation I forced her into.
I pour myself a glass of vodka. A whole fucking glass.
I don’t know why, but I have to see if it was bullshit. Did she turn on the waterworks to try and deflect?
I walk to the monitor and turn on the screen. I had cameras installed so I could keep an eye on her. She’s in bed now, still crying.
I sip my vodka, watching her like the fucking stalker I've become. Five minutes pass. Ten. She's stopped crying but hasn't moved from the bed. Just lies there, curled around that ugly mutt like he's the only thing keeping her anchored.
I should turn off the monitor. Give her privacy in her pain. Instead, I pour another drink and keep watching, cataloging every shudder, every hitched breath. This is what I am—a man who watches suffering he's caused and does nothing to stop it.
At the fifteen-minute mark, she finally sits up, wiping her face with the heel of her hand. She looks directly at the hidden camera—or seems to. My hand freezes halfway to my glass.
"I know you're watching," she says to the empty room, voice raw but steady. "You always watch."
My chest constricts. Of course she knows. She's too smart not to have figured out my surveillance. Too observant to miss the tells.
When Leo pushes open her door five minutes later, I'm already on my feet. He pads across the room and climbs into bed with her.
"Cindy? Why are you crying?"
"I'm okay, sweetheart. Just had a sad dream."
"About dragons?"
A watery laugh. "Something like that."
"Want me to slay them for you? Papa taught me how to punch really hard."
"You're so brave, Leo. So much braver than me."
I listen to them settle back into sleep, her breathing eventually evening out, though I can still hear the occasional shaky inhale. I realize something that terrifies me more than any enemy I've ever faced.
I'm not afraid of her betraying me.
I'm afraid of losing her.