Chapter 3 – Jennie
Before I can react to the intimidating presence in front of me, he steps inside, and the whole apartment suddenly feels too small.
Too narrow.
Too quiet.
He’s massive—broad in a way that fills the doorway, commanding in a way that makes the air feel heavier. He moves like a shadow with intent. Like someone who isn’t used to asking for permission.
I step back instinctively, my heartbeat ticking up. He’s wearing a suit—sleek, dark, expensive—but his knuckles are wrapped in white bandages, pinked with blood. That contradiction alone sends warning bells ringing in my head.
He doesn’t belong here.
Not in this apartment. Not in my life.
Not anywhere near me.
But God, he’s beautiful.
Not in a model-on-a-billboard kind of way, but in the way fire is beautiful—hypnotic, dangerous, too bright to stare at for too long. His dark hair is tousled, like he ran his hands through it out of frustration. His jaw is sharp, tight. And his eyes—green and cutting—don’t blink nearly enough.
He looks like a man who hasn’t slept in days.
And yet, somehow, he’s looking at me like I’m the thing keeping him awake.
He steps in farther, closing the door behind him.
The sound makes me flinch.
“Who are you?” I ask, voice smaller than I want it to be. “And why are you here?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “You said ‘you?’ when you saw me.”
I nod, still backing up until my heel hits the edge of the coffee table. “Yeah. I thought I’d seen you before. You look like…one of the Bratva men who came to my door yesterday.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. Can he tell I’m lying? Will he punish me for it?
Because the truth is, I know who he is. There’s no warm-blooded female who’s ever encountered Adrian Rusnak that could forget him.
His face is carved by angels, and his body is to die for.
He also plays a very important role in the Bratva, so he’s always at Zoe and Lukin’s parties, even if just for a short while.
So yes, I do know him, but I’m not going to stand here and chitchat with him like we’re friends because he might look like an angel, but he’s evil personified.
When he doesn’t respond, I force myself to straighten, to breathe. “Are you with them? Is this about my brother?”
For a beat, he says nothing.
His silence is loud. Heavy.
Then, finally, his voice—low and deliberate—slips into the space between us. “What makes you think you’ve seen me before?”
I blink. “I—I just said. You look like—”
“No,” he says. “Not them. Me.”
There’s something unnerving in the way he says it. Almost like…he’s waiting for me to remember something I shouldn’t. Something I don’t even know I’ve forgotten.
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know you.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t confirm or deny.
That’s what makes it worse.
“I’m Adrian Rusnak. I’m not here for your piece of shit brother. I’m here for you.”
I gasp, not knowing whether to be offended at the rude way he addressed my brother, or be intrigued that he’s here for me. I choose the latter. Logan stole millions from him; he’s entitled to calling him a piece of shit. But why’s he here for me?
“Why are you here for me?” My eyes roam his face, searching his piercing green eyes. Goodness gracious, he’s beautiful.
I stare at him, trying to read his face. His posture. His expression. Anything.
But he’s unreadable.
Cold. Still. Like a man carved from quiet war. He shoves his hands into his pockets and pins me with a stare.
“Your brother will die tonight,” he says. “Unless you’re ready to trade your life for his.”
I blink. “What?”
“You will marry me,” he continues, voice like ice melting over steel. “Tonight. Or Logan gets buried at dawn.”
A sharp breath escapes my chest before I can stop it.
For a moment, I think maybe I misheard him. Maybe this is some terrible joke. A really, really messed-up joke.
I laugh. Short, breathless, disbelieving. “You must be joking.”
He doesn’t blink.
His eyes stay locked on mine, green and bottomless.
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
The laughter drains out of me like blood from a wound.
No. He doesn’t.
He looks like a nightmare dressed in black.
And he’s standing in my living room like he belongs here.
My mouth goes dry. “If you’re not joking…then you’re insane. You’re completely out of your damn mind.”
That’s when he smiles.
Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.
Like a wolf who’s heard a mouse squeak.
“You’ll learn,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “not to speak to me like that. Ever again.”
Then he turns.
Just like that. Like I’m not worth another second.
He’s almost at the door when I shout, “I’ll go to the police!”
His hand pauses on the knob.
“I’ll go to the police,” I say again, louder, braver than I feel. “They’ll find Logan. They’ll arrest whoever’s behind this. You can’t just—”
He turns back to me.
Slowly.
That look in his eyes—God. I hate it.
The hunger. The stillness. The fire.
It scares me.
And it sets something else off, too. Something sharp and hot in my blood that I pretend I don’t feel.
“I’ve been calling him,” I say, my voice shaking. “Since yesterday. He hasn’t picked up. Which only means your people—you—you’ve kidnapped him.”
He doesn’t deny it.
Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a phone. One swipe, one tap, and he’s holding it up for me to see.
It’s Logan.
Tied to a chair, face bruised and swollen, lip split open. His chest rises and falls in weak, shallow gasps. His head is down, but I can tell he’s alive.
Barely.
I press a hand to my mouth, nausea crawling up my throat.
Adrian lowers the phone. “Yes, I’ve kidnapped him. What are you going to do about it?”
I swallow another wave of nausea, my eyes spitting fire at him.
“Do you really think the police scare me, kroshka?” he asks, voice thick with amusement.
Then he laughs.
A dark, rich sound that curls around the room like smoke.
And in that moment, I know.
This man isn’t bluffing.
This is real.
And I’ve just stepped into a nightmare I can’t escape. No. Logan has pushed me into a nightmare I can’t escape.
The tears come fast.
I don’t even try to stop them.
One second, I’m frozen in shock, and the next, I’m sobbing—gut-wrenching, full-body crying like I haven’t done in years. The kind of crying that steals air and leaves your throat raw.
I crumple onto the couch like my legs have given out, burying my face in my hands.
This can’t be real.
This cannot be real.
But it is.
Because Logan is somewhere bleeding.
And the man who has him is standing in my living room, calm as a Sunday morning, talking about marriage like it’s a business deal.
My hands shake. My chest aches. I feel like I’m unraveling.
And he just stands there.
Adrian doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch me.
But I feel him.
His presence fills the room like a second heartbeat. He’s watching me with those sharp, unreadable eyes. I can feel the heat of him on my skin, the tension curling in the air between us like static.
I hate that I notice it.
Hate that some part of me registers how close he is. How aware I am of him.
God, what is wrong with me?
“Why…” I choke out, lifting my head, my voice small and broken. “Why are you doing this to me?”
He doesn’t even flinch.
There’s no hesitation in him at all. Just steady, brutal truth.
“Because I’ve wanted you for a very long time,” he says.
My stomach flips.
He keeps going.
“I watched you. Protected you. Waited. I could never justify taking you before—not when you were so far from my world. Not when you were so soft. So untouched.”
His voice lowers, dark and intimate, like a secret slicing through the quiet.
“But now I have a claim. One I didn’t have before.”
He takes a step closer—not touching, just nearer. Just enough to make the space between us feel electric.
“You want Logan to live,” he says. “Then you’ll marry me.”
I stare at him, tears clinging to my lashes, heart breaking and burning at the same time.
“Your tears won’t change my mind, kroshka. Sorry, I’m not that kind of man. I’m selfish and greedy. I want what I want, when I want it.”
I look up at him, blood burning, voice shaking. “I just…I just need time to think—”
He laughs.
Not a chuckle. Not a breath of amusement.
A full, sharp, dark laugh that slices through the air like a blade.
“Think?” he echoes, cocking his head. “You think you have time?”
I go still.
He steps closer, just one step, but it’s enough to send fresh panic racing through my chest.
“Your brother has lived long enough for a traitor,” he says, calmly. Too calmly. “Anyone else who stole from us? Dead on the spot. No negotiations. No mercy.”
He leans forward, voice low.
“Logan is only breathing because of you. Because I wanted you. You are the only reason he’s not already in a grave.”
I clutch my arms to my chest, heart thundering, lips trembling.
“And if I walk out that door without you tonight…” he continues, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “Logan becomes a message. A very loud, very painful message.”
“No,” I whisper, horrified.
He just shrugs, like he’s discussing the weather.
“Because you said no to me,” he adds. “And I don’t take rejection well, kroshka.”
I gasp, taking a shaky step back. “You’re evil. I hate you.”
His eyes flash with something wicked—delight, hunger, maybe both.
He grins, all sharp teeth and slow menace.
“Tick tock, moya obsessiya.” His voice is like gravel, like velvet soaked in gasoline. “Will you marry me?”
My breath almost stops. I can’t do this. I really can’t.
I want to call someone.
Zoe. Maria. Anyone.
I want to scream and tell them that one of their deranged family members is in my apartment, standing there like he owns the place—and maybe worse, like he owns me.
But he’s watching me.
Not blinking. Not moving.
And I know what that look means. He wants an answer. Now.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe, but the tears just keep coming. My heart is thudding so loud it drowns out everything.
I think about Logan.
God, Logan.
I remember the time I told him—just once, offhandedly—that I was being bullied in middle school.
I didn’t mean for him to do anything. Just wanted to talk.
To vent. But the next morning, he showed up at my school, stormed into my classroom, and told every single kid who made my life hell that if they so much as looked at me wrong again, he’d make them regret it.
He got arrested. Of course he did. But the bullying stopped.
After that, I was respected.
That was Logan. Messy. Reckless. Ruined in so many ways. But loyal in the ways that mattered. He wasn’t always around, but when I needed him—really needed him—he showed up.
Now it’s my turn.
It doesn’t matter that this high road I’m about to take feels like a straight walk into a cage.
It doesn’t matter that it’s permanent.
It doesn’t matter that I’ll never get my old life back.
If it means keeping Logan alive…I’ll do it.
I lift my chin, wipe my tears, and meet Adrian’s eyes. “I’ll marry you.”
His lips twitch into a slow, satisfied smile. Like he’s just claimed a prize he’s been chasing for years.
“Good.”
“But not tonight,” I rush. “Please. I need to catch my breath. I need my friends. I need—”
“Then tomorrow,” he says.
“Okay.”
“We’ll get married tomorrow,” he affirms. “Pack your bags. I’m moving you out of this hellhole.”
Then he turns and walks to the door, calm as ever, like we just talked about the weather. He doesn’t even glance back.
The door slams shut behind him.
And I collapse back onto the floor.
The silence crashes over me like a wave, and all I can do is sit there, knees to my chest, staring at the front door.
My voice is gone. My thoughts are spinning. My future—whatever it was—is over.
I’m getting married tomorrow.
To a monster.