31. Sasha
31
SASHA
I stumble over a root as they push me deeper into the woods. My breath puffs out in quick bursts. Roman walks behind me with the gun, silent. Lev leads, a step ahead, like we’re on a fucking nature walk and not…this.
Kidnapped. Taken.
I’m too stunned to scream. Too scared for it to help.
I wrap my arms around myself, half to protect the bump I know isn’t showing yet and half because I’m shaking too hard to do anything else.
We stop near an old utility shed, almost swallowed by moss and trees. It looks like no one’s touched it in years.
“Get inside,” Lev says casually, like he’s inviting me into a summer rental. “We’ll talk somewhere private.”
I hesitate. Roman nudges me forward with the barrel of the gun.
Inside, it’s dark, musty, but not falling apart. There’s a cot in the corner. A lantern. Bottled water. A chair.
Which one of those is for me? I don’t want to find out.
Lev closes the door behind him, and Roman posts up just outside like some kind of loyal bouncer. Funny. Loyalty seems to be a flexible concept out here.
I turn toward Lev. “Why are you doing this?”
He lifts a brow. “You already know why.”
“Humor me.”
He walks to the lantern and clicks it on. The dim glow stretches across the room, turning his features even colder. “You’re Damien’s weakness. I like knowing where a man’s strings are. Especially when I want to pull them.”
I swallow. My throat feels like it’s full of cotton.
“And Roman?” I ask quietly. “He followed Damien for years. Why betray him now?”
Lev shrugs. “Because Damien stopped thinking about the people who put him on his throne. Power makes men stupid. Forgetful. He started playing house instead of remembering who he owes.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I say. “I didn’t ask to be part of your pissing match.”
Lev smiles, unbothered. “No one ever asks. You just…become useful.”
I flinch. My hand presses instinctively to my stomach.
“You’re scared,” he says, watching me. “You should be. But not for yourself.”
My breath catches.
“Yes, I know about the baby,” he says calmly.
“Don’t touch me,” I say quickly, my voice shaking. “If you even think about hurting this baby?—”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lev says. “That’s the thing about leverage. It only works if it’s intact.”
I hate how he says it. It. Not me.
He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. “Eventually, he’ll come looking for you. He always does the noble thing. Men like Damien…they never learn. That’s what makes them so easy to break.”
I look him dead in the eyes. “You don’t know him like you think.”
Lev just smiles. “We’ll see.”
And the door shuts behind him.
The second the door shuts, I exhale—shaky, uneven, loud. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until the silence feels deafening.
My legs give out. I sink onto the cold, dusty cot, curling my arms around myself.
The baby. The baby. The baby.
It’s all I can think.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be here—alone, terrified, kidnapped by two men who used to stand in Damien’s inner circle like family.
Damien…
My heart aches at the thought of him. I told myself I was done. That I didn’t need him. That I could walk away from that world. From him .
And now I’d give anything to see his face.
The lantern buzzes quietly in the corner. I have no idea what time it is. No phone. No windows. My mind keeps looping through the same questions.
Why me?
Why the baby?
Why now?
The door creaks open again, hours—or maybe minutes—later.
Roman steps inside with a bottle of water. “Here,” he says flatly, holding it out like a bone to a starving dog.
I stare at him. “Go to hell.”
“You need it.”
“You need a conscience.”
I don’t know what flips in me, but I don’t take the water. I swat it from his hand, sending it flying across the floor where it rolls and settles by the far wall.
He looks down at the bottle. And then without hesitation— crack .
His hand strikes my face.
The sting is immediate. Blinding. My head jerks sideways, eyes burning, a metallic taste blooming on my tongue. For a second, everything spins.
“I won’t hesitate to hurt you,” he says, voice deadly calm. “You think I won’t hit a pregnant woman? Try me again.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My cheek throbs, and I’m shaking too hard.
Roman crouches in front of me, studying me like I’m some disappointing student.
“I didn’t want to do that,” he says. “But you need to understand the stakes.”
“You used to be his friend,” I whisper.
Roman’s face hardens. “I was his brother.”
My face stings. My eyes blur. I taste blood and humiliation and rage, all tangled together.
Roman straightens slowly. Like that was supposed to teach me something. Like hurting me is just a chore he’s resigned to.
He turns toward the door but hesitates. And then—without looking at me—he speaks.
“You want to know why I’m here?” he says. “Why I turned on him?”
I don’t respond. I don’t trust my voice not to crack.
He exhales. Not annoyed. Just…tired. He leans against the wall, arms folded like he’s been carrying this story for too long.
“Fifteen years ago,” he starts, “I ran everything on the East Coast for Damien. Quietly. Clean. I built the pipeline. I kept the cops off his ass. I took the bullets so he didn’t have to. That’s how it works in the Bratva—you build for the one above you.”
He glances down. “And when it came time to hand out territory…you know what he gave me?”
I don’t answer.
“Nothing. He passed me over. Said I’d be more useful by his side. Watching his back. Said he needed me close.” Roman scoffs. “But then he started bringing in new people. Outsiders. Americans. Guys who’d never spilled a drop of blood for this organization.”
His jaw tightens. “He trusted them with the future.”
Now his eyes land on me. Cold. Controlled. But not empty. Never empty.
“I gave him everything. And in return, I got a pat on the head and a lifetime sentence as second-best. A servant. Not a partner.”
My stomach sinks. The resentment rolls off him like heat. Not madness. Not greed.
Betrayal.
“And Lev?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Lev offered me what Damien never would,” Roman says. “A seat at the table. Not behind it.”
“So you sold Damien out.”
He shrugs. “Loyalty means nothing when it’s only one-sided.”
I wipe my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater. “And me? The baby?”
Roman’s face hardens again. “I don’t care about the kid, Sasha. This was never about you. But you’re his weak spot. So yeah…you’re a pawn. One he’ll move heaven and earth for. And when he does, Lev will be waiting.”
He pushes off the wall and heads for the door.
I call out to him. “Roman.”
He pauses.
“You really think Lev will share power with you?”
Roman doesn’t turn around. “He will…until he doesn’t. But by then, I’ll be too powerful to matter.”
And then he’s gone.
And I’m left in the silence, realizing just how deep this betrayal goes.
The second the door clicks shut behind Roman, I crumble.
Not outwardly. Not the full sobbing mess I was tempted to become hours ago. But inside—my chest caves in around the silence.
Everything feels heavier now. The air. My limbs. The sheer weight of knowing what they’re planning. What I’ve become in this game between monsters.
A pawn. A lure. A crack in Damien’s armor.
I press both hands over my belly and let my forehead rest against the wall behind the cot, blinking up at the beams above like I’m waiting for some divine intervention to drop through the ceiling and pull me out of here.
But I know better.
No one’s coming.
And the worst part?
I hope Damien doesn’t come.
I hope he’s far, far away from wherever this place is. I hope he’s with his mother. With Oleg. I hope he’s safe and raging at the world and tearing apart every lead without getting too close.
Because if he walks into this?—
If he comes for me?—
If he fights for me?—
They’ll hurt him.
They’ll kill him.
I’d rather die than let that happen.
I never got to say it. Never told him what was growing inside me. Never told him that I started falling for him long before he pinned me to that elevator wall. I was already lost the moment his text messages turned low and dangerous and sweet. The moment I realized the man I was falling in love with was the same man I thought I hated.
And now…now it’s too late.
I blink hard, trying to chase away the tears that sting at the corners of my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, one hand still cradling my stomach. “I should’ve told you. About the baby. About everything.”
My voice cracks. My chest twists.
“But please…don’t come. Stay away. Please just be okay.”
There’s no answer.
Just the buzz of the lantern. The distant sound of wind shaking the trees.
I sit there for a while, whispering prayers to no one, my hand resting protectively over my stomach. I don’t even know what time it is. The light from the lantern is starting to dim, casting long shadows on the peeling wooden walls of the shed.
The air feels colder now.
I shift on the cot, reaching down—out of habit—toward the pocket of my coat.
Empty.
I pat down the other side. Still nothing.
A knot tightens in my chest.
My bag.
My phone.
I scramble off the cot, running to the far corner where I remember Roman tossing my things in the back of the car—but there’s nothing here. Nothing except that goddamn bottle of water still lying sideways on the floor, like it’s mocking me.
My chest heaves as it hits me.
My phone isn’t here.
My fingers grip my coat tighter. Dread climbs up my spine like cold, skeletal fingers. My throat goes dry.
They took it. What are they going to do with it?