Chapter 2 - Alisa
I sat on a stage under a fucking spotlight while the men who took me stood nearby, pretending this was normal.
I was shaking. Inside, outside—my whole body was trembling in tiny, invisible ways I couldn’t control. My hands were folded neatly in my lap, but my knuckles were white. My back was straight, and I kept my chin up in pride. But my lungs were hurting so bad that I felt like I was dying.
I couldn’t believe I was being sold. I was screaming at myself to run, but this room looked dangerous, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood for being chased, bound, and brought back here anywhere.
And then the winner was announced, and the minute I heard the name, I let out a gasp. It was a common name, I kept lying to myself, just until our eyes locked across the stage, and suddenly, I was twenty again; Stupid, naive, and breathless at the sight of him.
Dante Lebedev.
The man who’d taken my heart, crushed it into dust, and now stood there looking real as hell.
And the cherry on the cake? I was the prize.
His prize.
And judging by the announcer’s words, he’d just spent over seven million dollars to claim me.
It had been four years since he’d walked away without explanation, leaving me sobbing on my apartment floor, wondering what I’d done wrong.
And here he was. Walking up the stairs like nothing had changed, and he hadn’t shattered me out of the blue. Dressed in black, owning that arrogance of his and looking so much like trouble that I could barely breathe.
His hair was shorter now, swept back from his face, but still a little messy at the edges. And those green eyes—God, those eyes—were locked on me with that same impossible focus, the kind that used to make my heart race and my body forget how to behave.
My heart was hammering so hard that I thought it might crack my ribs. My palms went slick with sweat. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—my body was betraying me with every quickened pulse.
Fuck. Why him? Anyone but him.
Okay. I took that back. I was in a room full of criminals I didn’t know. Maybe Dante was the better bet.
But what the fuck was he doing here?
He couldn’t be one of them, could he?
But then again… he always said he had “his own businesses.”
He never explained what they were or answered any of my questions. Always dodged with that lazy grin and some throwaway line like “The less you know, the better.”
Back then, I thought it was charming and mysterious. Now it just felt like a neon red flag I’d been too busy falling in love to notice.
My stomach turned at the thought of how blind I’d been.
“Mr. Lebedev, congratulations again on your prize,” the announcer said.
I watched Dante approach, my entire body a live wire. My mouth dried up. My stomach twisted into knots. I forced myself to inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth. The way my yoga instructor had taught me.
The guard behind me shifted, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Stand up,” he ordered.
I did as I was told, my legs trembling beneath the satin dress they’d forced me into. The material was tight on my skin, making me feel more vulnerable than if I’d been naked. I was being sold like cattle, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
As for Dante, he didn’t look at the announcer or the guards. Just me.
There was no hesitation in his eyes—just that same magnetic pull that once made me forget how to protect myself.
God, I hated that I still felt it.
And suddenly I was back in that apartment where I’d last seen him, the sheets still warm from our bodies, his words cold as ice: “This isn’t working anymore. We’re done.”
There was no other explanation and no sweet goodbye. Just the click of my door as it closed behind him.
Now he stood in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—the same spicy, woody scent that used to linger on my pillows.
“Miss Montes,” he said, his voice exactly as I remembered it, deep and rough around the edges.
I stared back at him, tried to keep my face blank, and prayed he couldn’t see how fast my heart was racing. “Mr. Lebedev.”
The announcer stepped between us with a wide smile and placed his arms around both our shoulders in an ugly display of showmanship. “Congratulations on your acquisition, Sir. We trust you’ll find her… satisfactory.”
Dante didn’t even look at him when he walked up right next to me. “We’re leaving.”
Dante took my arm then, and the announcer stepped back, thank god. The only person in this room who didn’t seem like he’d be capable of dumping my body into a river the next day was Dante, and the fact that he was in this room itself made him just as dangerous.
But still, his hand on my arm sent electricity up my spine, and I hated myself for how my body still responded to him like a flower turning toward the sun.
The two guards who’d been flanking me stepped aside.
Just like that.
Seven million dollars, and I was transferred from one owner to another.
How the hell did I even end up here in the first place?
One minute, I’d been bringing my father a surprise—fresh blueberry muffins from his favorite bakery. I knew he was working late on a big case, like he always did. He was the Federal Prosecutor, Marc Montes, of course; The incorruptible hammer of justice, working tirelessly to keep New York safe.
At least that’s what I had thought.
I’d been about to knock on his office door when I heard my father talking to a couple of men. I figured he was still in a meeting, so I stayed put to wait until he got free.
“The shipment comes in on Tuesday. My people will handle the paperwork, but I need your guarantee that the port authority stays clear.”
“You’ll have it,” my father had said, his voice lower than usual. “But I want my cut up front this time. After that business with the Petrovs, I’m not taking chances.”
“And what would… taking a chance cost?”
My father took his time to give a number. “A hundred grand.”
I stood frozen as I noticed his voice didn’t even quiver. My father sounded confident, like this was just another day on the job for him and he’d done it a million times before. The box of muffins suddenly felt heavy in my arms, and my heart was pounding so loud I couldn’t hear the rest.
My father… he was taking a bribe without batting an eyelash.
I backed away in shocked disbelief and turned to leave. My face was burning. My hands were numb. It felt like the ground under me had cracked wide open and everything I believed had just… fallen through it.
I couldn’t believe my father was cutting deals with criminals. I didn’t remember the hazy, panicked walk back to my car. What I do remember is that just as I was about to open the door, a van pulled up beside me.
Two men.
A cloth over my mouth.
The struggle I put up.
Then darkness.
I’d woken up in a windowless room, been given a dress, and told to put it on. When I’d refused, one of the men had smiled and said, “Either you wear it, or I put it on you myself.” I’d changed quickly after that.
They hadn’t hurt me. In fact, they hadn’t touched me beyond what was necessary to move me from place to place.
But the threat had been there in their eyes, in the casual way they carried their guns, and in how they spoke about me like I wasn’t even in the room.
The whole time, I wondered if I’d been taken because of what I’d heard. If one of those men had seen me. They seemed dangerous… maybe that’s why my father did what he had to do.
And now they had come for me because I’d shown up at the wrong place at the right time. And my father? He must be worried sick in his search for me.
If he’d even noticed I’m gone.
Perhaps it hadn’t been long enough.
My father might have thought I was asleep in my apartment when, in fact, I was now being led off a stage by Dante Lebedev—a man who could be embedded in the criminal world my father had sworn to fight against.
Was my kidnapping connected to what I’d overheard? Or was this my father’s enemies making a move against him through me?
Dante’s hand was still on my arm as we descended the stage stairs, the crowd parting before us. I could feel eyes on us from every direction.
These people had been bidding on me like I was a piece of furniture. And Dante had outbid them all.
As soon as we were off the stage, I tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened slightly.
“Don’t,” he muttered, low enough that only I could hear. “Not yet.”
I gritted my teeth but let him lead me toward the exit. The ballroom suddenly felt endless, each step carrying me further into a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked when we were a few feet from the doors. “Why are you here? Why am I here?”
His jaw tightened. “Not now.”
I yanked my arm free the second we passed through the ballroom doors and into the marble-floored hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I snapped.
Just then, two men in black suits fell into step behind us—security, I guessed.
Dante’s security.
The realization hit me like a slap. Dante wasn’t just here by accident. Nor was he just mixed up with criminals.
Dante was Bratva. He had to be. The way people looked at him, deferred to him. The casual display of wealth and the bodyguards.
Yeah. He wasn’t just playing dress-up in the underworld. He belonged in it.
All those nights together, all those mornings waking up in his arms, and I’d never known.
“You lied to me,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.
He didn’t look at me. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“That’s the same damn thing.”
He didn’t say another word. He just kept walking toward the exit.
“Dante,” I hissed, jogging to keep up. “Wait.”
He stopped by a parked sports car, opening the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I stared at him, stunned. “Are you serious? I’m not getting in your car. I need a phone. I’m calling my dad.”
“Let me get you someplace safe first, okay?” he suggested, motioning at me again to get in.
For half a second, I almost said thank you. I don’t even know why. I think it was from the shock of it all, or maybe it was because out of all the monsters in that room, he was the only one I knew wouldn’t hurt me.
But then I remembered who he was. The Bratva. And that I wasn’t exactly safe.
“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on!” I screeched. “You’re going to let me go, aren’t you? You can’t seriously think you get to… keep me,” I whispered out the last two words.
His eyes met mine, and I swear he looked frustrated.
“Alisa,” he said softly. “Please just let me get you home.”
I hesitated, weighing my options. I could run, but where would I go without any cash or my phone? I didn’t even know where I was. I could scream, but no one here would help me. I mean, they were willing to bid on me.
The way I saw it, I was surrounded by his men, in a strange part of town, wearing nothing but a thin dress and heels.
“My address is the same. 41-12, 31st Avenue—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I remember.”
His voice was like gravel, and the fact that he remembered made my cheeks flush like a traitor. If he remembered, was it because he’d thought of me too?
God, no. Alisa. What was I doing? He and I? Never again.
Just so he couldn’t see how shaken I was, I slid into the passenger seat. Would it be so bad if I let him get me home?
Dante followed, settling beside me on the driver’s side.
The car pulled away from the curb in silence.
For a few minutes, I just watched the city pass in a blur. Dante sat next to me, his thigh close enough to brush mine. I could feel the heat of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne—musk, smoke, memory.
“So,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “you’re Bratva now?”
His eyes didn’t leave the window. “What makes you think I wasn’t before?”
That made my stomach flip.
I turned away from him, pressing my palm to the window like I could soak up some sense of reality.
I looked out the window, trying to get my bearings. We were heading downtown, the city lights blurring as we picked up speed.
“This isn’t the way to my apartment,” I said, a note of panic creeping into my voice.
“We’re not going to your apartment.”
Fear coiled in my stomach. “So where are you taking me?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Somewhere we can make this official.”
“Make what official?”
“Your protection.”
The car turned suddenly, pulling into a side street I didn’t recognize. My heart rate spiked. “Dante, where are we going?”
“To sign some papers.”
“What papers?”
He finally looked at me directly, his green eyes nearly black in the dim light. “Marriage papers.”
I stared at him, sure I’d misheard. “What?”
“You heard me.”