Chapter 4 - Elena
The shock doesn’t hit me all at once. Instead, it comes in waves, hot then cold, and completely disorienting. It crashes over me again and again, until I can’t tell which parts are real and which ones are made up out of pure panic.
I feel more like a spectator as I sit in a leather chair in an office somewhere, staring at a stack of papers I don’t recognize or understand. It’s a bunch of legal jargon that doesn’t make any sense, and all the while, expensive cologne threatens to take me out.
We’re surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, completely glass but opaque enough that I couldn’t see what was inside before we came in, aside from the soft, reflected glow of city lights. Somewhere below us, late-night traffic and the usual tourists create a distant hum.
Wyatt—or Vic, apparently—stands behind me, looming there like he expects something of me that he hasn’t fully explained yet.
He doesn’t touch me, but I can feel him there, solid and imposing. His presence somehow presses between my shoulder blades.
My fingers faintly tremble as I hold a pen. Whether it's lingering adrenaline from the car chase we found ourselves in, or the fact that I’m still with a man I don’t know, who claims to want to keep me safe, it doesn’t seem to matter.
“What is this?” I ask, looking up from the empty signature line to look the lawyer over again.
“It’s a formality,” the man says simply, gazing through small, round glasses perched on his nose.
He’s older, silver-haired, and has eyes sharp enough to make me question what kind of lawyer he really is.
He doesn’t seem clueless about the darker aspects of things unfolding around him, as some do. “It’s a protection, if you will.”
My hesitation lingers. “Protective how?”
“Protective…legally,” he responds with a small, polite smile. It tells me absolutely nothing.
Glancing over my shoulder, I look towards my apparent savior for answers, but he doesn’t meet my eyes for some reason. His jaw is tight, and his expression looks carved from stone.
“Vic?” The lawyer prompts lightly, “If you’d like to explain the details—”
“Just sign it,” he utters instead. The words are low and controlled, but not entirely unkind. They aren’t exactly gentle either.
Every instinct in me screams not to do it. Signing anything can lead to problems, especially when I don’t know what my signature is being collected for anyway.
“Is this some kind of guardianship form? I know I look young, but I’m not a child.”
“I know you aren’t,” he mumbles, sounding vaguely annoyed at the mere doubt. “I’m not adopting you. I’m trying to prevent worse things than what happened tonight.”
From the look in his eyes, I know he means it. At least, he believes that what just happened, maybe half an hour ago, could be just the start for me, and regardless of what he has planned, he’s doing it for me. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.
My stomach twists. “I still don’t understand.”
With a breath, he steps forward, leaning closer like it’s a warning in itself. The smell of him surrounds me in a tangle of leather, gun powder, and something else beneath it all. His voice drops quiet enough for only me to hear it.
“I don’t have time to walk you through every clause. But I wouldn’t pull you out of there just to put you in more danger. This keeps you alive.”
I force myself to ignore the way his gentle breath against the back of my neck makes me shiver. “That’s not reassuring.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s the truth.”
As we stare at each other a moment longer, the lawyer clears his throat and neatly taps the stack of papers in his hands to straighten them out. “I assure you, Vic has retained my services for several years now. He wouldn’t have you here if it weren’t necessary.”
Necessary. How is any of this necessary?
I have my brothers for protection. If anyone were to come after me, they’d have my back.
But the longer I consider that fact, the harder it is for me to forget what happened earlier. Despite having complete faith in them, they had no idea I was taken from the club. Even now, they still haven’t intervened. They still don’t know.
My mind flickers back to the gunfire, the bullets caught in the back window, and the way that vehicle rammed into the cement median despite having every chance in the world to flee and make it out alive.
I think about how quickly Wyatt reacted, and how easily he risked his own life just to get me out of there alive.
Swallowing hard, a touch of resigned guilt trickles into my system.
I don’t trust him, but I trust the Grimaldi family less, along with anyone else who might view me as a piece of meat to be traded on a whim.
So I sign it.
The pen scratches too loudly against the paper, grating against my skull. I write in my usual cursive hand, putting the pen down with a deep breath before I push the paper towards the lawyer.
Without missing a beat, he smiles and collects it, seemingly glad that our back and forth is finally over. “Excellent.”
Everything is slipped into a folder, as if he just closed a routine deal, looking far too satisfied. Enough so that it sets off another quiet alarm in my mind.
“I’ll handle the remaining filings and details within the next forty-eight hours.”
Wyatt nods once. “Send me confirmation.”
The man nods. “Of course, Vic. As soon as it’s done, you’ll be the first to know.”
Sitting there still, I blink.
Vic.
Something about that fake name sounds formal in a way, like it belongs to a man who has done this before. One who knows how to bend systems to work for him and isn’t above using money to get what he wants.
Code names aren’t an uncommon thing in these spaces, but hearing the lawyer call him Vic only makes me more curious about what he’s hiding, or why only some people know him by this name.
Before I can dwell on it too long, his hand closes around my wrist with deliberate purpose.
“We’re done here.”
My brows furrow as I try weakly to pull back against him, but his hold stays firm. “That’s it?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
With ease, he pulls me up from the chair and steers me toward the door. The lawyer doesn’t blink as he turns to his computer like nothing of significance just happened, and he lets us go without another word.
The elevator ride down is silent while my heart pounds harder with every floor we descend, and by the time we step into the underground parking garage, my shock and numbness curdle into something even sharper. Something angrier.
Our every step echoes within the enclosed space, and Wyatt releases my wrist as we approach the car, reaching for his key fob.
But it all hits me at once, reminding me that none of this is normal, regardless of how cool and collected he’s being.
I stop, brows furrowing. “What the hell is going on?”
Wyatt looks at me now, seemingly confused by my outburst. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“This!” I say, gesturing vaguely between us, completely exasperated. “You…dragging me into an office and making me sign paperwork I don’t understand, and then walking away as if nothing happened.”
“It is nothing,” he mutters.
Thoroughly annoyed by his flippant attitude about it all, I refuse to move from my place, arms crossed over my chest. “Then explain it.”
He exhales, more like I’m inconveniencing him now, then he pops the passenger door open and braces a hand against the frame. “Get in the car.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what I just signed.”
Wyatt’s eyes darken. “This isn’t the place.”
“And I don’t care,” I return sharply, allowing my voice to rise, which is a rare thing for me. “I’ve been abducted, tied up, shot at, and almost sold by a man I’ve never seen before in a span of a few hours. Now, I’m leaving a lawyer’s office. You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and the air between us sparks more intensely than before. His eyes narrow just enough to reveal that he’s gauging who will move first.
Finally, he lets the words escape him.
“It was for a marriage license.”
At once, everything comes to a screeching halt.
I swear for a moment that the parking garage shifts around me, and the concrete floor almost rushes towards me before I keep myself from stumbling.
That single word echoes in my mind, leaving me feeling hollowed out.
Marriage.
“A…what?”
Wyatt doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t even look away. “A marriage license. Binding you to me.”
I want to laugh, but the sound refuses to even leave me.
“You’re joking,” I mumble, holding his gaze as my heart squeezes. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Before I can stop myself, something in me twists, and I snap.
Shoving his chest hard, I finally let the frustration and anger out with an irritated sound escaping me. Still, he doesn’t move an inch.
“You psychopath!” I shout, hitting him again, but it’s more like ramming my fists against a brick wall. “Have you lost your mind?”
Wyatt just stares down at me, face far too neutral for my liking. “Lower your voice.”
My eye twitches, and I do the opposite.
“No! You don’t get to force this on me and expect me to comply.”
“You signed.”
“I didn’t know what I was signing!” I shout back, torn between wanting to run and wanting to hit him again. “You entrapped me.”
Wyatt takes a step closer, towering over me with his impassive expression, but I don’t back down. My hands tremble with fury and panic, chest heaving for more air.
“You think you can just decide these things for me? Like I’m just a chess piece to be moved around as you please?” I ask, incredulous as I feel moments away from actually having a breakdown.
“This will keep you alive,” he says, voice a bit harder than before. “The Grimaldis and The Balakins can’t touch you if you’re mine.”
“You know what would also keep them from touching me? Letting me go back to my life,” I retort, eyes blazing now. “And I’m not yours.”
“You wouldn’t be safe going back, and you know it,” Wyatt utters, clenching his jaw. “The others won’t care about the details. As long as you’re untouchable by law, they can’t use you.”
“I care. You can’t just make that decision for me.”
His gaze narrows, leaning a bit closer with a low, cold tone. “Then what would you have me do? Hand you back over to Vito and hope everyone decides to be merciful?”
It takes everything in me to try and get a grip on my usually steady composure. “You could’ve returned me to my brothers, for starters.”
He scoffs. “Yeah? And what would they have done? Called the cops for you?”
Despite his tone, I step closer, even with my pulse raging in my ears. “They would’ve killed everyone who looked at me wrong by now.”
At this, he hesitates, letting a stifling silence settle between us. He goes to speak, only to stop himself as his brows furrow while his mind works.
It brings me the faintest satisfaction to watch him struggle, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“You never asked me my full name.”
That makes Wyatt pause again. Then, quiet suspicion filters into his dark eyes. “Elena…what’s your last name?”
For the first time all night, the smallest part of me feels in control as I make him wait for it before opening my mouth again.
“Lukov.”
The change in him is instant. It’s subtle, but unmistakable.
His shoulders go rigid, his eyes sharpen, and that dominance surrounding him seems to drain out at once, replaced by something closer to shock.
“Lukov…” Wyatt utters under his breath, looking more like he’s recovering from a well-placed sucker punch now. “Elena Lukov…”
“The one and only.”
Even while he stares at me, there’s a vacant sort of glaze over his features, like the weight of it has fully and truly settled on his shoulders.
After a tense, quiet moment, one word leaves his lips.
“Fuck.”