Chapter 18
Maksim
Consciousness returns in waves of pain.
My shoulder is on fire—a deep, burning agony that pulses with every heartbeat. My ribs scream with each breath. My head throbs where someone hit me after I went down.
I force my eyes open and immediately wish I hadn't.
Concrete walls. No windows. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering like it might die at any moment. The smell hits me next—mold, dampness, human waste, despair.
I know this smell. Lived with it for six years.
I'm in a cell again.
The realization makes my chest tighten with something between rage and panic. Not again. I can't do this again.
I won’t survive.
I try to sit up and immediately regret it. Pain explodes through my shoulder, and I look down to see rough bandaging—someone wrapped the gunshot wound, but not well. Blood is already seeping through the makeshift dressing.
They're keeping me alive. It’s part of the torture.
My ribs protest as I force myself upright, leaning against the cold concrete wall. Every movement sends fresh waves of agony through my body, but I catalog the damage anyway.
Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, through and through, based on the exit wound I can feel. Could be worse. Could have hit bone or an artery.
Broken or cracked ribs on my right side—at least two, maybe three. From the beating Roman's men gave me before they dumped me here.
Head wound from where they knocked me out. Dried blood in my hair.
Various cuts and bruises.
Nothing immediately fatal. Which means Roman wants me alive for something.
The question is: for how long?
I look around the cell more carefully. Small—maybe six by eight feet.
Smaller than the ones in Georgia, and that's saying something.
No bed, just a thin mat on the floor. A bucket in the corner that I don't want to examine too closely.
A single door, solid metal, with a small slot near the bottom for food.
I think I’m downstairs. I’m still on the property.
Kira.
What happened to her? Did he kill her?
Footsteps are coming close.
I force myself to stand, ignoring the way my vision grays at the edges. I won't meet my captors from the floor. Won't give them that satisfaction.
The door opens, and two guards step inside. I recognize them. Roman’s men.
"Where's Kira?" I demand.
They laugh. Actually laugh.
"Worried about your girlfriend?" The taller one grins. "That's sweet."
"Where is she?" I take a step forward, and pain shoots through my ribs. "Is she alive?"
"For now." The shorter guard leans against the doorframe. "Boss is deciding what to do with her. Might keep her around for entertainment. Might kill her. Depends on his mood."
The casual way he says it makes me want to tear out his throat.
The other grins. “No, didn’t you hear, she’s marrying Volkov. Original plan for the sister, but maybe the whore gets that honor instead."
"What?" The word comes out strangled.
"Boss decided the younger sister was more... manageable." He's enjoying this. "Anya's going to be the new bride. Roman likes them young and innocent."
No. No, this can't be happening.
Roman is going to destroy her just to spite Kira.
"You can't—" I start forward, and both guards draw weapons.
"Can't what? Stop it?" The tall one laughs again. "You're in a cell, bleeding. What exactly are you going to do?"
He's right, and that makes it worse.
"Boss says to keep you alive," the shorter guard adds. "Might need you for leverage later. But he didn't say you had to be comfortable."
They leave, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoes in my bones.
I sink back down onto the mat, my mind racing.
Kira is alive but a prisoner.
I should have seen this coming. Should have known Roman was testing us, watching us, waiting for us to betray ourselves.
But I was too focused on Kira. Too caught up in desire and doubt and the desperate need to touch her to think strategically.
And now we're all paying the price.
Hours pass. Or maybe days. Time loses meaning in a windowless cell.
No one brings food. No one brings water. Just darkness and pain and the knowledge that I've failed everyone who mattered.
I drift in and out of consciousness, fever building from the untreated gunshot wound. Memories mix with hallucinations—Georgia and Moscow blurring together. Kira's face at eighteen and twenty-four. The creek where we made love. The hallway where Roman shot me.
All of it spinning together into a nightmare I can't wake from.
Then footsteps again. Different this time. Slower. Heavier.
The door opens, and Viktor stands there.
"Viktor." I force the name out through cracked lips.
"You should have stayed dead, boy." His voice is quiet. Sad. "This didn't have to happen."
"You sold me out." It's not a question anymore. I know the truth now. "You helped Roman kidnap me."
"I did." He doesn't try to deny it. "Six years ago, Roman came to me with an offer. Good money. Better position. All I had to do was provide some information and look the other way."
"So, you did." The betrayal cuts deeper coming from him. Viktor was my father's most trusted man. Someone I grew up with.
"I did." He steps into the cell, and I notice he's not armed. "And I've regretted it every day since."
"Not enough to confess." I lean against the wall, too weak to stand. "Not enough to stop it from happening again."
"What could I do?" His laugh is bitter. "Roman owns everything now. Everyone. Cross him and you die. Simple as that."
"Then why are you here?" I ask. "To gloat? To finish what you started?"
"To tell you the truth." He pulls out a flask and takes a long drink. "Before Roman kills us both."
"Both?"
"You think I'm safe?" Viktor's smile is grim. "I'm a loose end, Maksim. I know too much. Once he's done using me, I'm dead. Just like you. Just like anyone who knows what really happened."
"Then talk." I force myself to focus through the fever. "Tell me everything."
He settles onto the floor across from me, like we're having a conversation instead of a confession.
"Roman planned it for over a year," he begins. "Your father was grooming you to take over. Everyone knew it. You were brilliant, charismatic, progressive. Going to change how the Bratva operated."
"And Roman didn't want that."
"Roman wanted power. Pure and simple." Viktor takes another drink. "But he couldn't just kill you. Your father would never forgive that. The other families would ask questions. So, he needed you to disappear. Needed someone else to blame."
"Kira's family."
"Her father was perfect." Viktor's voice is heavy. "In debt, desperate, stupid enough to take money without asking questions. Roman paid him to provide information—said it was for security purposes, protecting you during the engagement negotiations. The old fool believed it."
"And Kira?"
"Never knew a thing." Viktor meets my eyes. "Your precious Kira never lifted a finger against you. But her father... he had debts. Gambling debts that Roman was happy to forgive in exchange for information."
The words hit like a sledgehammer.
All this time. All my rage and revenge—aimed at the wrong target.
"She was innocent," I whisper.
"Completely." Viktor nods.
Regret and guilt run through me. I should have listened.
And now it’s too late.
"Roman sent the text," Viktor continues. "We had it planned.”
"We." I force the word out.
"Me and Roman's people." He won't meet my eyes now. "I helped coordinate the grab. Made sure your security was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Provided the getaway vehicles."
"And then you helped frame Kira's family."
"Roman did that." Viktor sounds almost defensive. "He manufactured the evidence. Created the trail. I just... didn't contradict it."
"You let an innocent woman be blamed for six years."
"Yes." His voice breaks. "And I'll carry that guilt to my grave. Which will probably be soon."
We sit in silence for a moment. The weight of his confession hanging between us.
"Why tell me now?" I ask finally.
"Because Roman is going to kill you." Viktor looks at me directly. "After the wedding. Once he's secured his position through Anya, you become expendable. He'll stage your death—probably as a suicide from guilt over seducing his fiancée. Clean. Tragic. Believable."
"And Kira?"
"Will die too." His voice is flat. "Can't leave her alive knowing what she knows. Roman will probably arrange an accident. Make it look like grief drove her to something reckless."
"Anya?"
"Will be broken." Viktor's face twists. "Roman's specialty. He'll destroy that girl piece by piece until there's nothing left but obedience."
The future he's describing is a nightmare. But also, entirely plausible.
"So, we're all dead," I say. "You came here to tell me we're all dead."
"I came here to tell you the truth." Viktor stands, joints cracking. "You deserved that much. Deserved to know your Kira never betrayed you. That she loved you.”
He heads for the door, then pauses.
"For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I'm sorry. I'm going to hell for it."
“Fuck you. You don’t get to absolve yourself now. I don’t forgive you. I will meet you in hell and I will kill you over and over.”
He nods and leaves.
The door closes, and I'm alone again with the truth.
Kira was innocent.
The guilt is worse than the physical pain. Worse than the fever burning through me.
I let rage blind me to the truth. I close my eyes and force myself to think.
There has to be a way. There's always a way.
I just have to find it before it's too late.