Chapter 37
VICTORIA
I stare at Vitor's body in the trunk. At the tattoo. At the impossibility of what I'm seeing.
My thoughts scatter like birds startled by gunfire. Distant. Unreachable. Like I'm watching this happen to someone else from very far away. A movie I'm observing rather than a nightmare I'm living.
The metallic smell of blood cuts through the night air. Sharp. Undeniable. Mixed with wet asphalt and exhaust from passing cars on the street behind us. The scent crawls into my throat, making me want to gag.
I can't look away from the tattoo. The wolf's head. The dagger between its teeth. The exact image I see every time I close my eyes and remember that night.
"Victoria." Jelena's voice cuts through the static filling my head. "Listen to me."
I force myself to breathe. In. Out.
"I found out the truth about the Severyns." Jelena's words come fast. Urgent. Each one landing like a small detonation. "They staged the coup against the Valkov Bratva. Everyone thinks they dismantled it. That they ended the flesh trafficking operations.
She pauses. Lets the words settle.
"But they didn't. They just seized power.
Took over the operations. They never left the trafficking behind.
They're still running everything the Valkovs built. This tattoo is the proof. It’s the tattoo of those who were loyal to Valkov.
And now the Severyn Bratva wears it too.
And they're working with the Albanians to expand. "
"No." The word comes out weak. Unconvincing even to my own ears.
But pieces are clicking into place against my will. Unwanted connections forming patterns I don't want to see.
Luan's visit this morning.
The tattoo. The one I described to Maksim while lying in his arms. Vulnerable. Trusting. Telling him about the worst violation of my life.
The wolf and dagger. I gave him every detail. And he said nothing. Revealed nothing.
The scar that Maksim has above his heart, in the exact same place that Vitor has his tattoo.
If they truly left the Valkov Bratva behind, if they really ended that chapter, why didn't he tell me when I opened my trauma to him? Why keep that secret unless there was a reason to hide it?
And they were so quick to volunteer help to our operation. To support what we're building. No questions. No conditions. Just immediate willingness to throw resources at a vigilante organization they'd known about for less than a day.
Were they looking for a way in? A way to control it? A way to know exactly what we were planning so they could neutralize any threat we might pose?
My stomach turns. Cold sweat breaks across my skin despite the hot night air.
"We need to leave." Jelena closes the trunk with a soft thud that makes me flinch. "Before they realize you're not at the opera. Before they come looking. We need to go somewhere safe."
I nod. Numb. My body moving on autopilot while my mind tries to catch up with reality fracturing around me.
I get into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and copper.
Vitor's body is feet behind me. Separated only by thin metal and upholstery.
Jelena drives. Her hands tight on the wheel. Her voice becomes a steady stream of words that barely penetrate the white noise filling my head.
"They kept all the Valkov business running," she's saying.
The words coming in waves I can't quite catch.
"Just eliminated the leadership so they could take control.
Made it look like cleanup when really it was a takeover.
They're not the heroes they pretend to be.
They're the same as what came before. Worse, maybe, because they're better at hiding it. "
I'm not really listening. Can't focus beyond fragments that catch like hooks.
My mind loops. Endless. Inescapable.
The tattoo on a masked man's hand years ago.
The tattoo on Vitor's chest. Dead eyes staring at nothing. Bullet hole dark and final.
The scar on Maksim's chest. Where the same mark used to be. Burned away but the shape still visible beneath new skin. Evidence of what he was. What he might still be.
This morning. Maksim's hands in my hair. His mouth on mine. The way he looked at me. Like I was his queen and he would burn the world to protect me.
Last night. All three of them claiming every part of me. The way I surrendered completely.
Was it all a lie? Calculated moves in a game I didn't know I was playing?
But beneath the shock and horror and betrayal threatening to drown me, resistance flares. Some stubborn part of me that refuses to accept the narrative being built.
Not all of it was lies. It couldn't have been. I've learned to read people. To detect deception. It's how I've survived.
The way they looked at me. Touched me. The gentleness mixed with possession. The protectiveness that felt real even when logic says it shouldn't.
But there are lies. Untold truths. Secrets stacking like bricks into walls I can't see past.
And I don't know how to separate what's real from what's not anymore.
The car stops. The sudden stillness jolts me back to awareness.
I blink. Look around without really seeing at first. Shapes and shadows resolving slowly into familiar forms.
We're at Maison Lyra. The restaurant is dark. Closed for the night. The street empty except for shadows and streetlights casting orange pools that make everything look surreal.
"We need things from the office," Jelena says. That urgent edge still in her voice. That tight control that means she's operating under stress. "Documents we might need. Maybe weapons. Then we'll go to a safe house until we figure out our next move."
The shock is wearing off. Slowly. Like ice melting in tepid water. Leaving me cold but more present. More aware.
My mind starts functioning again beyond the loop of trauma and tattoos and betrayal.
I nod. Get out of the car on unsteady legs. My heels click too loud on the pavement.
Jelena leads me to the side entrance. Uses her key. The lock clicks open with a sound that seems too loud in the quiet night.
We descend stairs to the basement level where the office is. Where we plan operations and store supplies. Where we've sat for hours strategizing rescues and extractions and justice for women the system failed.
The hallway is dark. Smells like spices from the restaurant kitchen above. Our footsteps echo too loud in the silence. Each click of my heels against concrete feels like an announcement.
Jelena opens the office door. The hinges creak slightly.
And I see him.
Ramiz Krasniqi.
Sitting behind our desk like he owns it. Like he belongs there. Gun in his hand. Barrel resting casually on the desktop.
I open my mouth to warn Jelena. To scream. To run.
But she doesn't react. Doesn't look surprised. Doesn't move away from him. Doesn't show any of the fear or shock flooding my system like ice water.
No.
The betrayal hits like a physical blow. Harder than Ramiz could hit me with his fists. Steals oxygen from my lungs and strength from my legs.
Not Jelena. Not her. Not the woman who stood beside me when we built this organization from nothing. Who risked her life on operations. Who believed in what we were doing. Who I trusted more than anyone except maybe the men I'm now questioning.
"Finally." Ramiz's voice is smooth. Pleased. Like he's been waiting for entertainment and it's finally arrived. "It took longer than I expected, but here you are."
I look at Jelena. Searching her face for explanation. For denial. For anything that makes this not what it so obviously is.
She won't meet my eyes. Her gaze stays fixed somewhere past my shoulder. Jaw tight. Expression carefully blank. A stranger wearing Jelena's face.
"I was negotiating with your father for the same arrangement Maksim made," Ramiz continues, standing slowly. Deliberately. The gun stays pointed in my general direction. Casual. Confident. "But Maksim beat me to it. Married you first taking away my leverage with Arthur."
He walks around the desk. Each step measured. Controlled. The gun never wavering.
"But this works out better," he says, and his smile makes my skin crawl. "Because now I get to keep you for myself. Kill the Severyns and take over their operations. And blame it all on Eryan Nis."
He laughs. The sound echoes wrong in the small space. Too loud. Too pleased.
"Your vigilante persona will take the fall for destroying your own organization. For killing the men who tried to help you. For everything. It's poetic, really. Beautiful in its simplicity."
I can't process what he's saying. Can't move beyond the fact that Jelena is standing there. Silent. Complicit. Betraying everything we built together.
"Why?" The word tears out of me. Raw. Broken. Looking at her. Only her. Needing to understand how the woman I called sister could do this. "Why are you doing this?"
"You're too infatuated with them to see what's in front of you." Jelena's voice is flat. Cold. Nothing like the woman I thought I knew. "When we started this operation, we agreed. Revenge. Justice. Taking down the men who profit from women's suffering."
Her voice rises. Gets sharp. Cutting.
"The Severyns were part of the Valkov Bratva. The same organization that trafficked me. That destroyed my life. So I made an alliance with Ramiz. Enemy of my enemy. Basic strategy. He wants the Severyns' territory. I want them dead. I want everyone who ever wore that tattoo dead."
"Jelena, that's not—" I start.
"How do you explain the tattoos then?" she interrupts. Voice getting louder. More aggressive. Pain bleeding through the anger.
"I don't know," I admit. My voice cracking under the weight of uncertainty. Under the crushing realization that I might have been blind. That wanting to be loved might have made me vulnerable to people who would use that want against me. "But I know they wouldn't traffic women."
"Actually," Ramiz interjects, his tone almost cheerful. "I can clarify the tattoo situation for you both."
We look at him. Pulled from our confrontation by his interruption.
"I had the warehouse thief marked with the Valkov tattoo," he says, examining his gun like it's mildly interesting.
"Paid him well. Very well. More money than he'd see in a lifetime.
Just to spread confusion. To make everyone chase ghosts.
To see what the Severyns would do when their past came back. "
He shrugs. Casual. Like he's describing a mildly clever business strategy instead of psychological warfare.
"Worked perfectly. Got them chasing shadows while I set this up. Vitor was harder to convince. But everybody has a price…. And an expiration date."
He turns slightly. Looks at Jelena with cold assessment. Eyes going flat. Emotionless. The look of a man who's decided someone has outlived their usefulness.
"And this is yours"
The gun moves. Swings smoothly. Points directly at Jelena's chest.
"Wait—" Jelena starts. Her eyes going wide. Finally showing fear. Finally understanding that betrayal cuts both ways.
The shot is deafening in the enclosed space.
The sound slams into me. Physical. Devastating. My ears ringing instantly. High-pitched whine drowning out everything else.
Jelena falls. Blood blooming across her chest. Dark. Spreading fast. Eyes wide with shock. With the particular surprise of someone who thought they were in control and learned too late they weren't.
With betrayal of her own.
She's dead before she hits the floor. The light going out of her eyes.
I feel the shot reverberate through my body. Through my bones. My vision narrowing.
Ramiz is insane. Completely. Dangerously. And I'm trapped in this basement office with a madman.
I need to move. Need to run. Need to survive.
The analytical part of my brain clicks back online. Pushing past trauma and shock into pure survival mode. The part of me that's kept me alive through worse.
I start backing up. Slow steps toward the wall behind me. Trying not to draw attention. Trying to think through the panic flooding my system. Through the adrenaline making my hands shake.
Ramiz follows. Stalking forward with predatory patience. The gun still pointed at me. Still ready to end my life with a single pull.
"You know," he says conversationally. Like we're discussing dinner plans instead of my impending death. "I'm going to enjoy this. Arthur Ainsley's daughter. The Severyns' wife. Eryan Nis. All mine to do with as I please."
My back hits the wall. Solid. Cold. Real.
I spread my hands behind me. Searching. Feeling along the surface for what I know is there. What I've touched hundreds of times.
There. The light switch. Right where it should be.
"Nothing personal," Ramiz continues, still advancing. Getting closer. "Just business. You understand how it is."
I slam my palm against the switch.
The office plunges into absolute darkness.
Ramiz fires. The muzzle flash bright. Blinding. The bullet hits somewhere to my left. Plaster exploding. Dust in the air.
But I'm already moving. Already abandoning the wall. Already kicking off my heels and running on bare feet that make no sound on concrete.
My eyes adjust fast. I know this space in the dark. Know every inch of it. Every turn. Every obstacle.
I hit the stairs at full speed. Take them two at a time. My lungs burning. My heart hammering so hard I think it might crack through my ribs.
Behind me, I hear Ramiz cursing. Footsteps heavy and clumsy on the stairs. Another shot that goes wide. The bullet hitting somewhere above me. Missing just barely.
I burst into the restaurant. Tables and chairs create an obstacle course in the darkness. But I've walked this floor hundreds of times. Know the layout without sight. My body remembers even when my mind is screaming.
I run. Weaving between tables. Toward the only place that might save me. The only space designed for exactly this moment.
The ladies' bathroom. Built with a reinforced door. A lock that can't be easily broken. A phone. A sanctuary for women who need it.
If I can get there. If I can reach it before he catches me.
My lungs burn. My feet slip slightly on the smooth floor. I catch myself on a table edge. Keep going. Don't slow down.
I can hear him behind me. Closer than I want. Faster than I hoped. His breathing heavy. Footsteps thundering.
The bathroom door appears in the faint light from the street filtering through front windows.
Ten feet. Five. Three.
I hit the door running. Slam through it with my shoulder. Spin on bare feet and throw the deadbolt just as Ramiz crashes against the other side.
The door holds. Reinforced steel. Built for this exact situation. Built because we knew. Because we've always known that women need places to be safe. Places men can't reach.
I collapse against it. Gasping. Shaking. My whole body trembling with adrenaline and terror and the crushing weight of everything that just happened.
Alive.
For now.