Chapter Fifty-Two
Sabrina
Twenty-four hours inside the same basement had given me far too much time to memorise every crack running through the concrete walls and every habit of the guards stationed beyond the steel door.
One paced exactly seven steps before turning back, while the other shifted his weight every few minutes, the scrape of his boots echoing faintly through the corridor.
Predictable people rarely survived for long.
The familiar rhythm of footsteps broke without warning.
These weren't the guards.
These footsteps were slower, deliberate and far more confident.
A voice drifted through the steel door before its owner came into view.
“Go stretch your legs,” the man said. “Come back in ten minutes.”
One of the guards hesitated. “But Sergei said-”
“I don't care what Sergei said.”
His tone left no room for argument.
“Ten minutes.”
Reluctant footsteps disappeared down the corridor until silence settled once more. Only then did the lock disengage, the heavy steel door groaning open as a man stepped inside and shut it behind him.
Alexei Fedorov.
I'd never met him, but I recognised him immediately. Years spent studying the Bratva had taught me every senior member worth remembering – every face, every habit and every weakness. Alexei's file hadn't taken long to memorise.
Loyal. Arrogant. The kind of man who mistook rank for intelligence.
His eyes travelled slowly over me before a satisfied smile spread across his face.
“So this is Sabrina Moretti.”
I didn't answer. Silence had a habit of making arrogant men uncomfortable. They always rushed to fill it themselves.
He wandered further into the room with lazy confidence, stopping close enough that I could smell expensive cologne beneath the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. His fingers slipped beneath my chin, forcing my face upwards.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “It's a shame you're going to belong to Sergei.”
I looked at him without flinching. “What makes you think I'll ever say I do?”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“This marriage isn't a choice; it never was – it's your fate.”
A faint smile touched my lips. “The only fate Sergei Volkov has is joining his father.”
The amusement vanished from his face.
“You should be careful what you say.”
“I usually am.”
His irritation simmered just beneath the surface, exactly where I wanted it. Angry men made mistakes.
My attention drifted briefly towards the wooden chair resting against the wall.
Alexei noticed and smiled.
“Looking for a way out?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good,” he replied. “Because there isn't one.”
I rose from the bed and closed the distance between us. He didn't move.
“You made one mistake,” I said quietly.
His eyebrow lifted with amusement. “Only one?”
“You told your guards to leave.”
The smile on his face faltered almost imperceptibly.
“They were your strength.” I tilted my head, studying him as though the conclusion had only just occurred to me. “Now you're weak.”
Understanding flashed across his face a heartbeat too late.
My hand closed around the chair, and before he could react, I swung.
The solid oak connected with the side of his skull with a sickening crack. Alexei hit the concrete hard, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol holstered beneath his jacket.
Mine got there first.
I dropped beside him, pulled the weapon free, checked the magazine and twisted the suppressor into place before stepping back and levelling the barrel between his eyes.
For the first time since he'd entered the room, he looked afraid.
“W-what are you?”
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
A slow smile spread across my lips.
“I was beginning to think none of you would recognise me.”
Confusion flickered across his face before recognition replaced it with terrifying speed. The colour drained from his skin.
“No...”
The word caught in his throat.
“...Morana.”
“Good. I'd hate for you to die without knowing who killed you.”
The suppressed shot was little more than a muted thud. Alexei's head snapped backwards before his body collapsed against the concrete, motionless.
I watched him for another second.
He didn't move.
Satisfied, I crouched beside the body and wiped the pistol clean with the sleeve of his jacket before sliding it into the waistband of my jeans.
Gripping him beneath the arms, I dragged him behind the bed where he wouldn't be seen immediately when the guards returned.
The growing pool of blood was harder to hide, but by the time they noticed it, I'd be long gone.
I checked my watch.
Just under nine minutes.
Alexei had unknowingly given me the one thing I needed.
Time.
The corridor remained empty.
I stepped through the doorway and waited, half expecting someone to round the corner and demand to know what I was doing there. No one came. He'd sent the guards away and walked into that basement believing he could handle me himself.
Now there was no one left to stop me.
I moved through the warehouse at an unhurried pace, taking in every detail as I went.
The concrete walls were bare, exposed pipes ran along the ceiling and harsh fluorescent lights illuminated the industrial corridors.
There were no guards posted outside the rooms, no voices carrying through the building and, most importantly, no footsteps following mine.
Then I noticed the camera.
It was mounted high in the corner, its small red light blinking steadily as it watched the corridor.
I stopped beneath it, looked directly into the lens and gave it a small wave.
If someone was watching, they clearly weren't paying attention. I couldn't resist the satisfaction of knowing that somewhere, on some monitor, Sergei Volkov's supposedly terrified bride was strolling freely through his warehouse.
I continued down the corridor until the faint sound of music reached me.
Soft strings drifted through the air, completely out of place against the concrete and exposed metal surrounding me. I followed the sound to a set of double doors and pushed one open.
I stopped.
The room beyond had been transformed.
White flowers covered the tables, crystal vases caught the warm glow of dozens of candles and strings of lights had been suspended from the ceiling, softening the harsh industrial space.
Rows of chairs faced an elaborate arch decorated with white roses and greenery, while a long table had been dressed in white linen and arranged with enough flowers and crystal glasses to make the entire thing look almost elegant.
A wedding.
My wedding.
Sergei had actually decorated an entire warehouse for a marriage that would never happen.
Then I noticed the woman sitting alone among the rows of chairs.
She had her back to me, long blonde curls cascading down her back in thick waves that reached almost to her waist. The warm lights caught the pale strands, giving them a soft golden sheen against the dark room.
She wore a simple dress that did little to hide how delicate she looked, her posture slightly tense as though she didn't quite belong among all the decorations surrounding her.
She must have sensed me watching because her shoulders stiffened.
Slowly, she turned.
She was breathtaking.
Her skin was almost porcelain beneath the warm light, her features delicate but sharply defined, with high cheekbones, a slender nose and full, naturally pink lips.
Her eyes were an intense shade of blue, made even more striking by the dark lashes framing them.
There was something almost ethereal about her beauty, but it was the uncertainty in her expression that caught my attention more than anything else.
She stared at me for several seconds before her lips parted.
“Are you... Sabrina Moretti?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I took a step towards her.
She flinched.
I stopped immediately.
“I won't hurt you.”
She searched my face as though trying to decide whether she could believe me. After a moment, she gave a small nod.
“I'm Sabrina.”
Relief flickered across her features.
“I'm Vanya.”
The name meant nothing to me. I studied her for another moment before taking the seat beside her, leaving enough space between us that she wouldn't feel trapped.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The music continued playing softly in the background, absurdly romantic considering the circumstances. Eventually, Vanya glanced towards the decorated arch before looking back at me.
“You're not marrying Sergei?”
“No.”
Her shoulders relaxed almost immediately.
“Good.”
I raised an eyebrow.
A small smile touched her lips. “No one deserves to marry my brother.”
I stared at her.
“Sergei is your brother?”
“Half-brother,” she corrected quietly. “But yes. We're siblings.”
My expression hardened as the pieces finally fell into place.
“You're a Volkov.”
She nodded.
“I didn't know Ivan had another child.”
A bitter smile crossed her lips.
“Most people don't.”
Her fingers twisted together in her lap.
“I'm a secret.”
The words were spoken so quietly I almost missed them.
“Why?”
“Because I wasn't wanted.” She lowered her gaze. “But being unwanted doesn't mean I'm useless. They keep me around when they need something. A pawn when it's convenient.”
Something in her expression told me she'd spent years convincing herself that was all she was worth.
I knew that feeling better than most.
But Vanya wasn't like Ivan.
She wasn't like Sergei either. There was no cruelty in her eyes, no hunger for power. If anything, she looked like someone who had spent too long learning how to make herself small enough not to become a target.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
She looked towards the wedding decorations.
“I don't really have anywhere else to go.”
Her voice tightened.
“If I leave, they'll find me. I know they will. I've spent my whole life around them. I know what happens to people who try to disappear.”
“You could disappear.”
She gave me a sad smile.
“Not from them.”
“I can get you out.”
Her head snapped towards me.
“What?”
“I can get you away from this place. Away from the Bratva.”
She shook her head almost immediately.
“That's not possible.”
“It is.”
“You don't understand.” Her voice cracked slightly. “This is my life. It always has been. I can't just walk away from the Volkovs.”
“You can.”
She stared at me.
“If you want out, I'll get you out. You just have to tell me you want to leave.”
Her eyes searched mine, uncertainty warring with something that looked dangerously close to hope.
“You really think I can have a life outside of this?”
“I know you can.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card Sean had given me. Vanya's gaze dropped to it as I held it out.
“What's that?”
“It's yours.”
Confusion crossed her face.
“I don't understand.”
“You don't need to.” I placed the card in her hand. “What matters is what's on it.”
She stared down at it, her fingers tightening around the edges.
“With this, you can start again. You can find somewhere to live, build a life that belongs to you and make your own decisions without anyone telling you what you're allowed to do. No one gets to decide who you become, who you love or what your life looks like.”
Her eyes lifted slowly to mine.
“You're giving this to me?”
“I'm giving you a choice.”
She looked back at the card, almost as though she couldn't believe something so small could change the course of her life.
“All you have to do is tell me you want out.”
She swallowed.
“Even if I leave, Sergei will come for me.”
“He won't.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
She looked at me with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “Sergei can't lose control over me. He'll find me. He's my brother, but...” She gave a humourless laugh. “He's always been possessive. If I disappear, he'll come looking.”
“He won't get the chance.”
Her expression tightened. “You can't promise that.”
“I can.”
She stared at me for a long moment before looking down at the card again.
“Promise me.”
I didn't hesitate.
“I promise Sergei Volkov will never come for you.”
Her eyes lifted slowly to mine.
“How can you be so sure?”
I held her gaze.
“Because by the time you disappear, Sergei won't be in a position to come looking for you.”
Vanya went completely still.
Her eyes widened as the meaning settled between us. She didn't need me to explain what I meant. If I was promising that Sergei would never come for her, then there was only one way I could be so certain.
“You're going to kill him,” she whispered.
I didn't answer.
I didn't have to.
Vanya's gaze dropped to the card in her hands, and when she looked back at me, the fear in her eyes had changed. She understood exactly what I was offering her: not a temporary escape, but a life in which Sergei Volkov would no longer have any power over her.
“I want out.”
I nodded.
“Then you're getting out.”
She glanced towards the doors.
“Sergei and the guards are preparing for the wedding. They've been busy for hours. They're all focused on making sure everything is ready.”
A smile touched my lips.
“Then Sergei has made his warehouse vulnerable.”
Vanya looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone is watching the wrong thing.”
I stood and offered her my hand.
“Come on.”
She hesitated before placing her hand in mine.
We moved quietly through the warehouse, keeping to the empty corridors while the distant sounds of preparations continued around us. Sergei had pulled his men away from the areas he considered unimportant, concentrating them around the wedding room and the entrances he expected me to use.
He'd spent so much time preparing for his bride to walk down an aisle that he hadn't considered she might choose a different exit.
And that was the problem with men who believed they already knew how a story ended.
They stopped looking for another ending.
Vanya stayed close beside me as I guided her through the warehouse, the card clenched tightly in her hand. For the first time in her life, she wasn't walking towards the life someone else had chosen for her.
She was walking away from it.