Chapter 33 Leanna
LEANNA
I wake up disoriented, unsure why I’d been asleep at all.
My body shifts automatically, but the movement stops short—my arms don’t move. My wrists are bound, zip-ties digging so deep they burn.
It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. My head is pounding, heavy, like it’s full of static.
I blink hard, the world coming into focus in jagged, uneven fragments. Shapes, shadows, then the ache of reality settling in.
My eyes flutter open, and everything is bleary at first as I look around.
Dust floats in the air, catching the faint light from high, grimy windows. The sharp tang of motor oil mixes with the cold bite of concrete, clogging my nose and settling in my throat.
The warehouse is huge and cavernous, but somehow claustrophobic all at once, shadows stretching across stacks of crates and steel beams.
And I’m tied to a chair in the middle of it.
Then a sharp, furious voice cuts through the haze.
“…You think I wanted this? I just need to teach the bitch a lesson. Show her who’s in charge.”
My stomach lurches. I blink against the fog in my head, desperate to believe this is just a nightmare.
But then the blur sharpens, and my brother Vince looms into view. The fight. The trunk. The suffocating ride here. It all slams back at once, and my blood runs cold.
Then a voice answers, unmistakably familiar, sending a jolt straight through me.
“Ezra?” My heart leaps. Hope is flaring so violently it hurts.“Ezra…” My voice cracks, barely more than a whisper. “Help me…”
Vince’s head whips toward me, eyes flashing. “You want to talk?”
Before I can brace, his hand lashes out, the slap snaps my head sideways, fire ripping across my cheek. Copper floods my mouth, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue.
The room tilts. My ears ring. And all I can think is that my own brother is enjoying this.
I hear him growl into the phone, voice low and dangerous. “Ezra… I’ve got business to finish.”
Just like that, he hangs up.
When his gaze snaps back to me, his eyes are wild, bloodshot. He grins, then laughs—a slow, cruel sound that bounces off the steel and concrete, evilish.
“Don’t bother, little sister. No one’s coming for you. Not tonight. Not ever.”
“You, fucken traitor,” He continues, growling like a caged animal.
My head is heavy, my tongue feels thick when I force the words out. “What…did you…do to me?”
“I dosed you, bitch. If you’re wondering.” His smile is sharp, almost proud.
“Dosed…me…how…”
“Just a little needle to the neck, sister. No big thing. I needed to get you in here and restrained without trouble. Couldn’t have you scratching and clawing like a wildcat.”
“You’re…fucking…insane,” I slur.
“Maybe.” He shrugs, almost amused. “But it’s your fault, really. Always playing the clever princess, looking down on the rest of us. Acting like you’re better. It was supposed to be me. I’m the eldest. I’m loyal. You?” his lip curls, “you’re nothing but a fraud.”
I let out a bitter laugh, my voice rasping. “Take it, then. Take the crown. I never fucking wanted it.”
He leans in close, making a mock-sorrowful face, his breath hot and sour. “Oh, now that you’re tied up and all alone, you’re ready to hand it over? Where’s the entertainment in that? Too easy. No fun at all.”
I swallow, licking my lips. I need water. Did I scream when he put me in the trunk of his car? I don’t remember.
My throat feels raw and dry. What the hell did he give me?
“What did that Barkov bastard do to you, huh?” Vince’s voice is thick with venom as he waddles closer. He crouches, his face too close, eyes glittering with sick delight.
“I had a tail on you,” he sneers. “Watched you walk into that club. Watched you slink back out every week. You think I wouldn’t find out?
You think I wouldn’t notice the cash under your bed?
A hundred grand, Leanna.” His lips twist into something feral.
“What was worth that much? Your sweet little cunt? Or did you let him stretch you with his fist?”
I swallow bile. He wants me gagging, wants me recoiling. Wants me small.
I lift my chin instead, even as my wrists burn against the zip-ties. My voice is hoarse, but steady. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Is that the truth? Maybe not, but it’s the only defense I have.
I didn’t know who Nik was when I walked into that club. Not then.
Back then, I was just a college girl grasping at a slice of freedom, and he was a stranger who made me feel alive in ways I’d never dared.
Yes, I kept going back because it felt good. Because it felt like mine. Because with him, I wasn’t a mafia princess or a pawn in my father’s game; I was just Ana.
“Yes,” my brother hisses. “You did. You walked into a Barkov club every week for months, Leanna. Walked in, disappeared for hours. Why did you do that?” His eyes glitter, wild.
“You’ve got Campisi money, you don’t need cash.
And you’re not reckless enough to do it just for the thrill.
So the only explanation? You were sharing information. ”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve.
His voice turns mocking, “I’ve been thinking about our father.
About expectations. About the heir apparent—supposed to be you.
” His hand cuts through the air, then jabs toward me.
“But you? You chose them. You crawled into the arms of the enemy. A filthy whore spreading her legs for the Barkovs. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? That you could just get away with it?”
His fist knots in my hair, jerking my head back until my neck strains. Pain shoots down my scalp.
“Fuck you,” I spit.
He laughs. “This is going to be fun.”
He lets go and saunters away, only to return with a rolling cart rattling with tools—metal, sharp, cruel, torturous devices. He makes a show of polishing each one with a cloth, a performative effort to intimidate, letting the silence stretch until it’s unbearable. But he doesn’t pick one.
Instead, he steps, empty-handed, back into my direct, standing with his fists curled and his head cocked and a smirk on his face.
“Barkov came in prepared. He embarrassed us in that room. Forced Dad into a corner. How does a second-tier Russian boss walk into Chicago and make the most powerful family bend? Tell me, Leanna, what did you give him?”
I sneer at him. “You’re so fucking stupid. You strutted around like you were hot shit, skimming and stealing without Dad’s approval. You fucked up, Vince. You handed him the leverage on a silver platter, you moron. Not me.”
Boom.
His fist slams into my cheekbone. The crack reverberates through my skull, and the pain is instant, blinding. My vision bursts with stars, and a cry rips from my throat before I can stop it. I choke it back, gritting my teeth, but tears sting my eyes, spilling hot and unwanted down my face.
“Boy, that felt good,” he pants, shaking out his fist. “I’ve wanted to ruin that pretty face of yours for years.”
Blood fills my mouth, coppery and bitter. I spit it at him. It splatters across his shirt, dark against the fabric. He looks down in disgust, lip curling, then stalks to the cart and snatches up a scalpel.
He’s always carried that slightly crazy look—a malicious spark that made people uneasy the second he walked into a room.
He’s unhinged on the best days.
But now, as he turns back, that manic glint is gone.
“I’m recording this,” he says flatly, tilting his head toward the corner.
I follow his gaze and spot a camera on a tripod that I didn’t notice before.
“Dad’s going to see how you lied,” Vince goes on, his tone almost smug. “How I had no choice but to hurt you. For the good of the family.”
A laugh bursts out of me, and I cling to it even though it hurts like hell. My face feels like it might split open with the swelling. “Delusional,” I rasp.
He slams his palm down on the metal tray. The clang of steel instruments rattles through the warehouse, echoing off the walls.
“I am not delusional!” His voice rises, fevered.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. You went to a Russian-owned club.
He acted like he owned you at the Commission.
There is something going on between you, and you’ll tell me what it is, what you told him about our operations, or I’ll carve the answers out of you. ”
I clamp my jaw shut, refusing.
The blade lands on my skin before I even register the motion. Fire rips across my face from temple to cheekbone, and I scream despite every effort not to give him the satisfaction. His voice cuts through my cries, low and venomous.
“Worthless whore. Traitor. Not nearly as smart as you think you are.”
The words land harder than the blade, but I hold onto the only truth I have: I cannot confess to something I didn’t do.
Even if my screams fill the whole damn warehouse.