Chapter 7 – Sasha
I’m bone-tired, the kind of tired that sits in your joints after a fourteen-hour shift and refuses to be bribed away by a shower.
My uniform is folded into my bag, my hair is tied in a messy knot, and my feet hurt in shoes that were never meant for more than a few hours.
I should be home, curled up, pretending the world doesn’t have teeth.
Instead, I walk the employee exit, the fluorescent corridor humming, my ID badge tapping against my hip. I’m finally back in Chicago, and I can’t wait to get home.
My head keeps going back to that lunch three days ago—the way Lev stood in Noelle’s kitchen like he owned the place, the way he looked at me. I almost wanted to smack him. I replay his smug, impossible smile and feel heat prick along my neck.
“Breathe, Sasha,” I tell myself, because breathing is the only thing that keeps me from losing my cool in public. Don’t engage. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
I’d thought I’d handled it, held my ground, stayed polite and detached. But seeing him again, so close, so impossible to ignore…it brought everything roaring back.
The sting of rejection, the confusion, the way he made me feel alive and vulnerable at the same time.
I clench my fingers around the luggage and drag one hand down my face. I hate how much I still think about him. Hate that the memory of him is lodged in my chest like a pulse I can't quiet.
I need to sleep. I need the flight to fade, the memory of his smirk, his hands, the way he made me melt and then walked away.
But even the silence of the hallway feels loud with him.
Every shadow seems to carry his shape, every creak of the air conditioning a reminder of what I didn’t have the courage to say, what I didn’t want to admit I still wanted.
I groan, trying to will the obsession out of my head. But it’s no use. Lev Rusnak has a way of sticking to you. And right now, I have nowhere to run.
I’m barely halfway down the fluorescent corridor when two men step into my path. Well-dressed. Cold-eyed. And my stomach drops—they’re Bratva. I’ve seen this type before, in Milan with Lev’s security, around Noelle’s mansion. Enough to know I’m in trouble.
One of them steps closer, his posture too controlled, too calm. “Miss Marino,” he says, voice even, clipped. “You’re coming with us.”
I blink, then laugh—short, sharp, and disbelieving. “Excuse me?” I ask, trying to mask the spike of panic rising in my chest. “Is this Lev’s new way of torturing me?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even smirk. “You’ve been summoned for official Bratva business,” he says. “You have no choice but to come with us.”
My laugh dies in my throat. I swallow hard, my heart kicking against my ribs. No joking this time. Not with them. Not with this.
“I don’t—look, I have nothing to do with the Bratva,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m just a flight attendant. Leave me alone.”
They don’t answer. Instead, one of them reaches into a leather folder and pulls out a photograph.
I catch my breath. It’s my mother, smiling on a pier in Greece—but not alone. Vassilis Marino stands behind her, hand casually on her shoulder, and next to the photo is a document, official and signed.
My eyes widen. My father…I haven’t thought about him in years. And now his shadow looms over me in this terrifying, inescapable way.
The soldier’s voice is flat, unyielding. “Your father signed an agreement years ago. The debt is still unpaid. You are the repayment. You are to come with us, now.”
I freeze. My legs lock beneath me, my hands gripping my bag strap until my knuckles ache. My heart thunders so loud I’m afraid they’ll hear it.
This…this can’t be real.
“This has to be a mistake,” I insist, my voice trembling despite my best attempt at control. “You’ve got the wrong person. This isn’t me.”
I glance at the photo again—my mother, my father—and I know it isn’t a mistake.
The soldiers remain polite, their expressions unreadable, but firm.
One gently takes my elbow, guiding me toward a sleek black car waiting a few feet away.
I plant my feet, stubborn, but deep down, I know I cannot fight this.
The door clicks shut behind me, the interior cool and unyielding. I fumble for my phone, heart hammering, and try to call Noelle. Nothing. No signal. No connection. Panic coils in my stomach.
My mind races. My parents…the Bratva…a debt.
I had no idea my father had relations with the Bratva.
I never heard of them until Noelle married a Bratva head.
He was sweet to her and everything, but I remember how she was kidnapped and almost killed.
It’s a dangerous life, and I vowed never to be involved with them.
Why did my father do this? My father, who always praised my beauty, told me I would make him money one day. Even dead, he’s found a way to use me as a means to an end.
My hands shake as the car starts to move. I hug my bag to my chest, my knuckles white. My body trembles—not just from fear, but from the cold, hard realization that my life has just changed in ways I cannot even begin to control.
The car glides silently through the streets, the city lights blurring past my window.
My chest feels tight, each heartbeat loud in my ears.
After what feels like an eternity, the car slows and pulls up to a massive gated estate.
My stomach knots at the sight; this isn’t just any house.
The gates are tall, wrought iron, the mansion beyond sprawling and impossibly beautiful.
Marble steps lead up to an entrance framed by glowing lanterns, and the grounds are immaculately manicured.
The soldiers step out first, their movements precise, controlled. I hesitate, swallowing hard. This is not my world. None of it feels real.
One of them opens the door for me, his grip firm on my elbow, and I step onto the stone driveway, my heels clicking sharply against the marble.
My eyes take in the mansion again, trying to process its scale, its perfection—but all I can focus on is the inevitability that whatever is waiting inside has something to do with me.
I glance at the soldiers, then at the gates behind me. Running isn’t an option. Not really.
The soldiers guide me up the marble steps, my heels clicking loudly, echoing in the cold night air. I glare at them, but their expressions are unreadable, perfectly trained. And then I see him.
Lev.
He’s waiting at the front door, hands tucked casually into the pockets of a perfectly tailored dark suit. The faint glow from the lanterns catches the sharp angles of his face, and my stomach flips—not with fear, but with fury.
I storm toward him, my bag swinging at my side. “What the hell is this, Lev? Explain yourself!”
My voice cracks on the last word, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough of being kept in the dark, enough of him treating me like some plaything to be summoned at his whim.
He straightens, his expression unreadable for a moment, then lets a small smirk tug at the corner of his lips. “Sasha,” he says, voice calm, almost impossibly composed. “You’re here because it’s unavoidable.”
I want to spit fire at him, to remind him of all the hurt, all the humiliation, all the control he’s had over me—but for once, words fail me. My anger sharpens, slicing right through the fear building in my chest.
“This is insane! You can’t just—” I stop myself, realizing no one here will care about my protests. My hands clench into fists at my sides. “—I have nothing to do with this!”
Lev tilts his head, gray eyes catching the lantern light. “You do now,” he says simply, as if that explains everything.
My breath hitches. I can’t tell if I want to scream, cry, or run. Probably all three at once.
He doesn’t flinch. He meets my glare evenly, gray eyes sharp, unyielding. “Your father owed the Rusnak Bratva millions,” he says, voice flat, almost clinical. “The agreement…it was collateralized on you. As a family asset.”
I laugh, bitter and incredulous, letting it echo off the steps. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is ridiculous!” My hands fly up, trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “I can’t…this can’t—people don’t do this anymore. This isn’t—this isn’t real life!”
Lev tilts his head, expression unreadable. “It is. The paper trail is ironclad. Bratva law is older than American law. Older than most laws you follow without question. And it binds you.”
I take a step back, my stomach twisting. My mind screams that this is insane, medieval, impossible—but the way he says it…the way he isn’t apologetic, the certainty in his tone…it chills me.
“It’s unbelievable,” I whisper, almost to myself, because nothing else fits. Nothing I’ve been taught, nothing I’ve experienced…. This just isn’t supposed to happen.
Lev doesn’t soften. He just watches me, calm and in control, and I realize in a cold, sinking moment that none of my disbelief will change the fact staring me in the face: I’m trapped in a world I never asked to enter.
He steps closer, and the chill in his eyes makes my stomach clench. “You belong to me now,” he says plainly. “And you’re going to marry me before the week is over.”
I blink at him, trying to process the words. “Wait…what do you mean?” My voice cracks, disbelief edging into panic.
Lev doesn’t flinch. He tilts my chin with a hand, his grip firm but controlled, and locks his gaze with mine. “Do you have millions to pay back the Rusnaks?”
I shake my head, my throat dry. “No…of course not.”
His jaw tightens, and I feel the weight of his presence pressing down on me.
“Then your options are limited,” he says, voice low and measured.
“You can either become the Bratva’s property and work for one of our establishments—waitress, bar, club…
whatever they decide—or you can become my wife.
Keep the debt within the family. In that case, I take responsibility for it… as your husband.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My knees feel weak; my heart pounds so hard I swear it will burst. I’m gasping, staggered by the sheer impossibility of it.
“Y-you…you’re saying….” I falter, words failing me. My mind is spinning, trying to catch the edges of reality. I feel like I’m falling, like the floor beneath me doesn’t exist. “I…I can’t….”
Lev’s grip doesn’t loosen. He doesn’t need to force me; the gravity of his words is enough to make me tremble.
“I’m not asking, Sasha,” he says, his voice soft but merciless.
“You don’t have the money. You don’t have a choice.
Only the Bratva can decide how this debt is repaid.
And I…I am the only solution that keeps you safe. ”
His eyes harden, and for the first time I hear something rough in his voice—something almost dangerous. “There’s another option,” he says. “But you won’t like it.”
I swallow, my throat raw. “What option?”
Lev’s jaw flexes. “We can turn you over to a Greek ally. Someone who’s been circling this debt for years, waiting to collect. He’d take you as property, Sasha. Not a guest. Not a wife. Property.”
I can’t stop the small sound that escapes my mouth. My stomach twists as his words sink in.
“He’d own you,” Lev continues, his voice dark and steady.
“You wouldn’t have a name anymore—only a price.
You’d be sent where he wants, worn how he wants, touched how he wants.
Every part of you would become a transaction.
A bed, a room, a body at his disposal. That’s what happens to women turned over in these deals. ”
I shake my head, backing away from him, but he follows, his gaze pinning me in place. “You’d disappear. No friends, no flights, no Noelle. Nothing. He’d break you down until you stopped fighting and started obeying. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve signed the papers. Do you want that?”
His last words are almost a growl. For a moment, I see something flicker behind his gray eyes—a shadow of the man who once touched me softly, who once whispered mine in the dark.
Then he steps closer, lowering his voice. “Or,” he says, “you stay under my name. My protection. You don’t become property. You become my wife. The debt dies with me. You stay in the light, not the shadows.”
I’m trembling, my nails digging into my palms. “You’re giving me a choice between a cage and a…cage,” I whisper.
Lev’s expression darkens, but there’s a flash of something—anger, maybe at himself. “I’m giving you the only door out of hell,” he murmurs.
I can’t breathe. My pulse is thudding in my ears, my chest tight like it’s been cinched with wire. His words are still hanging between us—wife, property, protection—each one a bar of the cage snapping shut.
Lev studies me for a long moment, his face unreadable, the perfect mask of a man who has negotiated a hundred lives into corners. “You don’t have to answer now,” he says at last, his voice even. “But we both know you will. No one chooses the other option. No one survives it.”
“I….” The word sticks in my throat. My lips tremble, but nothing comes out. I want to scream at him, hit him, claw at his suit, anything. But all I can do is stare at him, my whole body going numb.
He takes a single step closer, and in a softer voice—one that makes me hate him more—he murmurs, “I’m sure you’ll choose marrying me. Over the former option.”
Then, just like that, the softness is gone. He straightens, his expression shuttered. He turns on his heel and walks back inside the mansion, hands in his pockets, like he hasn’t just rewritten the rest of my life.
I stand there on the steps, the heavy door swinging shut behind him. The soldiers hover nearby, silent, waiting.
My breath catches. For the first time in years, I don’t know what to say.