Chapter 8 – Lev
I storm into the foyer, boots echoing against the marble floor, my mind a storm of strategy and fury. Every step I take is measured, controlled—no one can see the chaos underneath. I hear the front door swing open behind me, the sharp click of heels slicing through the tension.
Sasha.
I turn, and the storm in her eyes hits me like a physical force. Rage, disbelief, betrayal—all of it burning across her face. “What kind of sick, twisted game is this, Lev?” Her voice is sharp, cutting, and somehow, it makes the air feel tighter.
I freeze for the barest second, meeting her glare. Her anger would terrify any man—any ordinary man. But I’ve faced worse. I’ve killed worse. Yet none of that prepared me for her.
“I’m tired of explaining things, Sasha,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You can make whatever decision you want. You are free to choose, but the options are limited. That’s the reality.”
I watch her fury flare, the set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes. It should irritate me. It should push me away. And yet…it doesn’t.
She’s still exactly as magnetic as she was in Milan, in New York—every sharp word, every flare of emotion, pulling at me in ways I’ve never felt before.
My pulse quickens, heat crawling up my neck, settling low in my gut.
She’s mine now, by law, by contract, by the twisted design of her father’s debt—but seeing her here, in my house, makes it impossibly real.
I clamp down on the possessive surge threatening to spill out.
She has no idea what it does to me, the way she carries herself, the defiance that screams she will never bow.
And it makes me want her more. Not like before, casually.
No. This is a claiming, a marking of territory I can’t afford to deny.
Her glare sharpens as she realizes I’m not retreating. I don’t flinch. I don’t apologize. I let her rage simmer against me, letting it stoke the fire between us.
Because the truth is—I don’t want her to be just anyone’s. Not now. Not ever.
And that thought, that desire, is almost as dangerous as the world she’s been dragged into.
“Wow.” She drags a hand down her face, her frustration obvious.
I nod once, crisp. “You’ll have your own room for now,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, though the pull in my chest is raw.
“The moment we say our vows, you move into my suite. Everything you own, from your apartment, will be brought here. You can buy whatever you want—anything. My money is yours. All of it.”
Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “I don’t care about your money,” she spits. “And you can go to hell.”
Lev ignores her spark and continues like she didn’t just curse at him. “As for your wedding dress, I’ll handle it. Everything will be ready before the vows.”
She folds her arms, chin tilted high. “Pick a black one,” she snaps. “To match the color of your heart.”
The corner of my mouth curves before I can stop it. Her defiance, her bite—it still cuts straight through me. I let out a low laugh, not soft, but sharp. “Black suits you,” I murmur. “But don’t fool yourself, Sasha. You have no idea how dark my heart really is.”
I push off the doorframe and take a step toward her, just enough for her to feel my presence, to smell the faint trace of smoke and leather that clings to me.
“And don’t even think about running.” My voice drops, a quiet command.
“Finding you would not be difficult. Not for me. Not for my men. You’d be back here before the ink dried on your escape plan. ”
I turn away before I do something I’ll regret.
“Get some sleep,” I say over my shoulder. “You’ll need it.”
And then I leave her standing there, still spitting sparks, still mine even if she hasn’t accepted it yet.
I storm into my office and drop onto the leather chair, trying to force my focus onto the accounts sprawled across the desk. Numbers blur. Columns and totals mean nothing. Sasha. Her fire. Her defiance. It clogs my brain like smoke in a sealed room.
I shrug off my jacket, letting it fall to the chair. I loosen a button or two on my shirt, trying to free myself from the tension coiling in my chest. Still—nothing. My eyes skim the papers, my mind somewhere else entirely.
I rise, stiff-legged, and walk over to the sideboard.
My hand hovers over the crystal bottle before I grip it, pouring a generous shot of vodka.
The amber liquid catches the dim light of the office as I tilt the glass back, swallowing down heat that does nothing to touch the cold ache of her presence in my thoughts.
I set the glass down, tapping it once against the polished wood.
I should be strategizing, planning, untangling debts and ledgers, but instead I replay her face, her voice, the sharpness of her tongue.
And a feral part of me—one I usually lock away behind contracts and numbers—is alive, and it is furious.
She’s mine. And yet, she’s not. Not fully. And the very thought burns like acid across my chest.
I pour another.
The door creaks open, a quiet intrusion against the low hum of the office. I turn, glass still in hand, to see Mikhail step inside.
I sigh, dragging a palm down my face. “Is she settled in nicely?”
He smiles, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, and nods. “She has a lot of fire in her, Lev. You’re in for a wild ride.”
I just shake my head and say nothing. Words feel like sand in my mouth.
Mikhail strolls toward the desk, slowly, like he’s testing me. “Why didn’t you just let her work off the money in one of the establishments? A bar, a club. She’s so set on hating you—why bother with this?”
“No.” The word rips out of me before I even think about it. “She’s mine.” My voice comes out low, almost a growl. It hangs in the air between us, raw, ugly, honest.
Mikhail’s smile deepens, but he doesn’t push. He just turns and walks out, shutting the door behind him.
I stand there, pulse still hammering in my throat, staring at the spot where he’d been.
“She’s mine.”
The words echo in my head like a shot fired in a closed room.
Finally, I give up. I set the glass down, heavy, half-full. I run a hand through my hair, the alcohol a temporary reprise that does nothing for me.
I leave the office, locking the door behind me. I force my steps steady, my expression blank, even as my mind reels. I tell myself it’s just sleep I’m chasing, not her.
Just sleep, Lev.
I climb the stairs to the suite, the bed beckoning like the only sanctuary I can allow myself tonight. I collapse onto it, eyes wide open for too long, staring at the ceiling, fighting the restlessness gnawing at my chest.
Eventually, exhaustion wins over the storm in my head. I close my eyes, forcing the muscles to relax, forcing the thoughts to retreat, forcing myself to forget…if only until morning.
***
Morning comes too quickly, sunlight slicing through the blinds, spilling across the suite. I wake before it fully settles and rush quietly through my morning routine, struggling not to fall into the same cycle as yesterday, where Sasha was the only thing on my mind.
I dress hurriedly and go downstairs for breakfast, slouching in the chair at the dinner table, my mind on a loop. The cook sets my breakfast on the table, bows slightly, and disappears into the kitchen. I pick at the food, appetite gone, every bite tasting like ash.
Part of me wants to call her down to have breakfast with me, bark an order, remind her that she’s mine now in every sense that matters. But another part, the part that surprises me more than it should, whispers to wait. To let her adjust. To let her breathe…before I claim every inch of her world.
I stare at the cup in front of me, fingers tapping the edge. Patience, I tell myself, though the growl in my chest says otherwise. She’s mine. And soon enough, she’ll understand what that really means.
I’m halfway through my coffee when the sound of footsteps on the marble makes me look up. I expect Mikhail or the cook—certainly not her. But there she is. Sasha.
She walks in like she owns the place, hair brushed, eyes bright, wearing a soft smile that doesn’t belong to the furious girl from last night. For a second, I just stare. It’s like seeing sunlight where I expected a storm.
“Morning,” she says lightly, sliding into the chair opposite mine. “Hope you don’t mind me joining you.”
I lean back, narrowing my eyes. “What’s up with you?”
“I had time to think,” she says, reaching for the orange juice. “And I have a proposition for you.”
My pulse kicks up. “Go on.”
She looks me dead in the eye. “Pay off my father’s debt without marrying me. I’ll work for you—do whatever job you give me—and I’ll pay you back every cent. You won’t lose anything.”
For a moment, I can’t even breathe. I thought she’d come down to apologize, or at least soften. But no. Even now, she’s still trying to run from me. Still trying to turn this into a transaction instead of what it’s going to be.
My fingers tighten on the coffee cup until I can feel the ceramic creak. “No.”
Her brows lift. “No?”
I lean forward, voice low, hard. “You’re not going to work off anything. You’re not going to hustle in one of my clubs or my offices like some debt slave. You’re going to be my wife. That’s it. This conversation is over.”
Her lips part, eyes flashing—but I cut her off with a look. My blood feels hot, furious. Why does she keep trying to escape? Why won’t she see what’s already decided?
She leans back in her chair, lips pressed together, eyes narrowing. “Why? Why do you want to marry me so badly?” Her voice is sharp, but there’s an edge of curiosity underneath.
I take a slow sip of coffee, letting the silence hang. “It’s business,” I say finally, voice calm but firm. “This marriage…it keeps the debt inside the family. That’s all it is.”
Her laugh is short, bitter. “Business?” she scoffs, leaning forward. “Stop lying, Lev. You’re only doing this because you want me in your bed.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t deny it. I let my gaze lock on hers, letting the weight of my eyes speak the truth. The heat building in my chest is impossible to hide.
I lean forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on hers. “That’s part of it,” I say quietly, no shame, no denial. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember New York. You proved you wanted me too.”
Her cheeks flush, but she holds my stare. “That night…” I let my voice drop, low and rough, “was unforgettable. I won’t mind having it back.”
She shakes her head slowly, like she’s looking at a stranger. “Even if I marry you, Lev, this is just business. You won’t touch me.” Her chin lifts, defiant. “I don’t care about you at all.”
Something tightens in my chest at her words—anger, heat, something darker—but I keep my face unreadable, fingers curling around the edge of my cup until my knuckles go white.
“If you’re so certain you don’t care about me…” I pause, watching her throat work as she swallows, “…then marry me and prove it. Share my bed and prove I’m just another man to you.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away.
“You keep calling this business?” I continue, softer but sharper.
“Fine. Treat it like business. I’m saving you from a fate that ends in prostitution and, eventually, a bullet.
That debt is real. Someone has to pay it.
If it’s not money…” I let my gaze drag over her face, “…then it’s you. Repay me one way or another.”
She stiffens, but I don’t stop.
“I’m giving you my name. My protection. My power. You want it to be just business?” I lean even closer, my voice a near-whisper. “Then do your part of the contract.”
Her lips tremble, but she keeps her chin high.
Inside, something dark and hungry twists in my chest. I tell myself this is a negotiation, nothing more. But I know I’m lying—to her and to myself.
She snaps, voice sharp and defiant, “You think I’m just going to roll over and marry you because you say so? You’re insane if you think—”
I cut her off with a slow shake of my head, letting the weight of the room press in. “No, Sasha,” I say, my tone deadly calm. “I’m giving you a choice. Not forever. Not forever to debate, not forever to pout. Until tomorrow morning. That’s your deadline.”
Her eyes widen, fury sparking like a live wire, and I lean closer, letting my presence fill the space between us. “After tonight…if you refuse, I call the Greeks. They take what’s theirs. And I promise you—they won’t be gentle. They don’t play by my rules.”
The words hit her like ice, but I see the fire in her gaze. She wants to fight me, but she also knows there’s no running.
“I’m not bluffing,” I murmur, letting the steel in my voice do the work I don’t need to. “You have until morning to decide. Then it’s no longer your choice.”
I leave my breakfast on the table and walk away.