Chapter 3
Alina
The SUV bumped along for half an hour before it came to a complete stop in what looks like a parking garage outside the back windows. The whole time, the men in the front speak to each other in words I don’t understand over my screams.
One thing I’m certain of is that the guy in the suit, the one whose nose I busted, is the leader. The others treat him like he’s in charge. In charge of what, I’m not entirely sure yet.
Being silent in the confined space feels like giving up, but my raw throat needs a break before I lose my voice entirely. I’m not done by any means.
As soon as the hatch opens, I pray that other people may be nearby and start shouting for help.
I only get one word out before fingers wrap around my jaw, shutting me up.
“Quiet,” the man in the suit says. With one single word, he makes it clear that it’s not a request.
My pulse jumps against his fingers while he studies my face as if to ensure his message was received. When satisfied, he says, “You’re Alina Kent.”
It’s not a question, but a statement.
I give him a terse nod, cooperating only because I want an explanation.
“If you hadn’t run, you would not have been restrained, and we could’ve had a simple conversation in a more pleasant location. Now we’re here where nobody will hear you scream.”
“Who the hell are you?” I ask. My voice, thankfully, sounds like it belongs to someone braver than a weak, five-foot nothing, hundred-pound woman.
“Dominik Morozov.”
That doesn’t tell me anything.
“Who are you?” I ask again, wanting to know more than what to call him because I have a bad feeling about all of this.
“I’m the underboss to the Morozov Bratva,” he answers.
Bratva.
Even the cops won’t say that word above a whisper.
The Russian mafia is the city’s most powerful criminal organization. I’ve also heard rumors, stories about the Morozov mob boss, a man who makes the rest of the Bratva seem civilized in comparison.
“Wh-why did you show up where I work? What do you want with me?” I ask him, my voice shaking against my will.
He ignores me and gives the other two men orders in their language. They haul me out of the SUV—one grabbing my shoulders, the other my legs—and carry me toward a door tucked in the corner of the garage.
The room inside is grim. There’s a metal chair with stains around it that don’t look like grease, and tools hanging from the walls. The concrete is cold under my pant legs when I’m lowered down. It’s colder than even the fear crawling up my spine.
The heavy door closes, sealing me inside with the men that I just injured.
I try to shove those concerns aside and steel my spine.
Is this going to be some sort of payback for hurting them?
Now they plan to hurt me? I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Anger is easier to handle than fear.
“You wanted a conversation, then fucking talk!” I shout, forcing my voice to hold steady even though my knees are shaking. But Dominik isn’t there. Only the two injured thugs.
“What the hell is going on? Where did he go?”
Neither of them answers me. They don’t say a word, but they at least keep their distance, like they’re waiting for their boss to return.
Which means all I can do is wait as well.
I hate the tense silence almost as much as I hate the thin plastic digging into my wrists, ankles, and knees.
Finally, the door opens again. Dominik walks back in wearing a clean suit, only faint bruising on his nose hinting at what I did to him.
Under the bright overhead lights, he looks even more dangerous—broad shoulders filling his jacket, a thin scar cutting along his jaw, pale bluish-gray eyes assessing me.
Going over to the chair, he drags it toward me, the loud, screeching sound of the legs on concrete no doubt repayment for my screams earlier.
Once he’s about five feet away, he sits down, legs spread, elbows on his knees.
When he leans in, his suit jacket opens just enough to flash the black grip of the gun tucked at his front hip, a warning disguised as an accident.
“You want to know why you’re here? We’re looking for your brother,” he says. “Archer stole from the wrong men.”
Ice floods my stomach. Archer frustrates me, scares me sometimes, but stealing from the Bratva? That’s suicide.
Maybe he’s just a suspect, one of many. My brother could be entirely innocent. Clearing the emotion from my throat, I ask, “What is it that Archer has allegedly stolen from you?”
While I wouldn’t put theft past my brother, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt, to assume he’s innocent until proven guilty.
Dominik’s expression gives nothing away before he says, “Archer stole two million in merchandise from us.”
“Two million dollars?” I whisper. “No. Archer can be reckless, but he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—”
Dominik watches my face closely. “Are you sure he didn’t tell you where the money is? This can all be over if so…”
“I’m sure,” I snap. “If I’d seen two million dollars, I’d be on a beach somewhere pretending my life isn’t falling apart, not just coming off a twelve-hour shift catering to the whims of every damn guest.”
“Well, Archer is missing, and so is our money.”
“This has to be a mistake,” I say again, quieter this time. Archer raised me. Protected me. He wouldn’t vanish without a word.
But Dominik’s expression says he’s seen a hundred siblings make this same argument, and he’s unmoved.
“He hasn’t been to his apartment in over a week,” Dominik adds. “That’s why we tracked you down.”
Something inside me sinks. If Archer really is gone… he didn’t just screw up. He ran.
Is this why he hasn’t responded to any of my messages? Because he’s gone?
“Archer wouldn’t just disappear on me.”
Dominik frowns harder. “He’s gone, Alina. And we have video surveillance to prove his guilt.”
“Show me,” I demand. I need to see it.
“Archer was responsible for moving an important shipment for us,” Dominik says. “Instead, he sold it to a rival crew and vanished with the cash.”
My heart sinks. “Archer wouldn’t steal from people like you. He knows better.”
“Apparently he doesn’t,” Dominik replies.
“Then show it to me because I can’t believe it was Archer. I won’t deny that my brother makes mistakes,” I ramble. “He gambles, he talks big, but my brother—”
“Has made his bed,” Dominik says, cutting me off with a sharpness that makes my stomach sink. “And unfortunately, now you are going to have to lie in it.”
“Me?” The word scrapes out of me before I can swallow it. “I don’t even have two thousand dollars, much less a million!”
“I know you don’t,” he says as he pulls out his phone from his inner pocket to look at the screen. “But when someone takes what’s ours, we take something even more valuable from them.”
Me. He means me.
“If your brother loves you, as I assume he does, then he isn’t going to want you to suffer for his crime,” Dominik remarks.
He turns the phone around and plays a video of a warehouse.
The footage isn’t great, but even I can recognize Archer wearing a hoodie, shaking hands with a group of men in leather vests.
The way he moves in the video—quick and jittery—looks too much like the boy who used to steal food for us to deny it’s him.
I force down the rising vomit in my throat, along with my doubt. “Let me call him,” I say, grasping at the one thin thread of hope left.
“I already checked your phone. He hasn’t replied to you in nine days.”
Nine days. My brother wouldn’t disappear from me for nine days. Not unless something was wrong.
“I can at least leave him a message,” I say. “Tell him I’m with you. Tell him to fix this.”
Dominik shakes his head once. “The Pakhan will decide what happens next.”
“The Pakhan?” I repeat, but he doesn’t bother clarifying who that is. I assume it’s his boss.
“Gavriil will want to send photos to motivate Archer,” Dominik says.
“Photos of me?”
His gaze drops to my torn shirt, then back to my eyes. “Seeing his sweet, innocent sister restrained should encourage him to return what he stole.”
A pulse of cold terror slides through me when he holds up his phone to snap pictures of me.
I remind myself it could be worse. I’ve seen worse. My mom’s boyfriend used to knock her across the room for breathing wrong. Even after she died, it took years before I understood not every man reacts with violence.
Dominik and his men haven’t hurt me intentionally.
Yet.
They chased me down, yes, and kidnapped me off the street, but only to convince Archer to return their money.
I’m terrified of what happens next, but fury boils underneath it. At Archer. At myself for even feeling it. He’s my brother, but he’s dragged me into something I might not survive.
A new fear slams into me.
What will these men do to Archer?
I’ve been so focused on staying alive that I barely let myself consider what they’ll do when they find him.
“When Archer returns the money, you’ll let us both go, right?” The question leaves me before I can stop it, bargaining, the only lifeline I have left.
Dominik puts his phone away, then clasps his hands between his legs. His gaze drifts away, calculating, for far too long. “If your brother comes to his senses, he might get a second chance from the Pakhan.”
My stomach drops.
“Might?” I echo. “You can’t guarantee—”
“I’m not guaranteeing anything,” he cuts in. “Your brother dug his own grave. The Pakhan will decide what his betrayal will cost him.”
The implications hit me harder than the concrete floor. If Archer doesn’t come back soon, if he doesn’t fix this, the Bratva won’t wait forever.
My brother and I survived things most siblings don’t talk about.
He kept me fed, kept a roof over our heads, kept us together after our mom died.
He dropped out of school so that I could finish.
I owe him everything, which is why the thought of him abandoning me now feels like the ultimate betrayal.
“There must be something…”
“Gavriil does not forgive easily,” Dominik mutters.
In other words, we’re fucking screwed. Archer’s fate may have already been decided by this ruthless Pakhan. And if Archer suspects as much, then he may never return with their money.
The men behind Dominik begin speaking tersely to each other in Russian, and I have a feeling that they’re talking about me even though none of them look at me. While they converse, I think back to all Archer and I’ve been through together.
I’ve always believed he would come through for me. But for the first time, doubt cracks through that belief.
“If Archer has the money, he’ll return it,” I say, trying to convince myself.
The men fall silent. Dominik studies me for a long, unreadable moment before finally saying, “You should hope he does.”
No one has ever put me first except Archer. Not my mother. Not the men she dated. No one. If he doesn’t come through now… I don’t know who I am without that anchor.
“If you’re smart,” Dominik says, “you’ll keep your mouth shut when the Pakhan arrives. Be calm. Don’t provoke him. Your brother has already done enough damage for both of you.”
“Why help me now?” I ask. “Why bother warning me when you’re the one who dragged me here in the first place?”
Dominik’s expression hardens. “Blame Archer, not me. Your brother chose this. I’m just telling you how to survive it.”
“Warning me about the boss who calls all the shots,” I point out, my voice rising in irritation. He doesn’t answer; he doesn’t have to. “So, you’re just following orders? Waiting for your boss to text you what to do next?”
Dominik’s gaze drops to my throat, to the rapid flutter of my pulse, and stays there. Heat climbs my neck, not from attraction but from the unnerving knowledge that he’s reading every fear I’m trying to hide.
He says something in Russian—sharp, authoritative—and one of the men immediately turns and leaves.
“You’re staying with me,” Dominik says.
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Here?”
“Not here. Upstairs. In my penthouse.”
“I’m not sure if that’s any better,” I mutter.
“Would you rather go home with the Pakhan? I believe his cage is empty tonight.”
A cold shudder tears down my spine. “Cage?”
“Gavriil pays women to try to endure being his captive for a month,” Dominik says. “Some last days. None last the full contract.”
My stomach flips. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie about him,” he replies. “Gavriil prefers his women to be disobedient. He hates when they become docile, too eager to please him, so he releases them before the month contract is up,” Dominik explains. “That’s why he wouldn’t be able to resist you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I remark, ignoring the part about his boss being drawn to my defiance.
“Care to find out for yourself?” Dominik asks with a raised eyebrow.
A bolt of panic hits so hard my limbs go numb. “No,” I breathe. “Absolutely not.”
Staying with Dominik isn’t safe, but it’s better than the Pakhan’s cage.
“Then you’ll stay with me,” he says, “and you’ll do as you’re told.”
Every muscle in my body rebels at his order, wanting to refuse him just for spite.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, Dominik crouches in front of me, his fingers brushing a loose strand of my hair before giving it a slow, deliberate tug. “Do I really seem that bad to you, dikaya koshka?”
I grit my teeth, refusing to flinch even as my pulse trips. I don’t want to admit it but compared to the monster he answers to… Dominik is the lesser nightmare.
“Fine,” I snap, sentencing myself to my fate. “And what does di-ky-a kosh-a mean?”
He rises slowly, lifting his scratched hands up so I can see the marks I left on him.
“Hellcat,” he says. Then, after a beat, “And until Archer crawls out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, it means you belong to me.”