2. Alina
ALINA
The man gripping my elbow clears his throat and speaks toward him, not to me. “We’ve brought her.”
The man doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches long enough to make my pulse jump.
His eyes stay on me as he takes me in properly this time, from my face to my coat to my shoes and back again, slow and thorough.
Finally, he speaks. “I can see that, Enzo.” His voice is rich, textured without being loud.
“Release and untie her. She’s not going to run. ”
It isn’t a suggestion. The grip on my elbow tightens for a fraction of a second, and my ties are cut.
I stay still, rooted in place. Running feels ridiculous now, like trying to outrun a decision that’s already been made.
“You’re afraid,” he says, calm and observational, like he’s stating a fact he’s already accounted for.
I draw in a breath and hold it, and his gaze flicks briefly to my throat before returning to my eyes.
One of his hands leaves his pocket, and he reaches out slowly, not touching me at first, giving me time to pull back if I want to.
I don’t. His fingers brush a loose strand of hair away from my cheek, light and controlled.
“Don’t be,” he says quietly. “Fear doesn’t buy you anything here. ”
His hand drops, but the awareness of it doesn’t, and when he looks at me again, something sharper glints behind the restraint, not warmth, but interest. “When someone owes me,” he continues, his voice steady, “I collect. Your father thought the rules were flexible. He was wrong.”
He pauses, watching my reaction without missing a beat. “You, however, are not your father,” he adds. “And you’re standing here instead of screaming, which makes you worth examining.”
A single corner of his mouth twitches, not a smile, but close enough to unsettle me. I lift my chin. “Who are you?”
His gaze stays steady. “Mikhail Morin.”
My chest tightens. I don’t let it show.
“I want to go home,” I say.
Mikhail’s expression doesn’t change. “Your home is gone.”
“My mother is at home.”
His eyes spark once, and briefly, and I know he already knows where she is. I force the words out. “Sergei is dead.”
“I know.”
“Who killed him?”
Mikhail’s mouth tightens slightly. “We’ll need to figure that out, but I suspect it’s all because of you, malyshka.” A shiver runs up my spine at how he rolls the endearment on his tongue in a deep, husky rasp.
I dig my nails into my palms. “What does that mean?”
He raises a brow like the question amuses him. “It means your father made promises he couldn’t keep.”
My throat tightens. “My father is dead.”
Mikhail steps closer. “Your father,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin, “sold you to my brother. Any wise girl would’ve accepted the deal.
But your insolence, your stubborn little fire, cost me a family member.
” His eyes burn into mine, dark and unyielding, with a gaze that makes my stomach flutter with a sick mix of fear and something hotter.
He leans in, so close I can feel the heat rolling off him.
“And now, little one, you’re mine to break. ”
My breath catches. “No.”
“Yes.”
I shake my head hard. “You’re lying. Sergei came to my mother’s door and—”
“And you took him outside,” Mikhail cuts in.
My chest goes hot. “He forced me.”
Mikhail’s eyes don’t soften. “You left the building with him, and then he died.”
Panic makes my voice go thin. “I didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t say you did.” His voice stays calm. “I said your presence lured him.”
I shake my head. “You can’t put this on me.”
Mikhail’s gaze holds mine. “I can put anything on you.”
I swallow. “Then do it. Kill me.”
A beat of silence.
Then he says, “If I kill you, I confirm your father’s betrayal. That gives my enemies a reason to move.”
I stare at him. “So let me go.”
He chuckles at that. “If I let you go, I look weak.”
My stomach turns. “So, what do you do?”
Mikhail’s voice doesn’t shift. “I marry you.”
The words hit so hard, I actually laugh. I can’t help it. “You’re insane.” Mikhail watches me like I’m a specimen, and I shake my head once more. “I’m not marrying you.”
He nods once, like he expected it. “You will.”
I step back. “No, I won’t.”
Mikhail turns his head slightly, speaking to one of the men behind him without taking his eyes off me. “Bring her phone.”
A man approaches and hands Mikhail my phone.
Mikhail taps the screen once, then holds it up so I can see a picture of my mother, leaving the rental building, taken from a distance, but clear enough to make my blood run cold. My mouth goes dry. “Don’t.”
Mikhail’s voice stays level. “Your mother is all you have left. Your father burned everything else.”
I force my words through my teeth. “Leave her alone.”
“That depends on you.”
My hands curl into fists. “You can’t do this.”
Mikhail steps closer again. His eyes stay steady, his tone flat. “I can do worse.”
I stand there, shaking, trying to find a crack in him, a sign he’s bluffing or that he has a limit. He doesn’t offer one. My voice comes out low. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” he says. “The rest, malyshka,” he continues with a lopsided grin, “I’ll learn behind closed doors.”
A silence stretches. Then I say, “I want to see my mother.”
Mikhail’s mouth twitches, almost amused. It’s small, quick, gone fast. “Tonight.”
“I want to see her now.”
“You don’t get to set terms here.”
I take a breath, forcing my voice steady. “If you have any heart at all, you’ll let me speak to her. If you’re human, you’ll let me.”
Mikhail’s gaze stays on me. “You think calling me human will soften me.”
“I think you don’t like being challenged,” I shoot back, earning another beat of silence. Then Mikhail nods once. “Ten minutes. Guards present.”
I exhale sharply. “Fine.”
He turns and gestures. “Inside.” Without so much as another word, he strides away.
Mikhail’s men lead me through the house, my boots scuffing against the cold, gleaming marble as I’m pushed into what they call a morning room.
I’m told to sit and wait, my nerves twisting tightly in my gut, but even with my head spinning, I can’t help but take in the space around me.
This room is something else—pure, untouched luxury that makes my worn-out clothes feel like an insult.
Tall windows stretch almost to the ceiling, framed by thick curtains in a deep, rich red.
Sunlight sneaks through in thin streaks, hitting a massive wooden table in the center.
Above, a chandelier dangles, all glass and glitter, throwing tiny flecks of light across the pale walls.
A vase of bright pink flowers—peonies, I think—sits off to the side, their scent mixing with a faint whiff of polish and something expensive I can’t place.
It’s all so perfect it almost feels like I’m sullying it just by breathing here.
I shift in the stiff chair, my fingers digging into the armrest as I try to keep my racing thoughts in check.
An hour drags by—I think, anyway, since there’s no clock to mark the time—and my legs are stiff from sitting when I hear the creak of a side door.
My head snaps up, heart lurching as they bring my mother in.
Two guards tower over her, their hands hovering near their belts like they’re itching for an excuse to draw something.
She looks smaller than she did this morning.
Her eyes widen the moment she sees me. “Alina,” she breathes, rushing forward until a guard blocks her.
“Let her,” I snap.
Mikhail’s voice comes from behind me. “Let her.”
The guard steps aside. My mother throws her arms around me, gripping me hard. Her body shakes. Mine does too. I hate that the first thing I feel is relief, because relief means part of me already accepts that I’m trapped.
My mother pulls back and cups my face. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I whisper. “Mama, what is happening?”
Her eyes flick past me, toward Mikhail. Her mouth tightens. She lowers her voice. “You don’t understand who they are.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper back fiercely. “Tell me.”
My mother swallows hard. “Your father didn’t just gamble. He wasn’t just unlucky.”
My chest tightens. “Mama—”
“He owed men,” she continues, voice trembling. “Men who don’t forgive, forget, or stop.”
I shake my head. “The police said it was a robbery.”
My mother’s eyes fill. “You needed that to be true.”
I stare at her. My throat closes. “Is it not?”
She doesn’t answer directly. She just looks at me, eyes shining, and her voice goes steady in a way that scares me more than her fear. “You do what you have to do to keep breathing.”
I stare at her. “You want me to marry him.”
My mother’s lips part, then close. She looks down, then back up. “If you refuse, they won’t just take you. They’ll make an example.”
I swallow hard. “How big are they?”
My mother’s gaze flicks toward Mikhail again. “Big enough that the police will never help you. Big enough that running won’t save you. They’ll find you.”
My skin goes cold. “You’re telling me there’s no way out.”
My mother squeezes my hands. “Not tonight.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t give him that.
“I can buy time,” I whisper.
My mother’s voice breaks. “Then buy it. Buy it and stay alive.”
I pull her back into my arms, holding her tight. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” she whispers. “I should’ve seen more. I thought we were surviving. I didn’t know we were being lined up.”
I close my eyes hard, breathing through the panic.
A guard clears his throat.
Mikhail’s voice stays calm. “Time.”
My mother pulls away fast, wiping her face. She forces her shoulders back, then looks at me like she wants to pour strength into my bones through her eyes. “Be smart,” she whispers. “Don’t fight in ways that get you killed.”
I nod once before they separate us and lead her away. Moments later, Mikhail enters and stands where she did. “You got what you asked for,” he says.
I glare at him. “You enjoy this.”
His eyes flick to mine, and this time, the threat in them isn’t imaginary. He looks dangerous. “Enjoy a situation you’ve put me in by getting my brother killed? I assure you, you’re wrong.”
My feet go cold at how silken and soft his voice becomes when it dips, not unlike a snake’s before a strike. “Then why are you doing it?”
“Because your father created a mess,” he replies, “and he died before he could clean it.”
My voice shakes, anger and fear tangled together. “I’m not his mess.”
Mikhail’s tone stays even. “No. You’re mine.”
There’s nothing that I can say to counter this.
He sighs. “What will it be, Alina?”
My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m sure he can hear it as I look deep into his eyes, those cold, piercing specks of light that seem to cut right through me.
I catch my own reflection there, small and defiant.
My stomach twists with a wild, reckless flutter—not just fear, but a thrill that makes my breath catch.
It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall could destroy me but feeling the pull to jump, anyway.
If the way out is through, I’ll have to take it. “I’ll marry you.”
Inside, my mind is already moving, counting time, building exits.