Chapter 4 – Kaz
The screen glows in front of me, cold and quiet. The footage plays in real time—no sound, just grainy night vision. Violet is curled in the bed, knees to her chest, face buried in the pillow. Still trembling.
I know I shouldn’t be watching.
But I can’t stop.
There are five other camera feeds open in smaller windows on my monitor—garage, hallway, front gate, perimeter sensors. But the only one I’m really watching is hers.
Violet.
She’s sobbing into the sheets, thinking she’s alone. Thinking no one can see her like this. And fuck me—I hate how it makes something twist in my chest.
She’s scared out of her mind. That’s obvious. I told her to rest, but how the hell can someone rest after being dragged into a stranger’s mansion and locked in a goddamn room?
It was necessary. That’s what I told myself.
But now…now I can’t stop staring.
She tosses again, restlessly. Wipes her eyes. Tries to get comfortable.
Then I notice it.
Her hand—clutching something at her throat. A chain.
She keeps holding it. Even when she’s half-asleep. Even when she jolts awake again in a panic, gasping like she’s still being chased.
It’s a reflex. A comfort.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, narrowing my eyes on the screen. I’ve had that same damn feed open for almost four hours now. And still—I can’t pull myself away.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve seen women cry before. Beg. Break.
But this? This is different.
I’m not supposed to care.
But the way she curls into herself, like she’s trying to disappear…it’s not weakness. It’s the kind of grief you carry alone. The kind of fear that doesn’t come from just tonight—it’s deeper. Older.
I grit my teeth and lean back, dragging a hand over my jaw.
I shouldn’t go to her. I want to, yes—but I know exactly what that would turn into. I know what I’d do if I walked through that door, saw her tear-streaked face, smelled her fear and skin.
And she’s vulnerable right now. Sad. Broken open. It would be wrong. So I stay seated. Watching. Still pretending this is just business.
Still lying to myself.
I’ve always been attracted to her, but I let the distance grow wide because she’s not about this life. But now she’s here, and I’m too stubborn to let her walk away.
I clench my fists and tear my eyes away from the monitor. Every instinct in me screams to stay, to keep watching, to convince myself that I’m doing this for control—for security.
But I’m not.
And that’s the fucking problem.
I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. The movement jolts me, shakes something loose inside my chest. I head for the door without another glance at the screen. I don’t let myself look back.
Not even once.
Because if I do—if I so much as glance at her face again—I’ll end up in that room, and I’ll make a mistake I won’t be able to walk away from.
I’m Kazimir fucking Rusnak.
I don’t make mistakes like that.
So I force my feet forward, every step away from her like a fight with gravity, and I leave the room. Leave the girl. Leave the goddamn part of me that’s already starting to forget why I don’t let anyone close in the first place.
Morning comes too fast.
The sky outside is still a moody gray when I step into the sitting room, nursing a black coffee that tastes like regret. I haven’t slept. Not really. I spent half the night staring at her on that goddamn screen, and the other half trying to forget her face and failing miserably.
I should’ve shut the camera feed.
Should’ve walked away the second her sobs started.
But I didn’t.
And now my head’s a mess.
I lean back on the velvet sofa, staring into nothing, when I hear the familiar weight of boots on marble.
Maxim. He steps into the room, watchful eyes on me. “You look like you haven’t slept. What’s on your mind?”
“Don’t start with me,” I snarl. “Is she awake?”
Maxim yawns. I had him watch the feed all night. “Yes. But she’s still in bed.”
“Bring her down.”
He nods once and turns away without question.
It’s only a few minutes later that I hear the soft patter of reluctant footsteps. My gaze drifts toward the staircase, and there she is—Violet.
She looks smaller in the morning light. Fragile in a way I hadn’t expected.
Her eyes are swollen, her lips pressed into a thin line of defiance.
She’s wearing the same clothes as last night—crumpled, loose—and her hair is a mess of curls.
But she holds herself upright, even as Maxim gently guides her forward with a hand on her arm.
That’s when something sharp flares in my chest.
I hate seeing anyone touch her. I take a slow breath, trying to school the sudden possessiveness crawling under my skin.
“Step away from her.” My tone is so cold that Maxim releases her immediately.
He gives Violet a nod and backs off, settling near the fireplace.
I turn my attention fully to her now.
She doesn’t shrink away, but she doesn’t move closer either. She stands at a cautious distance, arms crossed over her chest, chin slightly lifted like she’s daring me to say something she can chew on.
“Come here,” I say, voice low, coaxing.
To my surprise, she does.
She walks to me—slow, careful steps—and then stops in front of the sofa, eyes locked on mine like she’s trying to figure out what kind of monster I am before she lets herself breathe.
And fuck if that doesn’t do something to me. She looks exhausted. Completely worn down. But still—still—there’s that fire behind her eyes. It hasn’t gone out.
Not yet. I don’t know if I want to fan it or put it out.
She’s braver than most.
And maybe dumber.
Good thing I like both.
I gesture to the seat across from me. “Sit.”
“I’d rather stand,” she says, chin lifting.
I arch a brow, letting a beat of silence stretch between us like wire. “Suit yourself.”
I set my coffee down and lean forward, forearms braced on my knees, voice low and casual. “Let’s start with the basics. Who are you?”
She blinks, frowns. “You already know who I am.”
“Do I?”
“I’m not a fool,” she barks. “You know me. I’ve seen you with Adrian. You were at Jennie’s wedding. You’re a Rusnak, aren’t you?”
I smother a smile and keep the steel in my voice. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She blinks.
“Nothing can save you from me, Violet. Especially now that there’s suspicion that you might be a traitor.”
“What?” She blanches, color draining from her face. I see real fear in her eyes and contemplate telling her the truth. I know she’s telling the truth. Every word of it. She’s innocent. I’m just dragging this…playing with her…seeing how far she can go.
“I’m not a traitor,” she snarls. “Why would you say that? I’m a literature student and freelance writer.”
“So what were you doing in that alley, Violet?”
Her eyes narrow. “Photographing a crime scene. For a piece I was writing. You know, those things called jobs?”
I don’t respond.
“Who sent you?” I ask instead.
She scoffs. “No one sent me.”
“Who were you working for?”
“God, you really are a psycho.”
My lips twitch. “Answer the question.”
“I did,” she snaps. “No one. I write freelance murder reports, you lunatic. You think I have some secret agency job? I don’t even have health insurance.”
Maxim lets out a quiet snort from where he’s standing behind me.
I lean back, watching her. “You expect me to believe you were just conveniently taking pictures of a murder scene when I happened to be executing a man two feet away?”
“Yes,” she says. “That’s literally what happened.”
I tilt my head, amused. “Then why didn’t you run?”
“I did!” she yells. “Eventually! And I would’ve run sooner if I wasn’t in fucking shock because I just saw someone’s brain splatter across a wall!”
I raise a brow. “Watch your mouth.”
She glares. “What, too sensitive for the word ‘brain’? I’ll try harder next time.”
“You’re mouthy for someone in your position.” I shake my head, slow and deliberate. “And you’re lying to me.”
She stiffens, lips parting like she’s about to argue—but I don’t give her the chance.
I close the distance between us, slow and predatory. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.
Good.
Because I wouldn’t let her.
I dip my head until my lips brush her ear, and my voice is barely a whisper when I speak. “Do you know what I do to liars, solnyshko?”
She trembles. I feel it—can practically taste her fear. But when I pull back just enough to see her face, her chin is lifted, and she’s staring me straight in the eyes. Wide, defiant. Scared, but unflinching.
That does something to me.
A lot of things, actually—and none of them good.
I bring my hand up, slow, deliberate, and trace my thumb across her mouth. She gasps—just a little—and I feel her breath against my skin. Soft. Warm. Fucking addictive.
My eyes drop to her lips. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.
But—I stop myself. Barely.
My fingers twitch with restraint as I lower my hand and take a full step back, exhaling through my nose like a man trying to suppress a wildfire.
She’s shaking now, arms wrapped tightly around herself. But her eyes haven’t moved.
She’s still staring straight at me. Fierce. Brave.
Or stupid.
But fuck if I don’t admire it.
Not many people can look me in the eye. Fewer still when I’m whispering death in their ear.
But she does. And that makes her dangerous. Not because of what she’s seen. But because of what she makes me feel.
Maxim clears his throat from where he’s been sitting by the fireplace this whole time, arms folded, his expression blank—but his voice carries a hint of boredom when he speaks.
“Just kill her already,” he says flatly. “We’re wasting time.”
Violet flinches like she’s been shot. I see the shift in her posture, the fear tightening every line of her body. Her mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Her eyes—those fucking brown eyes—lock on mine, wide and pleading, even though she doesn’t say a word.
She shakes her head slowly, like maybe if she stays still enough, quiet enough, I’ll come to my senses.
But what she doesn’t know is—I already have.
And that’s the problem.
Because I know I’m supposed to agree with Maxim. Tie up the loose end. Burn the evidence. Walk away clean. Or agree with Arina and let her go unscathed.
But I can’t.
Something about her…it’s under my skin. Buried deep. The defiance. The fire. The way she looks at me like she’s terrified and furious and still won’t break. I should hate it.
Instead, I feel fucking obsessed.
And in that moment—right there, with her standing in front of me trembling but proud, and Maxim staring at me like I’ve lost my edge—I decide.
Irrevocably.
She’s mine.
I want her.
Not just tonight. Not just until this problem goes away.
I want to unravel her.
I want to own her.
I want to see how far she bends before she breaks—and then I want to put her back together again, piece by piece, so no one else ever gets to touch her the way I will.
I say nothing for a second. Just watch her. Memorize the way she swallows hard, trying to hide the panic, trying to hold herself together in front of monsters.
Maxim sighs. “Well?”
I turn slowly to face him, my voice cool, measured. “No one’s dying today.”
His brows arch. “What about tomorrow?”
I glance once at Violet.
No—I stare. I let her see it in my eyes. The decision forming. The madness I know is already written all over my fucking face.
“She’s not a problem anymore,” I say, loud enough for both of them to hear. “She’s mine.”
Violet jolts like I’ve slapped her. Her wide eyes swing to me. “What the hell does that even mean?”
I take a slow step forward. Her chin lifts instinctively, defiant to the last second.
“It means you’re staying here,” I say, voice low and even. “With me. Until I decide what to do with you.”
She shakes her head, fury and disbelief making her breath come faster. “You can’t do that.”
I raise a brow. “I just did.”
“This is insane,” she snaps. “I have a life. I have friends, a job, a goddamn future—you can’t just take that from me!”
My jaw ticks.
“You should’ve thought of that before you took photos of a murder,” I say coldly. “You want freedom? Should’ve picked a safer hobby.”
“I’m innocent,” she cries, her voice sharp with panic. “I didn’t even know you were there!”
I lean in close, just enough for her to feel the heat of my breath on her cheek. “And yet…here you are.”
She swallows hard.
“Get used to being a prisoner, solnyshko,” I murmur. “That’s your life now.”
Her mouth opens, trembling, like she wants to argue—but nothing comes out.
I turn to Maxim, who’s watching all of this with that unreadable calm of his.
“Come,” I say simply.
He follows without question, and I don’t bother looking back.
Not even when I hear the soft hitch of breath behind me.
Not even when I know I’ve just shattered her whole world.