Chapter Eight - Lukin
Fuck.
I can’t sleep.
Her voice echoes in my head, soft but firm, trembling with emotion.
“I can’t.” The words hit harder than they should, harder than I ever expected them to.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear it again.
The push. The rejection. The way she stepped away from me, as if the weight of her trust wasn’t enough to hold her in place.
I replay the moment she shoved me back over and over.
The way her hands felt against my chest, the way her body trembled under my touch, the hesitation, the fear…
it’s all there, playing like a loop I can’t escape.
I can still feel the burn of her skin on mine, the way she reacted to me—like I was a storm she couldn’t control.
I should have left it. I should have let her walk away, should have respected the space she needed, but I didn’t. I followed her with my eyes, watched her go, the anger, the frustration bubbling up inside me like a pressure that never stopped building. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Her scent still clings to me. It’s everywhere. On my skin. On my clothes. In my mind. No matter how many times I shower, no matter how many times I try to wash it away, it’s there—lingering, suffocating. The sweet, delicate scent of her that’s burned itself into my senses.
I’d meant to keep my distance. I’d meant to let one mistake fade into nothing, to move on. But seeing her again—knowing who she is now—only makes it worse.
Zoe isn’t forgettable. Not even close.
She’s fire dressed in silk. A quiet, untouchable fire that burns with a fury I didn’t expect. She’s not like the others. She’s not something I can ignore or push to the side. Every time I close my eyes, I see her—her face, the way she looked at me in the garden, the way she pushed me away.
And the worst part? I want her more now than I did before.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be thinking about her. I shouldn’t be feeling this… this pull. But I can’t help it. It’s too strong, too consuming.
I’m already burning, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I spend the entire day and the next buried in silence, pacing the length of my study, my footsteps echoing off the polished floors. The bottle of whiskey sits on the desk beside me, untouched. I can’t bring myself to drink. Every time I reach for it, the weight of my thoughts crushes the desire.
I’ve been here for hours, for days, my mind spiraling in circles.
Every time I try to focus, every time I try to force myself to think about something else, all I can see is her.
Zoe. Her face, her voice, the way she pulled away from me, the way I felt like I was losing control, like I was watching something that I couldn’t have slip through my fingers, no matter how badly I wanted it.
The fact that I’m even thinking about her like this—spending my days trapped in this endless cycle of desire and frustration—is enough to make my stomach churn. I don’t have the luxury of wanting someone. I don’t have the luxury of weakness.
But here I am, pacing back and forth in my study, alone with my thoughts and the weight of what I can’t have.
I’ve spoken to no one except for Maria, Adrian, and Arseny, my right hand.
They’ve checked in, as they always do, but I’ve kept my responses curt, my tone sharp.
The business of the Bratva still demands attention, even if my mind is elsewhere, and despite my mood, I can’t afford to neglect it.
The empire doesn’t run itself, and it’s still mine to control.
Adrian and Arseny have handled things well enough for now. They’ve made sure everything is in place, moving the pieces without me, without me showing my face to anyone outside of my walls. I don’t care that they’ve taken over. I don’t care that they’ve stepped up.
The truth is, I couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye, let alone speak to them about the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
I haven’t told them why I’ve locked myself in here, why I’ve spent the past few days drinking away my frustration. How could I? How would they feel to hear that their almighty Pakhan, the one who’s built this empire with blood and steel, is pining after a woman?
I’m not supposed to want. I’m not supposed to care. But here I am, consumed by something I can’t control.
And I fucking hate it.
There’s a knock on the door, sharp and precise.
“Who is it?” I ask roughly, my voice laced with irritation from the tension still knotted inside me.
“Arseny, Boss,” comes the calm reply, and for a moment, I pause. I wonder what he could possibly want. It’s been days since anyone’s come near me except for the bare necessities. But Arseny knows when to stay quiet and when to act, and that’s why I trust him.
“Come in,” I mutter, straightening in my chair as the door swings open.
Arseny steps inside, as cool and composed as always, carrying a folder in his hand.
He looks exactly the same—no emotion, no disturbance on his face.
But I sense something in his posture, a weight in the air between us that’s heavier than usual.
There’s something he’s not saying, something he wants to tell me but isn’t.
He places the folder on my desk, his eyes flicking over me briefly. There’s a slight hesitation, like he’s waiting for me to acknowledge it, but I stay silent.
He stands there for a moment, his gaze steady, but I can tell something is lingering in his thoughts, something unsaid. He doesn’t move for a long time, and I wonder what’s going on in his head, but I don’t ask. I know he’ll speak when it’s time.
“For you, sir.” He taps the folder before turning to leave.
I wait until the door shuts behind him before I reach for it.
There’s a big, bold inscription on the folder that says “A Favor.” My fingers hesitate for a second, then I open it, flipping through the pages quickly.
My breath catches in my throat. The dossier is thick, detailed, and precisely what I need.
I don’t ask how Arseny knows. He knows everything. He’s my right hand for a reason.
Zoella Everleigh Monroe. Her name stands out on the first page, and my jaw tightens. It’s a dossier that contains everything Arseny can find on her.
I’m torn between wanting to berate him for digging into her like this, and wanting to thank him for giving me exactly what I need.
I flick the first page and my jaw tightens even harder. Her parents were murdered in a robbery when she was fifteen. There weren’t many details on it, only that she was sent to live with her grandmother after. I can only assume that was the only family she had left.
After that, the path seems straightforward. In and out of art programs, building her life in creative direction and interior styling. Although she did a minor in criminal psychology, I can tell why.
The more I read about her, the more I understand the type of woman she is—I’m digging myself deeper into a hole of obsession. She’s the type. Creative. Ambitious. A little more complicated than the usual women who cross my path.
I skim through the page, reading about her hobbies, where she spends time, who she’s been seen with.
Then my gaze lands on the back page, and my pulse spikes.
A list of names. Exes. I go through them one by one, the typical college romance nonsense. Until I get to the last name. Jason.
I stop.
She was in a relationship with him the longest and that’s what gets my attention.
There’s a photo of him—smug, smiling like he’s got the world in his hands. The kind of guy I hate. Trust fund kid, probably used to getting everything handed to him. He was in her life for almost two years, and that’s what I can’t get past. The thought of him—anyone—touching her before I did.
Rage curls in my gut, dark and vicious. The thought of him with her, the way he probably touched her the way I did—it claws at me. Even before me, he thought he had a claim on her.
But that doesn’t matter anymore.
She’s mine now.
I took her first, and I swear no one else will take her like I did. I’ll kill to make sure it stays that way.
I’m done staying away.
The thought hits me like a wave, sweeping everything else aside, erasing the noise, the anger, and the control I’ve tried to maintain. I won’t hide behind the walls I’ve built around myself anymore.
I want her.
With a hunger and a passion I’ve never experienced before. The kind of desire that burns so hot it makes everything else seem insignificant, like I’ve been living in a cold world and she’s the warmth I’ve been starving for.
I’ve been lying to myself, pretending I can just let her go, let her be just another fleeting encounter. But I can’t. Not anymore.
I’ve felt it in every part of me, from the moment she stepped into my life. The way she looked at me, the way she trusted me—she might not even realize it yet, but I know it. She gave herself to me, and that means something.
She’ll come to me, whether she wants to or not.
I’ll make sure of it.
I don’t care if I have to wear her down, make her see how this pull between us isn’t something she can ignore. She’s not just some woman who came into my world for a brief moment. She’s different. She’s the one I won’t let slip away.
I’ll pursue her relentlessly, like a predator chasing its prey. She won’t be able to escape me. And when she gives in—when she finally sees what this is—I’ll make sure she feels it too. The obsession. The desire. I won’t be the only one burning. I’ll make her burn for me the way I do for her.
No more hesitation. No more holding back.
She’s mine now, and I won’t stop until she knows it.
I pick up my phone, the cold screen lighting up in my hands. I text Arseny in a few quick strokes.
In my study. Now.
I don’t wait for a response. It’s not necessary. Arseny knows what I need, when I need it. He’s already on his way.
Moments later, he’s standing in the doorway of my study, as calm and collected as always. His expression doesn’t shift when he sees me, but there’s something in his posture that communicates that he’s ready to do whatever I need.
I don’t waste time. I walk toward him, the dossier still in my hand. My gaze falls on the pages again, Zoe’s name glaring back at me. The intensity of my feelings for her swells in my chest, sharper with every passing second.
“How did you get all this information?” My voice is sharp, demanding, but I need to know.
Arseny hesitates, his expression showing anxiety. “It was easy. She leaves a lot of digital trails—social media, public records, everything. Took me only a few hours to pull it all together.”
I stop just a few feet away from him, and I look him in the eye, my voice lowering, quieter but no less dangerous.
“Don’t dig into her again until I say so,” I say, each word deliberate. “Understood?”
Arseny’s eyes flicker for just a second, but he doesn’t flinch. He nods. “Yes, Boss.”
I turn back toward my desk, dropping the folder onto it with a force that makes the pages flutter. I don’t look back at Arseny. Not yet.
“This girl….” I tap the name again. “Zoella Everleigh Monroe… is mine.”
There’s no doubt in my voice. No hesitation. She belongs to me, whether she realizes it or not.
Arseny nods again. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t push. He just knows. That’s why I trust him. He understands the weight of this without me needing to say anything more.
“Find me her address,” I order. “Her home address. Her fashion store address. Everything.”
“Yes, Boss,” Arseny replies, his voice as steady as ever, and without another word, he turns and exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I pick up the whiskey bottle from the corner of my desk, the weight of it comforting, the burn of the alcohol as it hits my throat a welcome distraction. I swallow it down in one long gulp, trying to numb the fire burning inside me.
But it doesn’t help. Nothing will. The desire, the obsession—it’s still there, gnawing at me.
“I’m coming for what’s mine, Zoe,” I mutter, my voice low and dangerous, before the last of the whiskey slides down. “You can’t hide from me forever.”