Chapter 13
HELENA
Morning light bleeds through the heavy curtains of the guest suite.
I haven’t slept. I couldn’t.
Lying in the center of the bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind remains in the library. My body is still there.
My thighs burn from where he spread them apart. Ghosts of the blunt press of him at my entrance linger, slick and hot, right before he froze and stepped away like I was poison.
Touching my lips, I can still taste him.
The memory washes over me, hot and shameful. The way he slammed me against the bookshelf. The sound of the books hitting the floor. The violence of his grip on my waist.
It should have terrified me.
But in the dark, quiet hours of the night, the truth is harder to hide. I wanted it.
When he told me what my father did, the explosion, the betrayal, I should have pushed him away. But when his mouth crashed into mine, I didn't fight. I melted. I arched into his touch like I was starved for it.
For a few seconds, I wasn't a prisoner, and he wasn't a captor. We were two people bleeding from the same wound, trying to drown it in each other.
I roll over, burying my face in the pillow to stifle a groan.
Fuck, what is wrong with me?
My father is a traitor. He sold a woman and a child to their deaths for money.
And instead of hating the man who is punishing me for it, I almost let him take me in the library.
My stomach churns. And still, beneath it all, there’s a terrifying pull toward the monster in the other room. I haven’t had enough. That taste ignited a hunger that refuses to be satiated with memories alone.
A sharp knock at the door makes me jolt upright.
"Open," Konstantin’s orders through the wood.
My heart hammers—part fear, part something else I refuse to name.
I stand, clutching my torn blouse to cover my skin. I’m a wreck. Still, I unlock the door.
He’s standing in the hall, dressed in a charcoal suit that fits. Cold. Untouched. But his eyes drop to my mouth instantly.
He remembers too.
The air between us crackles. For a second, I think he might step inside and finish what he started. I think he might push me back against the door and prove last night wasn't a mistake.
But then his mask slides back into place, snapping my head on straight with it.
"Get dressed," he commands. "We’re going to the office."
"Konstantin," I say. He pauses, hand on the doorframe. I swallow the lump in my throat. "I need to speak to him.”
He turns fully toward me, expression hardening. "No."
"Please." I step forward, the desperation I've been holding back all night finally breaking through. "I need to ask him. I need to hear his side."
"His side?" Konstantin laughs. It comes out harsh and bitter. "He has no side, Helena. He only has lies."
"I need to hear him deny it," I urge, desperate. "You told me he’s a monster. You told me he traded your family for money. If that’s true... if he really did that... I need to hear him say it. I need to know who my father really is."
"He’s a traitor," he says coldly. "He’s working with Moretti right now. If you call him, he won't give you closure. He’ll use you."
"One call," I plead, grabbing his arm.
The muscle is as hard as stone beneath his suit. The contact sends a jolt through me, a reminder of his hands on my skin last night.
"If you let me ask him," I whisper, looking up at him, "I’ll stop fighting you. I won't look for exits anymore. I’ll be the puppet you want. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just let me hear his voice."
He looks at my hand on his arm before he slowly peels my fingers away.
"You think this is a negotiation?"
"I’m begging you."
He reaches out. For a second, I think he’s going to strike me. Or kiss me. Instead, his knuckles brush my cheek. The touch is tempting.
"You want to know who your father is?" he whispers. "He’s the man who left you here with me. That’s all you need to know."
He drops his hand, and the warmth vanishes.
"Get dressed," he repeats. "We leave in ten minutes. And fix your face. You look like a ghost."
With that, he walks away.
So, I do what I do best: I obey.
I change into the fresh black suit hanging on the wardrobe door, buttoning the new blouse to my chin to hide the bruises.
The drive to the tower is silent.
Konstantin sits beside me in the back of the armored SUV, typing on his phone. He ignores me as usual.
I take in the world passing by through the window. The city looks the same, busy, but the pane of glass between us feels like it’s slowly thickening, leaving me more and more separated from the world.
When we pull up to the Blackwood Tower, the unease in my stomach twists into a knot.
There are two black sedans parked in the loading zone. Not Bratva cars. These are American imports. Official.
"Who is that?" I ask, pointing at the cars.
Konstantin doesn't look up. "Ignore them."
We walk into the lobby.
Usually, my assistant, Sarah, smiles at me. Today, she doesn't look up. She’s typing furiously, her shoulders hunched.
The security guards, Konstantin’s men, stand at rigid attention by the elevators.
We ride up to the executive floor in silence.
When the doors open, the atmosphere hits me. The office is usually a hive of activity, phones ringing, traders shouting. Today, it’s quiet.
My staff is there, huddled in small groups, whispering. When they see me, they scatter, burying their heads in files and screens.
"Why are they looking at me like that?" I whisper, pulling my blazer tighter.
Konstantin places a hand on the small of my back. "Keep walking."
He steers me toward my office.
We’re halfway across the floor when the main doors burst open.
"Helena Blackwood!"
The voice is loud and authoritative. It cuts through the quiet office like a whip.
I spin around. Four men in suits are marching across the bullpen. They aren't clients or investors. They’re wearing badges on their belts.
Federal Agents.
My heart stops.
"Helena Blackwood?" the lead agent barks, stopping in front of me. He’s holding a piece of paper. "I’m Agent Miller with Homeland Security Investigations."
I look at Konstantin. He’s standing perfectly still, unsurprised.
"What... what is this?" I stammer.
"We have a warrant for your arrest," Agent Miller informs, holding up the paper.
"Arrest?" I laugh. "For what? I haven’t done anything!"
"We seized a vessel in the Atlantic this morning," Miller says. "The Blackwood Star. It was carrying undeclared hazardous materials. Chemicals used for refining heroin."
The room spins.
The Blackwood Star. That was the ship from the Atlantic Loop. The one Konstantin forced me to sign for in the study. The one I authorized while my head was spinning from the sedative.
"I..." I look at Konstantin again. "Konstantin?"
He says nothing. He just watches as my world crumbles.
"Your signature is on the customs manifest, Ms. Blackwood," Miller says, pulling handcuffs from his belt. "You authorized the shipment and signed the false declaration."
"No." I back away, hitting Konstantin’s chest. "No, I didn't know. I was forced! He made me—"
"Save it for the judge," Miller says, reaching for my arm. "Helena Blackwood, you are under arrest for international trafficking and customs fraud."
The metal cuffs click around my wrists. Tight. Too tight.
I look to Konstantin. He’s the only one who can stop this. He’s the Boss. He owns the police. He owns this city.
"Konstantin," I beg, as the agent pulls me forward. "Do something!"
But he simply looks at me, not moving a muscle. His blue eyes are glacial.
"I can't help you," he says with indifference. "You signed the papers."
He reaches out, and rather than stroking my cheek, he straightens my collar, smoothing a wrinkle while the agent locks the cuffs even tighter.
It’s a gesture of ownership. He’s tidying me for the slaughter.
He lets them take me. The same hands that bruised my waist last night stay perfectly still as he watches strangers drag me away, the humiliation burning my skin.
He isn’t going to save me.
He’s going to let me burn.