Chapter Two
Damian’s POV
The silence of the safe house, which was the closest thing to comfort most times, was a pressurized weight that sat heavily on my chest. This time, it was a physical presence that seemed to pulse in time with the hum of the cooling fans in the server rack.
The reason wasn’t far-fetched. Even if I would never admit it out loud, I couldn’t not acknowledge it in my head.
I looked down at the faint, jagged scar across my knuckles.
It was a map of a decade spent in the shadows.
I had overseen kidnappings before. I knew the smell of terror.
I also knew that hostages were usually predictable, that they had a predictable rhythm.
I had spent fifteen years studying that rhythm and perfecting the art of breaking it.
They pace until their feet ache and their soles bleed, sob into thin pillows, or call out to a God they only remember when the bolt turns.
I remembered a sniveling accountant from three years ago who had offered me five million dollars in a secure account to let him walk; he’d died with the password still on his lips.
I remembered a rival soldier who had spat on my shoes to prove his bravado; he’d died with a look of pure, childlike shock when I didn’t even blink.
It was almost always fear, hysteria, or desperate bargaining.
Elena Vasiliev did none of that. She fit into none of the patterns.
I leaned against the doorframe of the monitoring room, the blue light of the surveillance monitors washing over my face in cold, flickering waves.
My eyes were fixed on her folded hands. Through the grain of the feed, she remained a statue of composure, seated on the edge of the bed as if she were waiting for a board meeting in a glass-walled skyscraper rather than an executioner in a room that might as well be a prison.
The way those icy-blue eyes looked fearlessly into mine replayed in my mind. I thought of how composed she was even as her annoyance seeped out. It was like she was so sure that the end wasn’t coming for her today.
I was walking down the hallway to the room where she was kept before I could think twice.
I entered the room without announcing myself, a deliberate assertion of dominance designed to jar the nerves of anyone who thought they were safe.
Elena’s posture did not indicate that my entrance had such an effect.
She didn’t even flinch when the heavy steel door locked behind me with a definitive, echoing thud.
She didn’t look up immediately; she waited until I was standing in the center of the room, my shadow falling over her.
When she finally raised her head, her gaze didn’t hold fear.
It held a clinical curiosity. There were no tears or signs of panic.
She looked like she was measuring me and not the other way around.
“Damian,” she uttered, her voice as smooth as her expression. “Hi.”
I didn’t acknowledge her greeting. I couldn’t. Instead, I mentally cataloged everything from her breathing to her posture. Her calm was a result of either arrogance or training—and I was experienced enough to know which was actually dangerous.
I noticed her body before I wanted to. My eyes caught the curve of her hips beneath her conservative, office skirt and shirt.
I noticed how she filled the space with her presence and how her quiet confidence felt like deliberate provocation.
Attraction rose within me, but years of practice helped me automatically register it not as heat but as irritation. I shut it down immediately.
Desire is a liability.
“You made yourself a problem, and that’s why you’re here. That lawsuit of yours is trouble,” I told her bluntly.
“Hm, I already figured that part out,” she answered, her voice calm and devoid of the panic or denial I’d expected.
“The lawsuit isn’t your typical ‘end-the-bad-guys’ attempt.
Yes, any string pulled to untie the Victor Hale knot doesn’t bode well for the Bratva—the legitimate cover wing or the underworld.
The legitimate cover will suffer because any stain on such a fragile reputation can make certain people start to dig deeper.
And the underworld doesn’t need any drama right now, either. But it’s more intricate than that.”
What she said triggered my instincts. She spoke like someone who knew the Bratva from the inside, not like someone poking blindly at it.
“And you think public knowledge of some shell corporations will do that much before things backfire?” I questioned, pushing her harder with the mention of consequences.
I stepped closer, deliberately invading her personal space. She didn’t retreat.
“Things like this don’t see the light of day before the source is extinguished. You should also know that part. You’re playing with paper in a world of fire.”
She chuckled lightly. “The thing is, paper can be sharper than the sharpest blade if wrapped around the right throat.”
I was about to speak again but shut down the urge; I couldn’t keep the banter going. I wasn’t in the room for that. I was both annoyed and irritated that she remained steady while I had to remind myself not to unravel internally.
My irritation sharpened into something else: fascination edged with threat.
Under the guise of security, I turned to face the wall beside the bed and walked to the corner of the room. I turned back around and, just as I moved closer to the bed, she raised her hand towards her hair and her wrist brushed mine.
I felt her steady pulse beneath my fingers. She didn’t pull away. The contact lingered for a second too long, setting off a low vibration underneath my skin, before I sharply withdrew and moved away from the bed altogether.
I was damn furious. Not with her. With myself.
“So, who are you working for? Who hired you and gave you Hale’s direction to look into?” I queried, folding my arms.
Her gaze holding mine, she answered, “I have many clients. And no one gives me any direction. I’m the lawyer, it’s my job to decide where is worth looking.”
Indirect answers, great.
“Eliminating the source is an effective solution only when the source’s death won’t bring catastrophe.
You know, something messier than the initial mess you were trying to avoid,” she disclosed, her shoulder lifting in an almost nonchalant shrug before she added in a lower tone, “You don’t want to do that. ”
She wasn’t begging for her life; she was warning me.
She’s not bluffing.
I turned around and left the room without a word in response.
*****
About an hour later, I was in the secure monitoring room and patched into the encrypted line. The icons for Viktor, Roman, and Konstantin flickered to life on the screen.
I had given them an update on Elena, and we were discussing what to do next.
The Lobanov brothers were divided, and having interacted with her face-to-face, I didn’t find it surprising anymore that everything about her was a tangled net of questions.
“The girl has to be silenced immediately. Time isn’t a friend of ours here,” Viktor’s voice came through, cold as a Siberian winter.
“Yeah,” I breathed.
“She’s too calm,” Roman added, his voice analytical. “That’s something we can’t disregard.”
“Right,” I agreed.
I had told them how the abduction went and how surprisingly calm she’d been. But what I didn’t tell them was how that composure unsettled me. I didn’t mention the flicker of unwanted desire I felt.
“We could hold her until we determine the extent of the legal fallout,” I suggested.
“Well, I think I see potential leverage here, brothers,” Konstantin pointed out.
“I’m listening,” Viktor prompted.
“I mean, with her being under our hold, she can’t take any more steps, can she? So, we can move faster when we know the other side is stagnant. For now,” he explained.
“You think her being confined will stop her people from moving forward?” Roman inquired.
“I know so. They can’t do much without her. Besides, rugged lawyers like her are more of one-man battalions,” Konstantin answered, his tone confident.
“And if it turns out that she’s not like the others you know so well, what happens?”
“Okay,” Viktor’s voice ended the commentary.
Even our right-hand men and soldiers who weren’t one of the Lobanov brothers knew that the Pakhan’s ‘okay’ was an absolute summons. It had the same effect as a gavel struck against a sounding board in a courtroom.
“She will be eliminated once the lawsuit is neutralized. For now… Damian?”
“Brother,” I answered.
“Keep her there,” he instructed.
“Okay.”
While I accepted the order externally, I felt something fracture internally.
*****
The need to assert control over logistics and anything else I could think of drove me to her room hours later. Even then, she wasn’t any less calm. If anything, she seemed to be more relaxed. Her gaze met mine the second I opened the door.
“I guess I shouldn’t waste my greetings like I did earlier.
So, I’ll just get to it,” she uttered, sitting more upright against the headboard.
“I need healthy food. I won’t be fed scraps like a prisoner.
Also, I drink water a lot, so I’ll need bottles of water frequently, not just with food.
A change of clothes, too. I didn’t really plan to wear these for days, I’m sure you understand that.
A television or papers would be nice. You can block out the news channels if it makes you sleep better; I just need to hear sounds. I guess that’s all.”
“You’ll have none of those things, I assume you already knew that,” I replied.
“I’m not asking you to give them to be. I expect to have them in the very least. Unless you personally handle these provisions of mine, you can rest assured that I won’t cooperate—and in case you don’t already know, you’ll be needing it.”
I recognized the tactic instantly: control through routine. But, whatever the reason was, I should shut it down. She didn’t get to choose what she got in confinement.
But letting her think she can get what she wants is strategic. Isn’t it?
It’s temporary.
“Okay,” I agreed, my gaze level like I wasn’t still asking myself questions mentally.
*****
As evening fell, I returned to her room with a tray of food. One of the soldiers had offered to take it, but I’d snapped at him; an uncharacteristic display of temper would have made his eyes narrow in suspicion if he had the balls to maintain eye contact.
“I handle it now,” I told him. “Food, rules, movement. You don’t speak to anyone but me.”
He nodded before disappearing as I walked down to her room.
Again, I entered the room without stopping to knock.
I went straight to the stool beside the dresser and placed the tray on it before shifting it to the foot of the bed, where she now sat.
I rose to my full height while she shifted closer until her feet were on the floor.
The scent of garlic and spice filled the room as she opened the plates. I folded my arms and leaned my back against the wall facing the bed as she dug in.
Elena ate slowly, every spoon lifted with tender intentionality.
Which was quite interesting, considering how formidable she was when it came to talking or arguing with me.
Everything fascinated me, from the movement of her mouth to the calmness of her posture.
She was fully aware of my gaze but didn’t seem interested in making demands anymore.
Watching her eat felt intimate to the point of being uncomfortable. The control of the room shifted slightly—and I hated the fact that I noticed it.
Soon enough, thankfully, she was done. Not that hearing the soft, childish sigh she released as she dropped the spoon went unnoticed by me.
She looked up at me then, and my gaze held hers.
With a sudden need to say something, I told her, “Clothes will be brought in soon.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her tone was genuine, polite, and unafraid.
I responded with a curt nod as I went to retrieve the tray.
The appreciation lingered longer than any insult would have.
I called one of the guards and handed the tray to him. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I saw that it was a text from Yuri, my right-hand man.
The lawsuit has already triggered federal attention. A rival syndicate started moving assets near our borders. Intel confirms a leak inside the Bratva from three weeks ago.
A clear realization hit me then.
Elena wasn’t just a problem. She was bait.
Standing alone in the hallway, the execution order resounded in my head.
Then an even clearer discovery slapped me in the face: If Elena dies, the war begins. If she leaves, everything changes.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t know which outcome I wanted.