Chapter 6 – Roman
We’re in the backseat of my SUV, gliding through the streets of New York.
Elara sits beside me, quiet, tense, her wrists free now but her body still coiled with caution.
For the past two weeks, she’s been in my safe house, trapped behind locked doors, under watch.
I’ve been observing her, tracking her moods, the way she moves, the way she holds herself.
She’s slowly folding in on herself, retreating into the shadows of her own mind.
She needs a change of scenery. I want her somewhere she can move, stretch, breathe—even if just a little—while I remain in control. My mansion will give me that. She’ll be free to walk the halls, but the escape routes are impossible for her to find. I know her, and I know my house.
The past week hasn’t just been about her.
I’ve been keeping tabs on David Chang, too.
Their relationship—if it can even be called that—has always been frayed.
The man doesn’t respect her, never has. He parades her like an asset, uses her as leverage in his corrupt schemes, and recently dragged his depravity all the way into her workplace.
The museum. My blood still boils thinking about it.
Elara doesn’t need me to hate her father for her; she’s already mastered it herself. And maybe that’s why I keep her close. She’s a storm contained in human form, all defiance and fire, yet for the last week, I’ve seen the cracks, the exhaustion, the flickers of doubt that make her real.
But she’s a fighter.
Because another thing I’ve found, something buried deep beneath all the noise, is that rerouting her father’s art shipments wasn’t her first act of rebellion. Far from it.
I had to dig for it. Old records, hushed transactions, digital trails scrubbed clean but not well enough.
And what I found made me stop and stare at the screen for a long time.
Elara Chang has been sabotaging her father for years.
Quietly. Cleverly. In small ways he never noticed—or maybe he did, but dismissed them as harmless, beneath his attention.
But they weren’t harmless. Not to me. Not to anyone who understands power.
Those little acts tell me everything I need to know about her. She’s not just some spoiled daughter or na?ve girl caught in the middle of her father’s crimes. She’s deliberate. Calculated. Dangerous in her own way.
A spark like that doesn’t die easily.
She’s a fighter. And whether she realizes it or not, she’ll be good to have on my side.
I watch her closely because that’s what I do—study, catalogue, decide. She looks calm, but it’s the same brittle calm I’ve seen in operatives just before they break.
I let myself look longer than common sense allows.
She’s beautiful, in a way that’s sharp and dangerous, not decorative.
I had Luka hire a designer and fill a closet with things she didn’t ask for.
She ignored most of it—until now. She’s in jeans and a simple top, something that shows the length of her legs and the narrowness of her waist. Her black hair is piled in a messy bun; a few loose strands cling to her neck.
I’ve wanted, in a foolish corner of my mind, to bury my hands in that hair and feel it between my fingers.
She turns and catches me staring. “What are you looking at?”
“You,” I say.
She scoffs and looks away, but the faint pink at her throat betrays her. She’s not as untouched as she pretends.
I keep watching. Use her to bait Chang, or break her and wield the pieces as leverage—both options work. Both cost different things. I decide nothing yet. For now, I hold the choice, and that is power.
“It’s rude to stare,” she murmurs, eyes on the window while the city blurs past outside.
“Who made the rules?” I say, amusement low in my voice.
She fixes me with another glare, and I laugh.
“How would you like it if I stared with fixation at you?” she asks, daring.
“By all means. Please do,” I challenge.
She holds my gaze for a beat, measuring, as if deciding whether I’m bait or threat. Then she rolls her eyes and turns away, but her shoulders don’t drop.
I let the silence sit between us. Her profile in the harsh light—the slope of her cheek, the stubborn set of her mouth—sharpens into focus. I could study her forever and still find unread territory.
“You think this is a game,” she says finally, voice low. “You think you can kidnap someone and then decide what happens.”
“It’s not a game,” I reply. “It’s leverage. It’s survival.”
She snorts, half-bitter, half-resigned. “Leverage. Survival. Same thing when you’re a monster and the world’s a market.”
“Call it what you want,” I say. “I have nothing to prove to you.”
“Where are you taking me, Roman?” Her voice cuts through the hum of the car.
I shouldn’t react, but I do. The way my name sounds on her lips hits something I can’t name.
“My home,” I tell her.
She turns fully this time, eyes widening. “Your home? You don’t plan to let me go anytime soon, do you?”
“No.”
The single word hangs between us like a verdict.
She stares at me for a moment, searching my face for any hint of softness, mercy, maybe reason. She finds none.
Without another word, she turns back to the window. Her reflection in the glass is tight-lipped, tense, her jaw working as if she’s biting back everything she wants to say.
Good.
The truth is, today a decision will be made.
The judges are already waiting for me at my house—though they have no idea why I called the meeting. Lukin, the Pakhan, is there. Adrian’s in Greece, but Lev and Niko made it. Even Kaz, who hardly shows his face unless the world is on fire, is there. They’re all waiting.
I don’t call meetings. Ever. So when I did, they came. Every last one of them. I wonder what they’ll say when I tell them I have David Chang’s daughter.
Will they see it as a strategy—or a declaration of war?
We pull up to the mansion, the long driveway lined with armed guards. The moment the SUV stops, the doors open, and men step forward with lowered heads, greeting me in silence.
I step out first, the cold air biting against my skin. When I turn to help her, I offer my hand. She looks at it, then at me, and ignores it completely, climbing out on her own as she’d rather break a bone than take my help.
Luka’s already waiting by the stairs, hands clasped behind his back.
“Show her to her room,” I tell him. “I’ll be back soon.”
I turn to leave, but her voice cuts through the quiet.
“Really? Back to being locked up like Rapunzel?”
Her tone is sharp, dripping with defiance.
I don’t bother to answer. I just keep walking, boots echoing on the marble, her anger following me like a shadow.
When I reach my study, I take a deep breath, trying to shove down the tension coiling in my chest, and throw the door open.
My heart twists at the sight of my brothers already seated around the table—Lukin, Lev, Niko, Kaz.
Two half-empty bottles of vodka sit in the center, mugs clutched in hands that have clearly already sipped their way through the day’s stress.
My pulse ticks faster. The stakes are high, and I feel the weight of all eyes on me.
What will the final decision be? I already know what I want to do with Elara. Letting her go isn’t an option.
“Thanks for keeping us waiting,” Lukin says blandly, but I can feel the undercurrent of curiosity and calculation beneath his calm tone.
He’s the Pakhan, the oldest among us, but grounded. The kind of man who’s earned respect without ever demanding it. To us, he’s not just Pakhan; he’s a brother.
“Sorry. We just arrived,” I reply, my voice steady.
“We?” Lev frowns, sharp and calculating, his eyes narrowing as if trying to read me like an open file. “You and who?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I slide into my seat beside Niko, my fingers curling around his glass. I down the rest of his vodka in one long pull, feeling the burn trail down my throat, steadying me.
Why do I feel this way?
The men at the table watch me closely, silence pressing in like a vice.
I sense their thoughts, their suspicion, their unspoken questions.
I hold their gaze, letting them feel the edge in me, the storm they’ve been waiting for.
My chest tightens, but I refuse to show nerves.
Today, I need them to know I’m in control, whether they liked my decision or not.
“Roman?” Lukin asks, folding his hands. “What is this about?” The room tightens around the question.
I inhale, let the weight of the moment settle into my chest, and push forward. “You all know I infiltrated the New York museum,” I say, steady. “We had intel that David Chang was moving new shipments—stuff that could change the course of our business.”
Heads incline; the men are listening. They’re not even drinking their vodka, that’s how hard they’re hanging on to every word that leaves my mouth.
“I have news about that,” I add.
“Hope it’s good news?” Lev’s grin blooms like a dare. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on that grimy bastard.”
“Slow down, Lev,” I warn, and he huffs but shuts his mouth. I keep my eyes on him. “When we catch him, that man is mine.”
He lifts a hand in mock surrender. “Okay, damn.”
I push the manifest I confiscated from Elara across the table and let the silence do the rest. “When I went there,” I say, “someone was already rerouting the shipments. They had an updated manifest—with the new route numbers and everything.”
Niko’s brow knits. “I thought that intel was classified. Who is this person?”
Kaz leans forward, practical as always. “Do we have the shipments? That’s what matters. We confiscate it, we get leverage on David. Do we have it?”
“Not only do I have the shipments, but I also have something even better.”
A ripple of interest passes around the table. “What is it?”
“Elara Chang.”
Silence slams into the room. The men look at me like I’ve switched the board.
“Hold on. Isn’t that David’s daughter?” Lukin asks.
“She’s Sasha’s friend,” Lev says, frowning. “Why do you have her?”