Chapter 33
MARIYA
The blindfold pisses me off. I didn't like it when Andrey did it, and I definitely don't like it now.
It was wrapped around my eyes right after they pulled me into their car, and now we've been driving around, making too many turns for me to keep track.
Thankfully, Andrey and the others are following and have the GPS signal to follow.
We turn off the road and drive slowly a few minutes before the car stops and the engine is turned off. We must have arrived at wherever they are taking me.
I allowed my "captors" to lead me by the arm inside a building, playing the part of a compliant captive because fighting would only make things worse.
My heart hammers the entire walk, counting steps and listening for sounds that might tell me where they are taking me.
But the men who grabbed me are professionals.
They don't speak, don't give anything away.
After a few minutes of walking through what felt like a warehouse or industrial building, they make me sit in a surprisingly comfortable chair. Leather, high-backed, the kind you'd find in an expensive office. Then the blindfold comes off.
I'm in an office. A very nice office, actually.
Dark wood paneling lines the walls, and the desk in front of me is massive, polished to a mirror shine.
Bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes flank either side of the room, and a crystal decanter sits on a side table with matching glasses.
Everything about this space screams wealth and power.
And the man sitting across the desk from me is… gorgeous.
I hate that my brain registers that fact first, but it's impossible to ignore.
He's maybe in his early forties, with dark hair swept back from a face that could belong in a cologne advertisement.
Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and pale blue eyes that study me with unsettling intensity.
He's wearing an expensive suit, perfectly tailored, and when he smiles at me, it's the kind of smile that probably makes most women weak in the knees.
My stomach churns instead.
"Mariya Pushkin," he says, his voice smooth and cultured. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
I don't respond. I just stare at him, keeping my expression neutral even though my pulse is racing.
He stands and moves around the desk with easy confidence, leaning against the front edge so he's closer to me. Not threatening, exactly, but definitely invading my space in a way that's meant to intimidate.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he continues, that charming smile never wavering. "I am Anatoly Gusev."
This, then, is the boss of the new family. The Pakhan who's been making moves against Andrey's territory for months.
"I apologize for the dramatic entrance," Anatoly says, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "But I needed to ensure our conversation remained private. I hope my men weren't too rough with you."
I force myself to smile pleasantly, the way I've been trained to do since childhood, when dealing with dangerous men. "They were perfectly professional."
"Good." He studies me for a moment, his pale eyes tracking over my face, down to my throat, and lingering on the curve of my breasts beneath my shirt before returning to meet my gaze. "You're even more beautiful than the photographs suggested."
The compliment makes my skin crawl, but I keep smiling.
Any minute now, Andrey and his men will show up.
They have to. Andrey wouldn't just let me be taken without mounting a rescue.
He's probably stopped somewhere nearby while he and his men study the surroundings to make the best possible "rescue. "
I just need to stall.
"Thank you," I say, my voice steady despite the fear coiling in my chest. "Though I'm not sure why you went to all this trouble just to tell me that."
Anatoly laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Direct. I like that." He moves back around the desk and pours two glasses of what looks like expensive vodka from the crystal decanter. He offers one to me.
I take it but don't drink. I'm not stupid enough to consume anything this man gives me.
He notices but doesn't comment, settling back into his chair and taking a slow sip from his own glass. "I wanted to meet you because I believe you're wasting yourself on Andrey Melnikov."
The bluntness of the statement catches me off guard. I set the glass down on the edge of the desk, my hands folding in my lap to hide their trembling. "Is that so?"
"It is." Anatoly leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "You're intelligent, educated, and connected to one of the most powerful Bratva families in Russia through your father. You could be an incredible asset to the right man."
"And you think you're the right man?" I keep my tone light, almost teasing, even though my stomach is twisting into knots.
"I know I am." His smile widens. "Andrey is… adequate. He's held his territory for a few years and built some loyalty among his men. But he's limited. He thinks small. Local operations, regional influence. He doesn't have the vision or resources to expand beyond what his father built."
I want to argue, to defend Andrey, but I bite my tongue. Anatoly is testing me, trying to see if I'll react emotionally or stay controlled.
"Whereas you do?" I ask instead.
"I have connections that span continents," Anatoly says, his voice taking on an edge of pride.
"Shipping routes through the Baltic, partnerships with syndicates in Eastern Europe, and financial networks that reach into legitimate businesses across multiple countries.
I'm building an empire, Mariya. Not just a territory. "
He stands again and moves to the window, looking out over what I assume is the city beyond. "And tonight proved how easily I can reach into Andrey's world."
The words hit like a slap, but that doesn't mean Andrey won't come for me.
"Very impressive," I say, forcing admiration into my tone. "Though I'm still not sure what this has to do with me."
Anatoly turns back to face me, his pale eyes gleaming. "I'm offering you a choice, Mariya. You can return to Andrey and continue playing house with a man who can't even protect you properly. Or you can stay with me and become part of something much bigger."
My heart slams against my ribs. "You're asking me to leave Andrey?"
"I'm asking you to be smart." He moves closer again, this time stopping just in front of my chair.
"Your father was a brilliant strategist. He understood that alliances are built on mutual benefit, not sentiment.
If he were alive, he'd tell you the same thing I'm telling you now.
Andrey Melnikov is a dead end. I am the future. "
For a moment, I'm afraid I'm going to throw up.
The nausea rises so fast, I have to swallow hard to keep it down.
This man is suggesting I betray Andrey and align myself with him instead.
And he's doing it with perfect manners and a charming smile, like he's offering me a business opportunity instead of asking me to destroy Andrey.
I force myself to smile pleasantly. "That's quite an offer."
"It is." Anatoly reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "Think about it, Mariya. You're wasting your potential on a man who will never give you the life you deserve."
I don't pull away from his touch, even though every instinct screams at me to. I just sit there, smiling, waiting for Andrey to burst through the door and end this nightmare.
But an hour passes. Then another.
Anatoly drills me politely about my father. What businesses did he run? Who were his closest allies? What territories did he control before his death? I answer carefully, giving him information that's already public knowledge while deflecting anything too specific.
He's good at this. The questions feel conversational, almost friendly, but I can see the calculation behind his pale eyes. He's gathering intelligence, building a profile of my father's old network to see what he can exploit.
And between questions, he keeps circling back to his proposal. How much better my life would be with him. How he could give me influence and power that Andrey never could. How I'd be respected as his partner, not just his woman.
The flattery is relentless, and I hate how skilled he is at delivering it. If I didn't know what kind of man he really was, if I hadn't seen the violence his organization is capable of, I might almost believe he was sincere.
But I do know. And I'm not fooled.
Still, there's no sign of Andrey.
No sounds of gunfire outside. No shouting. No rescue team storming the building.
Just me, sitting in this office, being courted by a man who thinks he can buy my loyalty with compliments and promises.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Anatoly stands. "It's late. You must be exhausted."
I am. My entire body aches with tension, and my mind is spinning from hours of careful conversation.
"I'll have someone show you to a room where you can rest," he continues. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Two men appear in the doorway, the same ones who brought me here. They gesture for me to follow, and I stand on shaky legs.
Anatoly catches my hand before I can leave, lifting it to his lips in a gesture that's meant to be gallant. "Sleep well, Mariya. I hope you'll give my offer serious consideration."
I pull my hand away as politely as I can and follow the men out of the office.
They lead me down a hallway to a bedroom that's surprisingly comfortable. A large bed with clean sheets, a private bathroom, and even a window with heavy curtains. But when they close the door behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of a lock engaging.
I move to the window and pull back the curtains, looking out into the darkness. No lights. No movement. No sign of anyone coming.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as reality crashes over me.
Maybe Andrey's not coming, after all.