Chapter 18 – Cassandra
My fingers clutched my phone so tightly I thought the screen might crack under the pressure. My stomach twisted, not from morning sickness this time, but from the anxiety clawing at my insides like a caged animal desperate to get out.
I felt trapped. Cornered. Like the walls were closing in and there was nowhere left to run.
Vance had those photos from Ohio. Careless moments from two years ago when I’d been stupid enough to think a night of freedom wouldn’t cost me everything.
Me in that club, laughing with him. His hands on my thighs.
Both of us leaning close, looking like exactly what we weren’t: two people who knew each other, who trusted each other.
I’d tried ghosting him. Stopped answering his calls, ignored his messages, hoped he’d just disappear. But Vance didn’t take rejection well. He’d escalated—sent increasingly threatening messages, reminded me exactly what he had on me.
If I kept ignoring him, he’d use those photos. Send them to Rafael. And Rafael wouldn’t give me time to explain. Wouldn’t care about context or manipulation or the fact that I’d been set up from the start.
He’d just put a bullet in my head and move on.
But Drew’s warning echoed in my skull, louder than Vance’s threats, more terrifying than Rafael’s wrath.
“I’m watching you. Not just for the Bratva. For my baby. My blood.”
Drew might’ve kissed me like he meant it.
Might’ve whispered promises against my skin, held me through the night like I was something precious.
But if he found out I’d betrayed the Bratva, if he discovered I was the reason for the ambush, the reason his family had lost millions, he wouldn’t just walk away.
He’d turn on me.
And I wouldn’t blame him.
Because that’s what loyalty meant in this world. Blood over everything. Family over feelings.
I was carrying his child, but I wasn’t family. Not really. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I nearly dropped it.
Another message from Vance.
We need to talk. Now.
I stared at the words until they blurred, my vision swimming with tears I refused to let fall.
He’d been pressuring me for weeks. Ever since the first ambush—the one I’d tipped him off about, the one that had nearly gotten Drew and three other men killed. He wanted more. Always more.
Another hit. Another ambush. Another chance to bleed the Bratva dry.
And this time, he’d made it clear: It would be more violent. More devastating. No half-measures. No survivors.
I’d tried to push back. Tried to tell him I needed time, that I couldn’t keep doing this, that I was drowning.
But Vance didn’t care.
He never had.
He just wanted his revenge. And I was the weapon he’d sharpened for two years, too broken and desperate to realize I was being used.
I set my phone down on the counter, my hands shaking, and pressed my palms against my eyes.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
Couldn’t keep betraying people who’d given me a life when I had nothing. Couldn’t keep putting Drew in danger. Couldn’t keep risking the future of the child growing inside me.
A Kamarov.
My baby would be a Kamarov. Bratva blood running through their veins. And if I kept working with Vance, if I kept trying to destroy the family my child would be born into—what kind of mother did that make me?
What kind of monster?
I’d made my decision days ago, lying in Drew’s arms, feeling his hand rest protectively over my stomach.
I wouldn’t go against the Bratva anymore.
I couldn’t.
But that left me with one problem: Vance.
He wasn’t the type to let go. Wasn’t the type to accept defeat or walk away quietly. If I stopped feeding him intel, he’d retaliate. Use those photos. Destroy me.
Unless I destroyed him first.
My phone buzzed again.
I picked it up with trembling fingers, saw the new message, and my blood ran cold.
Warehouse district. Midnight. Be ready.
Another ambush. Another bloodbath.
And this time, I knew exactly what I had to do.
***
I’d bought the burner phone weeks ago. Paid cash at a corner store, kept it hidden in the back of my closet, wrapped in an old sweater Drew never touched.
I pulled it out now, my heart hammering against my ribs, my mouth dry.
This was it. The line I was about to cross. The choice that would define everything.
Betray Vance. Warn Rafael. Save the people I’d been trying to destroy for two years.
And hope to God no one ever found out it was me.
I typed the message carefully, my fingers shaking so badly I had to retype it twice.
Warehouse district. Midnight. Ambush planned. Armed and ready.
I stared at the words, my chest tight, my vision blurring.
If I sent this, there was no going back. Vance would know. He’d figure it out eventually. And when he did—
I hit send before I could change my mind.
The message disappeared into the void, and I sat there on the edge of Drew’s bed, clutching the burner phone like it was a lifeline.
Or a noose.
I didn’t know which.
***
The hours crawled by like years.
Drew had gone to the office early, leaving me alone in the apartment with nothing but my thoughts and the crushing weight of what I’d done.
I tried to distract myself. Made breakfast I couldn’t eat. Turned on the TV and stared at the screen without seeing anything. Paced the living room until my feet ached.
But nothing could quiet the voice in my head screaming that I’d just signed my own death warrant.
My phone—my real phone—sat on the coffee table, silent and accusing.
I couldn’t stop staring at it.
Waiting for it to ring. Waiting for Vance to call and scream at me, threaten me, tell me he knew what I’d done.
But it stayed silent.
Until it didn’t.
The buzzing shattered the quiet like a gunshot. I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat, and grabbed the phone with shaking hands.
Vance.
Of course, it was Vance.
I considered not answering. Considered throwing the phone across the room and pretending it never rang.
But that would only make things worse.
I swiped to answer, brought the phone to my ear, and forced myself to breathe.
“Hello?”
“You fed them.” His voice sliced through the line, cold and deadly. No greeting. No pretense. “You tipped Rafael off.”
My blood turned to ice.
“What are you talking about?” I tried to sound confused, but my voice shook.
“Don’t play dumb, Cassandra.” His tone dropped, lethal and terrifying. “My men were supposed to hit that warehouse at midnight. They were waiting. And Rafael’s crew showed up with fucking reinforcements like they had a goddamn script.”
My chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.” He cut me off, his voice rising. “You warned them. And now three of my men are dead, and the rest barely made it out alive.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach, sharp and unforgiving.
Three men dead. Because of me.
Not Bratva this time. Vance’s men.
And I didn’t know how to feel about that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “I gave you the intel. If your men screwed up, that’s not on me.”
“You’re lying.” His voice turned venomous. “And if you think you can betray me and walk away, you’re stupider than I thought.”
“I didn’t betray you—”
“Your boyfriend, Drew.” He spat the name like poison. “If he keeps sniffing too close, I’ll make sure he never even sees the Kamarov you’re carrying.”
The threat hit me like a physical blow.
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, protective and terrified.
“You stay away from him,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You stay away from both of us.”
Vance laughed, cold and humorless. “You don’t give me orders, Cassandra. You work for me. And if you’ve forgotten that, I’ll be happy to remind Rafael exactly who you are and what you’ve done.”
The line went dead.
I sat there, phone still pressed to my ear, my entire body shaking.
He knew.
Maybe not everything. Maybe not the full extent of what I’d done.
But he knew enough.
And now he was threatening Drew. Threatening my baby.
Threatening everything I cared about.
I dropped the phone onto the couch, pressed my hands over my face, and let out a shaky breath that sounded too much like a sob.
What had I done?
I’d tried to protect them. Tried to do the right thing for once in my miserable life.
And all I’d done was paint a target on Drew’s back.
***
The apartment door opened hours later, and Drew walked in, his face tight, his jaw clenched.
He didn’t look at me. Just headed straight for the kitchen, poured himself a drink, and downed it in one swallow.
Something was wrong.
“Drew?” I stood up from the couch, my heart pounding. “What happened?”
“Rafael got a tip.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “About an ambush. Warehouse district. Midnight.”
My stomach dropped.
“We showed up ready. Caught them off guard.” He poured another drink, his knuckles white around the glass. “Three of them dead. The rest ran.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.
“Someone warned him,” Drew continued, finally looking at me. His gray eyes were cold. Searching. “Someone knew about the ambush and tipped Rafael off.”
“That’s good, right?” I forced the words out, tried to sound normal. “It saved lives.”
“It did.” He set the glass down, his gaze never leaving mine. “But Rafael wants to know who sent the tip. And more importantly, how they knew about it in the first place.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
“Do they have any leads?” I asked, hating how weak my voice sounded.
“Not yet.” Drew crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “But they will. Rafael doesn’t let things like this go.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
He kept watching me, his expression unreadable. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.
“Cassandra.” His voice dropped. “If you know something—anything—about what happened, you need to tell me. Now.”
“I don’t know anything,” I lied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”
But I could see it in his eyes. The doubt. The suspicion.
He didn’t believe me.
And soon, neither would Rafael.
***
That night, I lay awake in Drew’s bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.
I’d crossed the line. Betrayed Vance. Saved Bratva.
But it wasn’t over.
Vance knew. Or at least suspected. And he wasn’t going to let this go.
Rafael was hunting for answers. And when he found them—when he traced that anonymous tip back to me—I was dead.
Drew was watching me. Waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for the truth to come out.
And my baby—our baby—was caught in the middle of it all.
I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling the slight curve there, and whispered into the darkness.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Because I knew what was coming.
The truth always came out.
And when it did, there would be no mercy.
Only blood.
Only endings.
Only the brutal, unforgiving justice of a world I’d tried to destroy and failed.
I closed my eyes and tried to prepare myself for the inevitable.
But deep down, I knew nothing could prepare me for what was coming.