CHAPTER -1

Darkness.
I can't see anything other than darkness. I don't know how I ended up here. I need to get out before this darkness swallows me whole.

Is it really the darkness that wants to swallow me? Or... is it just me? Am I the one who wants to be swallowed by the darkness? Am I able to forget my past? Am I able to forgive myself for what happened in that forest seven years ago? Is that really my fault? Yes. It's your fault. It's the only answer my brain and heart give me whenever I ask myself that question.

That day, I saw the terror on my brother's face. Can I forgive myself for creating this situation? It's not something a eleven-year-old child should witness. But he happened to see that horror. I saw my brother's legs trembling in fear. His eyes were wide, and tears welled up in them. He should've run, but his poor legs didn't cooperate with his mind.

It aches my heart. Still. Every time I see the scar on his right forehead. I don't know when he first noticed me. He tried to console me-for what happened, for what I created, for what I caused. He always tried to console me. I've grown used to his attempts. Am I that obvious? I thought I was subtle about my emotions, but I guess I'm not. I started to ask my brother how he knew something was wrong, how he knew I was struggling inside. I started hiding everything he pointed out: my zoned-out state, teary eyes, trembling hands, and some of my habits.

He's the spitting image of my father. My brother. My father is the most handsome man I've ever seen. Fuck Romeo and Juliet. My parents' love story is my favourite. I saw how my father looks at my mother. To him, my mom is the most beautiful woman in the world. The way he talks to her. The way he holds her hand. The way his arm snakes around her waist. The way they dance together. That was-they were-my entire world. My brother and I always watched their dance while sitting on the couch, as if they were giving us a private show. It was everything I ever wanted. Everything I ever needed.

I've loved them. I've admired them. I've always told my dad that I want a man like him. If he's not like him, I don't want him. My dad just laughed, ruffled my hair, and told me, "Everyone has their own way of showing love. It's just my way. Maybe the man you choose will be a better man than me, because I want everything perfect and better for my sunshine." Then he kissed my forehead. I'm his princess. I'm his sunshine. I'm his second love. I'm his painkiller. It's everything he said to me whenever he saw my face.

But I messed up. Because of my stupid decision, I lost everything. I made my brother lose everything. It was all because of me. Because of my stubbornness and my adamant mind. I wanted to tell my dad, "You're also my sunshine, Dad. The one who always brightens up my world with a single gentle smile. I don't want to be here without you. Just take me with you."

My breath started to grow heavier. I'm trying to catch my breath, but something is stopping my airflow. My lungs are shrinking. I can't breathe. I started to kick the air, wanting to scream. I can't find my voice. My struggles slowly subside. And then...

Silence.
A dead silence.

Am I dead? Finally? Am I going to see my father? My first love? And my mother? The most beautiful woman in the world? The silence and darkness fill the air around me. I see something bright. A light, maybe. I walk toward the light. The closer I get, the brighter it becomes. But it's peaceful. I want to lose myself in this light. I've always wanted the darkness. But how strange it is. I want to lose myself in this peaceful light. Am I allowed to feel serene? Do I deserve to feel peace? The word peace doesn't exist in my vocabulary. I don't deserve this. After what I've done. But my greedy mind wants to know what it feels like. After such a long time, my legs involuntarily move toward the light.

Suddenly... my legs start to shake. My eyes look down at my legs. It's not my legs. It's the surface. It's shaking. Everything around me is shaking. The place is starting to destroy, little by little. The light from afar begins to dim. My mind screams to reach the light, to touch it, to feel it. However, I don't deserve to be happy or feel the serene. The place is destroyed. And I fall. And fall. And fall. I'm falling into the void where I can't find anything-or myself.

"VIV, GET UP. MOVE YOUR STUBBORN ASS OUT OF BED!" Someone yells in my ear.

My eyes snap open, and I scan the surroundings. It's my room. My breath is still heavy, and I try to pull myself together. Finally, my eyes land on a man-or a boy. Blake. Blake Harper. My little brother. The only one I adore so much. So, I didn't die. I'm alive. God, who would want that? But I manage to tug a smile onto my lips.

"Good morning to you too, Blake. Is this how you wake someone up from their sleep?" I ask him.

"I called your name three times, Sister dearest. But you slept like a log. What do you want me to do? You left me with no choice." He tells me with his no-nonsense attitude. My eyes are still locked with his. He turns away from me awkwardly. He can't handle my gaze. He always says that my eyes are like I can see right through people. But it's fully unintentional. I don't want to see anyone's insides. Because I don't even have the courage to face my own inner demons. Then how can I? I'm nothing but a coward.

Blake finally turns back and looks at my face. He notices how sweaty I am right now. "Nightmares? Again?" he asks. I feel the concern in his voice.

"Someone's gone soft," I tease him. My brother has a weakness-he doesn't like to be called soft or weak. He acts like an alpha male. And he is. No doubt about that. He's tough and has the tendency to take care of the people he loves. Well, maybe it's not so much "take care" as it is "protect." Protect the people he loves. Maybe he's affected by that incident more than I know, or more than he ever lets on.

He is the heir of Short Temper. Except, the fact that he looks like my father-he's nothing like him. My dad was a man of softness and tenderness. But my brother... Everyone should use their words wisely when it comes to him. Even he doesn't know what his limits are when he loses his shit. One wrong move, and that's it. The person on the other end should be prepared to go home with a broken nose, or jaw-sometimes hands or legs too. I'm not a saint either. Maybe he inherited this trait from me.

His face turned red. He was embarrassed. "I'm not soft. It's just... whatever. Just come downstairs. Aunty already prepared breakfast," he informed me and stormed out of my room. He still can't handle my teasing. A smile spread across my lips. A genuine one this time.

But it vanished when I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I go back to my usual self. I can't smile. I shouldn't smile. How dare you? You can't be happy after what you've done. You don't deserve to smile or be happy. How could you even look at your face in the mirror? Don't you disgust yourself? You should be the one who died back then instead of your parents. You're nothing but a burden and an extra weight in this world. You're nothing but a coward. A pathetic, useless coward.

These words are always echoing in my head. Whenever I look at my face in the mirror.

I don't have anyone to call mine. No one.

But once, there was someone. Someone I wanted to call mine more than anything.

When I first moved to Russia, lost and completely out of my depth, he was there. My friend. The only one who made the chaos bearable. He was my guide when I couldn't find my way, my translator when I didn't understand a single word of Russian. He took me places, introduced me to people, and gave me a sense of belonging when I had none.

And when the bullies came, when the whispers turned into something crueler, he stood between me and the world. My protector. He made me feel safe, like maybe-just maybe-this place could become something close to home.

But then, he was gone.

No warning. No explanation. Just... gone. Vanished like smoke, leaving me standing in the ruins of what I thought was a bond I could hold on to. Like my parents.

Now? I don't let myself believe in permanence. Everyone in my life feels like a fleeting moment, a brief flicker of happiness before the inevitable goodbye. They're all just waiting for their turn to leave. To walk out of my life without a single word.

And I'm left here. Always. Holding onto memories that were never really mine to keep.

However, I managed to take a bath and change my clothes from my pajamas to a T-shirt and jeans. I've never worn anything but shirts and jeans or T-shirts and jeans. My friends always tease me for that. But the truth is, my brother never allowed me to go to parties or wear minis or dresses. So, I stick with my T-shirts and jeans. It's comfortable, though. I went downstairs. My brother was at the breakfast table with my Uncle Matthew and Aunt Irina.

Matthew is my father's older brother. He took me and my brother in after our parents died. We're just a middle-class family, like any other, whose hands are empty by the end of the month. So, I decided to get a part-time job. I don't want to be a burden, as I already am. He tried so hard to support me and my brother.

It was hard. It is hard. Even now. He is also the reason I put on my "happy face" façade in front of others. I started showing others how happy I am, even though I'm not. Just for the sake of my uncle and my brother. He never hesitates to support us, mentally and financially. The man I respect, second only to my father, is my uncle.

"Good morning, Uncle." I hug him from behind as he sits in his chair, then take my seat.

"You're late. Again. We need to work on that, Chipmunk," he scolds me with empty words but a smile. His scolding never holds any weight-just like my father's.

My aunt, Irina, serves me breakfast. She's a Russian woman. My uncle fell in love with her when he went to Russia on a business trip nine years ago. They were living with us in America after that-well, not exactly with us, but in the same city. Now, though, we're all in Russia. After my parents' death, Aunt Irina and Uncle Matthew decided to bring us here, back to her homeland, Russia. 

She's a beautiful woman who married my uncle despite her family's opposition. He brought her to the States, and they eventually got married. Their story is yet another example that makes me hope I can find someone just as loving someday. She cares deeply for me and my brother. My uncle and aunt don't have children of their own because my aunt has hypoplasia, but they only discovered this after taking us in. Even if they'd had a child, they would have welcomed us with open arms.

"Just five minutes," I say, pretending to be defensive. My uncle is a punctual man, but me? I'm always late. To the breakfast table, to my classes, to outings with my friends-literally everywhere.

"Young lady, if I-" I cut him off before he can finish his sentence.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to be better," I say, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes.

"I... You... Vivi, you can't do this every time. We talked about this."

I laugh, and Blake chimes in. "Here we go again. Uncle, you need to build immunity to her charms-especially those eyes."

My uncle sighs. Aunt Irina finally speaks up. "Matt, leave the children alone. It's just five minutes. And not while we're eating," she says, cutting off the conversation with her firm voice.

Aunt Irina is always like this: no talking when we eat, unless it's to share something that happened today, a funny story, or an old memory. It's our unwritten rule. No one opposes Aunt Irina when she uses that tone. Breakfast finishes in comfortable silence, with Blake, as usual, pulling pranks and making funny noises. Aunt Irina adores him, which boosts his ego and makes him act this way. Sometimes, he's the only one allowed to speak while we eat.

We all say our goodbyes to Aunt Irina and get into Uncle Matthew's car. He has a habit of dropping Blake and me off at our university. I'm a data science student, working on my master's degree. My brother is studying at the same university, but he chose psychology. He made some excuse about "wanting to find his true self," but I know the real reason. He knows I'm still struggling with memories from the past, memories that still haunt me, even though he never mentions them or asks about it.

Unlike me, Blake is a popular student on campus. He's known for his good looks-thanks to our father's genes-and his unpredictable nature. Girls drool over him, and some even approach me to get his number or ask me to set up a date with him. I refuse. Every time. 

He's also a gym rat. He has a strong, muscular build that matches his intense personality. Or maybe he built his body to manage that unpredictable energy of his. He's the one who often starts fights, even when it's his fault. Maybe he realized he couldn't control his tendencies, which is why he hits the gym so much, even when he's sick.

The car stops in front of the campus gate. "Behave, Blake," Uncle Matthew says to him. He's made a habit of saying this every morning, knowing it won't make much difference.

"Yeah, yeah." Blake rolls his eyes, looking tired of the same old line, and gets out of the car. I follow him, and we both bid farewell to our uncle before walking onto campus.

At our university, there are separate buildings for each department: Law, Medicine, Business, Tech, Arts, Science. A lot of students here come from wealthy families. Then there's us-here on scholarships. But unlike other schools or universities, none of that matters here. We're all treated the same. Only our grades speak louder than money.

Blake and I walk in silence through campus. It's a bit awkward, though I'm not sure why, and I don't make an effort to break it. I suddenly hear a "vroom" sound. I glance at Blake, but he's just walking beside me as usual. Hallucination maybe? Am I going crazy? Just as I'm thinking that, there's a loud engine rev, and a Lamborghini races onto campus at full speed. Everyone knows who they are.

The so-called Mafia princes-Zinoviy and Zoran. Identical twins. They're PhD students in business, and everyone knows they are bad news. My brother always warns me about them: not to get involved with them, not to look at them, and not even to go the same way they're heading. 

Rumor has it they're involved in their family's business, the Black Serpent-the name of an infamous mafia gang in Russia. I've heard about the Black Serpent; they're ruthless, merciless, killing people like mere flies. I don't know much about the gang's leader other than his name. If I ever try asking Blake, he just glares at me, which is enough to make me drop the subject.

Their car stops on the grass, not even in the parking lot. These guys drove all the way up here, past the actual parking area. They get out of their car and tell a student to park it for them.

They're both dressed in black jeans, black T-shirts, and black leather jackets. It's hard to tell them apart since they're identical twins. Both have visible tattoos on their necks and forearms. The moment they step out, girls throw themselves at them-nothing but fangirls or fame-seekers. It's true; they'd get all the attention they want by being seen with Zinoviy and Zoran. But the twins never take anyone seriously; girls are just a one-time thing to them.

Then another car drives up-a Mercedes-Benz. A girl gets out. Elena. She's a quiet girl and the twins' younger sister, in the same class as my brother. Quiet but popular. No one-literally no one-dares to approach her because of her brothers. Anyone who's brave enough to try would be lucky to survive the day. She silently heads to her class, unlike her brothers.

Blake walks me to my class door and then heads to his. For my safety, for god's sake. I can't even breathe casually; it always feels like he's watching over my shoulder. His department is in the block opposite mine, so every day, he walks me to my class and then hurries off to his. I appreciate his protectiveness, but sometimes, it's suffocating.

I walk into my class and take my seat. A voice comes from behind me.

"You bitch, you betrayed us last night!" Sasha yells at me. It's true-I did betray them. I'd promised my friends I'd go to the party with them, but I ditched them.

"At least you could've informed us, Vi," Alexei says to me in his usual calm tone. I've never seen him get angry. 

Sasha, on the other hand, is always hyper. She's loud, can't sit still, talks non-stop, and gets angry at the smallest things. I have a short temper too, but I can hold back when it's unnecessary. Sasha, though, always speaks her mind and acts like she owns the world. She even had a crush on Zoran, but he blatantly rejected her without even glancing her way. From that moment, she started the "Zoran Haters Club," which Alexei and I were forced to join. It's just the three of us, and we have a group chat for the club.

"Sorry, guys. Blake didn't allow it, as usual," I say with a resigned sigh. A smooth lie.

Sasha goes ballistic. "You need to stop acting like Blake's puppet, Vivi. I get that he's your brother, but I can't accept him controlling you."

"I know, I know. But what am I supposed to do when he says it's all for my safety?"

"He's got his own insecurities, girl. You need to stop this before he takes full control of your life."

"I'll talk to him," I tell Sasha.

Alexei, as usual, sits silently and watches her argue with me, a soft smile on his face. His gentle smile and tender nature remind me of my father. Then the professor walks in, and the class begins. Sasha reluctantly goes to her seat.

The day goes just fine, until I hear that Blake is fighting with someone. I immediately get up from my seat and run to where they're fighting, with Sasha and Alexei following me. I keep running and accidentally bump into someone. I don't even look at their face or bother to say sorry; I just keep running. Blake and this other guy are fighting in the middle of the playground.

A crowd of students surrounds them, watching them punch each other. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Zoran. He's standing there, smiling and cheering for the fight. I shove people aside, muttering "Excuse me," and "Move, please," until I finally get to the front. My eyes widen. It's my brother and Zinoviy, both punching and kicking each other, both covered in blood and bruises.

"BLAKE!" I shout, but he's too far gone to hear me. "BLAKE, STOP IT!" I yell again.

That motherfucker Zoran smirks at me, not even pretending to care. He just stands there, watching like he's enjoying a show. Sasha and Alexei finally reach me and stand by my side. Zinoviy has Blake's arm twisted behind his back, pounding his side with brutal punches that are definitely going to leave bruises-maybe even break a few ribs.

"ZINOVIY, STOP. PLEASE!" I shout again. Heads turn to look at me, but those two idiots in the middle don't even flinch. Alexei takes a step forward, but Sasha grabs his arm, stopping him. Everyone knows better than to get between a fight with the so-called mafia princes-or Blake, for that matter. Unless they want to get dragged into this mess too.

My eyes shift back to Zoran. My legs carry me toward him in desperation. "Zoran, please, tell him to stop. Please," I practically beg. It's not like me at all, but I'm doing it anyway. Blake head-butts Zinoviy, breaking free and swinging wildly, landing punches like a madman.

Zoran grins, completely unfazed. "Hey there, beautiful. Never seen you around campus before. What department are you in?" he asks smoothly, as if he's casually flirting instead of watching his brother pummel mine.

"Zoran, stop your brother. Please," I plead, trying to keep my voice steady.

"He's having fun. Who am I to stop him?" he replies in that infuriatingly calm voice. "By the way, who's that boy fighting my brother? What's he to you?" His voice is so casual, so calm, like he's chatting over coffee rather than in the middle of a violent scene.

"My brother. Zoran, he's my brother. I'll tell you whatever you want, answer any question. Just stop this," I beg again, hating the words as they leave my mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. "And how do I know You'll answer my questions? How can I trust you?" he asks, that ugly smirk twisting his face. That's when it hits me: this bastard has been toying with me the whole time. Of course he has. What did I expect from a guy raised by the mafia?

I turn on my heel, deciding not to waste any more time on this asshole, and stride toward Blake and Zinoviy. But just as I reach them, a strong hand grabs my arm and yanks me back effortlessly.

"Where do you think you're going, beautiful?" Zoran grabs my arm tightly, his grip bruising, but I refuse to show any discomfort. "You didn't answer my question. I'll ask again. What will I get if I stop them?" His eyes darken, their usual charm and light replaced with a chilling coldness. I try to pull my arm free, but a chill runs down my spine. I've never felt this before. No-I've survived this feeling once, in that forest seven years ago. My legs start trembling, and my body shivers as memories crash over me like waves on a battered shore.

Blake notices my state and starts toward me, but Zinoviy grabs him, landing another brutal hit. I choke back a gasp, nausea rising as my vision begins to darken.

Suddenly, someone grabs Zoran's hand and forces him to release me. Just as my knees are about to give out, a strong arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. I feel his touch burn against my skin, a strange heat tingling where his hand holds me firm. I can't see his face clearly, but his grip keeps me grounded.

"Zinoviy." The voice is commanding, a low growl that stills everything around us. Zinoviy freezes, releasing Blake, who stumbles back but doesn't move further. The stranger's voice and presence halt everything-everyone. As my vision clears, I see his face, then catch the look on Zoran and Zinoviy's faces. They've gone pale.

"What the fuck is going on here?" the man's commanding, growling voice freezes everyone in place. "I've told you two a thousand times not to touch civilians," he snarls, his words sharp and unforgiving.

"But he-" Zinoviy tries to explain, but the man's fierce glare cuts him off instantly.

Then his gaze shifts to me. "You owe me something, don't you?" His icy blue eyes lock onto mine, freezing me in place.

CHAPTER - 2

People call me a monster. So am I.

I didn't build this empire-it was my great grandfather's. He created it with his iron fists and careful decisions. He was feared, respected, the kind of leader people trusted, or at least pretended to. He thought power came from offering protection-twisted, dark protection-and earning loyalty through it.

Me, I have one rule: Get the job done. No matter the cost. Black Serpent wasn't passed down as some damn inheritance. I earned it. Not with some calculated moves or slow-burn tactics, but with sheer, brutal efficiency. I've watched men break under my gaze, seen the way they flinch when I speak, because they know I don't care how many of them fall, as long as the job gets done. Respect? Nah. My rule is carved from fear. My father was the viper-coiled, calculating. I'm the strike: swift, violent, and without hesitation. Men follow me not because they want to-they follow me because they know the alternative is a far worse fate.

Under my command, Black Serpent is colder, sharper. Every order I give is a ruthless demand for results. No compromises. There's no room for weakness. I don't care who they are or what ideals they cling to-serve, or be discarded. The Black Serpent's reach doesn't tolerate failure.

Mercy is weakness. Fear is poison. I don't have the luxury of either. But people fear me. They respect me. They should. My name carries weight in places others can't even dream of stepping. They think I'm heartless. Maybe I am. Doesn't matter. I've lost count of the lives I've ended, the bodies I've buried, the people I've broken. They all had it coming. In my world, you either control the game, or you're just another pawn waiting to be sacrificed.

I don't apologize for who I am or what I've done. This isn't some fairytale, and mercy? Mercy is a death sentence. Loyalty and fear-those are the only currencies in my world. Loyalty I buy; fear I inspire. And together, they're a hell of a combination.

I live in a world of shadows and silence, where deals are made with blood and trust is just another currency. Betray me, and I'll make sure it's the last mistake they ever make. The streets are filled with ghosts, men who crossed me and paid for it. Their whispers follow me, but they're nothing more than echoes in the silence.

Every choice, every action, every life taken or spared-it all adds up. People like to think there's a soul buried under it all, a man who feels guilt. They're wrong. Whatever I was before, that man's long gone.

This empire, the Bratva I took over, soaked in blood, demands survival. I've seen "untouchable" men crumble with a single misstep, watched kings fall because they forgot the power of fear. Power alone isn't enough-it's fear that keeps you alive. So I let the world remember the Black Serpent as more than just a name. It's a warning.

However, my father didn't approve of my method. But who cares? I don't give a fuck about anyone's opinions. He always told me, Once the fear is gone, the Bratva, our legacy, will bury under the ground. The people who feared don't even recognize it.

What I learned from my father's words was simple: The fear must be maintained. So I need to plant fear deep in people's hearts-so deep that even their souls can't forget what Black Serpent is, and who I am.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room, checking some documents. My father came in and sat beside me, saying nothing at first. I didn't mind. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Zakhar, I caught wind of the fire at the Void's headquarters."

I simply nodded, not looking up from my work.

"Zakhar, I'm talking to you."

"And I can hear you. Loud and clear."

"That was your work, wasn't it? The fire, I mean."

"What if it is?"

"You can't keep acting like this, Zakhar. One day, it'll come back to bite us."

"I don't give a fuck. I'll kill them all. Every last one."

"You're too quick to spill blood, son. This isn't a game. Every action has its price. Even if you don't see it now."

"They brought it on themselves. They shouldn't have touched my shipments. They needed to be taught a lesson."

"I understand, Zakhar. But-"

I raise a hand to silence him. "You handed the Bratva to me. I earned it. I've proven myself a thousand times over. I know exactly what I'm doing. Don't lecture me."

Just then, my phone rings. Elena's college security shows up on the caller ID. Apparently, there's some kind of commotion between my idiot brother Zinoviy and a civilian. How many times do I have to beat it into them? No. Touching. Civilians. I sigh, exasperated, and get up from the couch.

"This time, I'm gonna peel their skin alive," I mutter, heading for the door, grabbing my keys, and getting in the car for a drive to the university.

The family mansion looms behind me. It's our fortress, our cage. I know Elena feels trapped here with me and the twins, probably under my shadow more than anyone. She used to say she'd leave when she turned eighteen. Now she's nineteen, and she's still here-she has to be. It's safer for her. People call me a monster, but when it comes to my family, I'd burn the world to keep them safe. My father raised me as the heir to Black Serpent, and my brothers were raised to follow. Elena, though? She's exactly like my mother-soft, affectionate. She's the opposite of what this life demands, and that's how I prefer it.

When I reach the campus, I don't head straight for the twins. First, I need to check on Elena. I stride down the hall with one goal in mind, but these damn students are clogging it like it's their personal hangout. Where the hell are the teachers? I want to grab the nearest kid and smash his face against the wall, clear the path with his blood. Effective and simple.

Then, out of nowhere, someone slams into me. My hand shoots out, ready to grab the idiot, but it's a girl. Tiny thing. She doesn't even look up, just bolts like she's got a fire under her. Not a single apology. She's gone before I can even get a look at her face. Grey T-shirt, blue jeans, long hair. Then two more little hellions race after her.

What the fuck is this? A hallway or a goddamn playground?

I shake my head and head to Elena's classroom. Today's lineup of irritation is a real test-first my old man, then my idiot brothers, now a pack of reckless brats. I take a deep breath and step into the room. Silence hits like a wave; it's clear the little punks recognize who I am.

Elena's eyes widen as she spots me. I stop beside her seat.

"Zak, what are you doing here? Is something wrong? I didn't do anything."

"I know, El. It's the twins. But I wanted to check on you before I deal with those idiots."

"What? What did they do this time?"

"How can you be so oblivious, Elena? I'll fill you in later. I need to get those two fuckers under control."

With that, I turn and leave the classroom. Her class is on the second floor, and from the railing, I catch sight of them in action-Zoran on the sidelines, whistling and cheering like a damn fanboy, while Zinoviy is going at it with... a kid? Really? Have they lost their minds, or just their sense of self-preservation? Though, I'll admit-the kid has stamina and knows how to throw a punch. I'm almost impressed. Almost.

Then I notice a girl pushing her way through the crowd, shouting for the kid, trying to get through to him. He's not even glancing her way. So, who's he to her? A friend? Cousin? Brother? That's when I realize-it's the same girl who bumped into me earlier. Grey T-shirt, blue jeans, long black hair. Definitely her. Without wasting any more time, I head down to the playground.

When I reach them, she's pleading with Zoran to stop the fight. As if. The guy lives for violence; he wouldn't stop even if Zinoviy dropped dead in front of him. She kept begging him, playing right into his hands without even realizing it. But then, she figured him out, realizing he was just toying with her. Smart girl-though, maybe not so smart, because next thing I saw, She turns her back on Zoran, stepping toward the two idiots brawling like bulls in a ring, determined to stop them herself.

Of course, Zoran has to ruin it-he catches her, yanking her back into his grip.

I can't watch this pathetic scene any longer, but something about her catches my interest. She's trembling-like a damn leaf. And it's not because of Zoran, though he's convinced it is. I can see it in that smug look on his face. No, there's something else here. Her eyes are wide, frozen in place, her legs starting to shake. This isn't normal fear...of someone; this is something deeper. Her knees finally give out, and just as she's about to hit the ground, I grab her by the waist, pulling her back on her feet.

The second my hand touches her, I can feel it-fear, raw and real. It's the only thing that keeps me alive, the fuel I live for, and right now, she's radiating it. When I call out to Zinoviy, everyone stops, like they're snapped to attention. Everyone but the girl, still trembling in my arms.

A smirk tugs at my lips as I see that kid's glare fixed on me. I know that look. So that punk knows me after all. It's just he doesn't want her anywhere near someone like me. Good. Fear looks good on him too. Once I've got Zoran and Zinoviy under control, I turn my attention back to her. I ask her a simple question, but she just stares, clueless.

"You should apologize to the person you bumped into. Basic manners," I say.

She opens her mouth, probably to stammer out a "sorry," but before she can get a word out, that kid yanks her away, pulling her close to him. The second his hands touched her, rage sparked inside me. I hate having something taken from my grasp. Hate it. I don't give a damn if it's a piece of trash; no one takes anything from me. But that bastard has some nerve take her from my arm knowing who I am. Fucker have a death wish or something?

"Blake, are you okay? Can you see me?" She's checking his face, looking over his injuries.

"I'm fine." he mutters.

"You're... you're..." Her voice catches. She's holding back tears, probably cares too damn much for that kid.

"It's okay, Viv. I'm fine. Look at me, I'm standing like a rock." He hugs her, and I roll my eyes. This sappy caring nonsense is painful to watch.

"Viv?" I let the name roll around in my mind. Vivian? Viviana? Whatever. While the two of them drown in their precious bonding session, I turn my gaze to my brothers.

"Woah, bro! He broke your nose!" Zoran laughs like a hyena, cackling as his twin stands there with blood streaming down his bruised face. Typical Zoran.

"I would've killed him," Zinoviy mutters, his voice seething with that controlled anger, though Zin's eyes on that girl.

"Home. Now." Just two words, and they're off to the parking lot, no argument, no excuses. That's one thing they've learned well enough. But the girl and that kid? Still here, still yapping. I cross my arms, throwing them an exasperated look.

"We're going to the hospital," she insists, her voice almost amusingly authoritative.

"I'm not going anywhere. Stop treating me like a child all the time," that kid replies, defiant.

"I'm not asking for your opinion. I'm informing you. We're going. End of discussion." She doesn't waver, and surprisingly, he just nods, conceding. Her tone's got some bite. It almost makes me want to laugh, this little commander. Adorable. So, that kid's not just a friend. Cousin? No-probably her brother.

The rest of the students start heading off, finally clearing out. I take one last look around and walk out of the college.

"What the hell were you two thinking? Fighting with civilians-kids, for fuck's sake." The words snap out of me the moment we're back home, my gaze drilling into them, daring either one to justify this mess.

"It's not a big deal, Zak," Zoran shrugs, like he just got caught pulling some harmless prank.

"I would've killed that fucking bastard. He really got on my nerves," Zinoviy growls.

"By the way, brother, what's with the heroic stunt back there? Grabbing that girl's waist... I saw the way you looked at her. And your hands... Damn, Zak, you're too obvious." Zoran smirks.

"Shut up," I snap, my tone as sharp as a blade. "And what was all that commotion about? Care to explain?"

Zinoviy shrugs, brushing it off. "Who knows? He threw a first punch."

I narrow my eyes, barely holding back my frustration. "Seriously?."

Zoran's eyes widen, a wicked gleam in them. "I'm thinking I'll get a taste of her. She looked hot when she was pleading and begging."

"Back the fuck off," Zinoviy sneers.

"Oh, look who's playing Mr. Romeo now! Are you interested in her or something?"

"I mean it, Zo. Don't even think about touching her. Not so much as a glance."

I fix my gaze on Zinoviy. He's never been this worked up about anyone-especially not with Zoran. Is this just a passing attraction, or something more?

"And stay the hell away from civilians."

"Buzzkill," they both groan, sounding like two kids caught sneaking out.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

I go straight to my office, my frustration clawing at its peak. Mikhail is already there-my cousin, my father's younger brother's firstborn, Black Serpent's second-in-command. My right hand and the only man I truly trust in this Bratva. He's the executioner of my every command, the embodiment of Lucifer himself. Sometimes, I wonder just how long he'll stay in line. Let him roam unchecked, and one day he might just devour me whole, take the Bratva for himself. And yet, I like him for it. His ruthlessness, his instinct to obey without question-they make him the perfect ally and a necessary threat.

Trust? That's a joke. I trust no one-not even myself half the time. Hell, if my family pushes me far enough, I might end up killing them just to keep my own sanity. Except my siblings-they're the only ones safe.

"Anything new?"

"Void's on the verge of going for our throats. And by that, I mean yours and mine," Mikhail says, his calm tone dripping with dark amusement.

"Expected. What's surprising is that Maksim hasn't made his move yet."

"Maybe that's because of Fyodor," he replies, his voice cool as ice.

"Fyodor's probably losing sleep over this. If he kept Maksim on a tighter leash, Void might still have a headquarters to speak of."

"Maksim's got the nerve to make a move, but he's no Fyodor."

"At least Fyodor understands there are lines you don't cross. Maksim? That idiot wouldn't recognize a line if it was drawn in blood. Maybe this will finally teach him... or remind Fyodor what happens when you let a fool lead."

"You think Maksim learned his lesson?"

"Lesson? Hardly. The real lesson hasn't even started. When Void finally retaliates, we'll be waiting. They want a war? We'll give them hell."

I let out a low, dark laugh.

"They won't bring anything creative. Fyodor's predictable, and Maksim... he's just a desperate brat trying to prove himself. Trying too damn hard. Let's see how far his ego takes him."

Void-Our rival Bratva. We've been clashing with them for generations, since my grandfather's time. Fyodor heads the organization now, but he still doesn't trust his son enough to pass it on. I respect Fyodor; he's like my father in many ways, but far too predictable. Maksim, on the other hand, is a brat-a spoiled child who whimpers the moment something doesn't go his way. He has a lot to learn.

"And... I need you to do something for me. Something personal."

Mikhail raises an eyebrow, curious. "And what might that be?"

"I want you to dig into someone's background. I want every last detail."

He stays silent, watching me, waiting for the rest.

"Zin seems attracted to some civilian and even brawled with her brother or whoever. I want everything on her. When can you get it?"

"Zin, huh? That's... new. Fine. I'm listening."

"Her name's likely 'Viv'-Vivian, Viviana, or something. She's short. Maybe twenty to twenty-three. She has a brother, or maybe a cousin, hard to tell. That's all I have for now."

"Consider it done. But isn't it a bit out of character for you to dig into some random girl's life?"

"For Zin," I say, keeping my tone steady.

"Yeah, yeah... for Zin. Sure." He stands, casting a smirk my way. "Later, brother."

With that, Mikhail strolls out, that infuriating smirk lingering on his face. I clench my jaw, leaning back in my chair as frustration simmers in me. The smirk is annoying, but it's not the real problem. The real problem is her-the girl with the American accent that screams "outsider," and, from the sound of it, an attitude as stubborn as they come.

What the hell could Zin possibly see in her? Besides... her body, of course. It wouldn't hurt to admit that much-she has a hell of a body. I'd figured that out the moment I grabbed her waist. And maybe, just maybe, I let my hands wandered a little more than necessary. She hadn't noticed, but that kid sure as hell did. The way he practically yanked her out of my reach said it all.

Zin wasn't the type to get tangled in emotions, especially not over a civilian. Relationships were as foreign to him as they were to me-distracting, pointless, and messy. But this girl-Viv, or whatever the hell her name actually was-had him breaking his own damn rules. What did she have that made him lose his focus? I couldn't wrap my head around it, and that fact alone was pissing me off.

My fists clenched, the thought of her already getting under my skin. She had no idea what kind of world she was playing in, and maybe that was part of the allure for Zin. Maybe he liked the idea of something pure, something untouched by this life. But if she became a distraction, if she started pulling him under, she wouldn't just be his problem but become mine too.

Responsibility weighed on me like a lead chain, dragging me down. It was my job to keep Zin's head clear, to ensure this girl didn't become the crack that brought the whole structure crumbling down. If Mikhail's report didn't turn up something useful, I'd have to handle it myself.

One girl shouldn't be this complicated. Yet, somehow, she already was.

The cold, practical thought crept in before I could stop it: Should I kill her? Cut the distraction off at the source. It would be the cleanest solution. Zin would hate me, sure, but he'd get over it. Blood ties ran deeper than emotions, and I was his brother. A fucking girl wouldn't come between us.

And yet... I let out a frustrated sigh, pacing the room as my mind churned. This wasn't just about business anymore; it was about him. Zin wasn't acting like this was some fleeting attraction. He was acting like she mattered-like she was different. And that? That was what made her dangerous.

My fist slammed down on the desk, the sound slicing through the silence. Dammit. Maybe I needed to wait-just a little longer. Let Mikhail dig up her story, find out what the hell made her so captivating.

For now, she'd live. But she wouldn't stay out of my crosshairs for long.

CHAPTER - 3

I'm going to kill that motherfucker. Seriously. No hesitation, no second thoughts-just straight-up murder.

Dragging Blake to the hospital was like wrangling a goddamn bull. He fought me every step of the way, his stubbornness testing every shred of patience I had left. By the time we got there, I was practically ready to throw him onto the examination table myself.

The doctor, blissfully unaware of the shitstorm he was walking into, was too slow for my liking. I had to threaten-okay, nag-him to get every single test done on Blake. Blood tests, X-rays, scans-everything. And when the results came back? No broken bones, no fractured ribs-just some bruising on his face, chest, and abdomen. The doctor had the nerve to say it wasn't serious.

Not serious? Bruises on Blake were like battle scars on a goddamn war general. But I wasn't satisfied. Hell no. I demanded painkillers, practically breathing down the doctor's neck until he complied.

Still, one thing kept gnawing at me-why the fuck did these two idiots fight like their lives depended on it? What could possibly push Blake and Zinoviy to go full-on gladiator on each other? I needed answers, and I knew just where to start.

"Blake, wh-"

"Shut up," he snapped before I could even finish.

Of course. Classic Blake and his classic shut up. Sometimes he come up with some lazy excuse like boys' problem, or worse, he'd just give me one of those exasperated glares. God forbid I ask a reasonable question. Seriously? I begged Zoran to stop the fight, risked swallowing my pride to deal with that psycho, and this is how Blake repays me? I've noticed it before-the way he hides things from me. It's not subtle. He thinks he's sparing me, protecting me. But all it does is make me feel like a goddamn outsider.

I'm the oldest, for fuck's sake. I'm supposed to know what's going on. But maybe... just maybe, he doesn't trust me enough. Maybe he thinks I'm weak, that I'll shatter under the weight of the truth.

After the incident-the one that tore our lives apart-Blake changed. He became this overprotective, overbearing shadow. He stopped talking to me about real things. I wasn't his sister anymore; I was his responsibility. Sure, he'd tell me the happy, fluffy bullshit, but the hard stuff? Never.

His dog died. He cried-but not in front of me. I heard him sobbing through the walls. His girlfriend broke up with him, and he was devastated. Uncle Matthew had to take him on trips and shower him with distractions just to get him out of his funk. But when Blake talked to me? He acted like none of it mattered. Like it was his job to keep me smiling and unbothered.

He's my brother, my only family. And yet, he's this mystery I can't solve, this fortress I can't breach. He builds walls around his feelings, around his pain, and doesn't let anyone in. Not even me.

And then there's the flip side. The way he treats me. Keeps everyone at arm's length, especially anyone trying to get close to me. Fuck, I don't have a boyfriend until now. That's how tightly he's been managing my life.

But this, Him fighting Zinoviy? Of all people? Why? Why him? There's no way this is just a random scrap between guys. There's something deeper going on, something Blake isn't telling me. And it's driving me insane or more like my curiosity piqued.

"Blake, do not 'shut up' me. Spill it. What the hell happened?" I demanded, crossing my arms.

"None of your concern," he muttered, his tone cold enough to freeze lava.

Oh, hell no. This wasn't going to fly. I opened my mouth to snap back when Alexei, with his infuriatingly calm demeanor, stepped in.

"Blake, she's your sister. She has the right to know," Alexei said, his voice a perfect balance of authority and gentleness. "She's the one who tried to stop the fight, remember? She even pleaded with Zoran to stop."

Alexei's words hung in the air like a lifeline, cutting through the tension. His voice-it was like some magical ointment for my frayed nerves, soothing the ache Blake's indifference left behind.

If it weren't for Alexei and Sasha, I'd have lost my goddamn mind by now. They were the only reason I managed to drag Blake's stubborn ass to the hospital in one piece or get him back to our home. Without them, I don't think I could've handled him alone. Hell, I might've ended up in the ER myself after trying to knock some sense into him.

Blake let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Look, Alex, I don't need a mediator. This isn't up for discussion."

"Not up for discussion?" I snapped, my voice rising. "Blake, you're my brother. If someone so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way, it's my damn business. And this-" I gestured toward the bruise forming on his jaw. "This is not something I'm letting slide."

His eyes narrowed, the same icy wall of defiance he always put up whenever I pushed too hard. "Vivian, I said drop it."

Alexei stepped in again, his calm voice like oil over water. "She's not asking to get involved, Blake. She's asking because she cares. You know that, don't you?"

Blake's jaw clenched, his silence louder than any words.

"See? Even now, you can't say it," I hissed, my hands balling into fists. "You never tell me anything anymore! You shut me out like I'm some stranger. I'm not a kid, Blake. I can handle the myself just fine."

"You can't handle shit, Viv," Blake snapped, finally losing his composure. "You think I don't see how you've been since...I'm protecting you. That's all I'm trying to do!"

His words hit me like a gut punch, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp exhale. Alexei's hand landed gently on my shoulder, steadying me, but it wasn't enough to stop the sting.

"You think hiding things from me protects me?" My voice wavered, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "All it does is make me feel like I don't matter. Like you don't trust me to stand by you."

Blake's expression faltered for a split second before the wall went back up. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered, looking away.

"Then make me understand," I shot back, desperation seeping into my tone. "Tell me what happened with Zinoviy. Tell me why you were both ready to kill each other."

Blake opened his mouth to retort, but Sasha beat him to it, stepping forward with her arms crossed dramatically over her chest.

"Alright, alright, everyone take a deep breath and unclench. I'm about five seconds away from calling a referee and setting up a pay-per-view."

Both Blake and I turned to her, glaring.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You two are giving off serious soap opera vibes right now, and not the good kind. We're talking daytime reruns level drama."

"Sasha," Blake growled, his tone low.

She held up a hand. "Nope. Not done. Vivian, honey, I get it-you're mad. Totally justified. But if Blake wants to keep his moody 'I'm a lone wolf, don't look at me' thing going, let him. He's clearly auditioning for the next Batman movie."

Blake groaned, rubbing his temples. "Sasha-"

"Hold on, I'm on a roll here." She turned to me, her expression exaggeratedly serious. "And you, Viv, you're doing great as the fiery lead in this family drama. But let's not forget one thing: this entire fight could've been avoided if someone-" she side-eyed Blake dramatically, "-learned how to use his words instead of his fists."

Alexei smirked, clearly amused. "She's got a point."

Sasha grinned, gesturing to Alexei. "Thank you! Finally, someone with taste."

Blake sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You're not helping."

"Oh, but I am. See, now no one's yelling, no one's crying, and most importantly, I'm entertained. You're welcome." She plopped down onto a nearby armchair, kicking her feet up. "Now, back to the regularly scheduled programming. Blake, spill the tea before I start making up my own version of events, and trust me, it'll involve aliens and secret love children."

Despite myself, I let out a huff of laughter, and even Blake's lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Sasha straightened in her chair, her eyes narrowing as she shifted her focus. "Speaking of emotional constipation, let's talk about Zoran for a hot second, shall we?"

Blake tensed, but Sasha was already on a roll.

"That cold-hearted ice prince let you-you, Viv-beg him like some tragic heroine in a telenovela. I mean, who even does that? Oh wait, I know. Zoran fucking Kalashnikov. The guy probably goes to bed hugging a block of dry ice and dreams about spreadsheets."

"Sasha..." Alexei sighed, though his lips quirked with amusement.

"No, no, Alexei. Don't 'Sasha' me. Let me have this moment." She turned to me, her expression the perfect mixture of indignation and dramatic flair. "Do you know what kind of rage I felt watching you plead with him? I swear, if you'd gotten down on your knees, I would've shoved his perfectly tailored ass into traffic."

Blake leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "You hate him because he rejected you, not because of Vi."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. I-Fight-First-Talk-Never." She pointed a finger at him, mock scolding. "This isn't about my personal heartbreak-although, yes, fine, he did reject me. And yes, I may have cried into a tub of Häagen-Dazs for an hour. But you know what, Blake? I'm a survivor. I moved on. Except..." She sighed dramatically, clutching her chest. "How can I move on when he's still lurking around with that broody face of his, hating everything, including puppies and probably world peace?"

I couldn't help but snort, and Blake muttered something under his breath, shaking his head.

"And another thing-" Sasha wasn't done yet, flipping her hair for emphasis. "How is it that Zoran freaking Kalashnikov, the man who can reject this-" she gestured to herself with both hands, "-still has the audacity to act like he's too good for everyone? Oh, I'm sorry, Zoran, are the rest of us mere mortals not worthy of your icy glares and disdainful silence? Shall I genuflect next time I see him?"

Alexei chuckled softly, finally speaking up. "Maybe he just didn't know how to handle your... energy, Sasha."

"Energy?!" Sasha gasped in mock offense, spinning toward Alexei. "Are you saying I'm too much? Because I'll have you know, I'm just enough. It's not my fault if Mr. Frostbite over there is emotionally unavailable and allergic to fun."

Blake groaned. "Can we stop talking about Zoran now?"

"No, we cannot stop talking about Zoran!" Sasha declared, standing up dramatically. "Not until everyone here acknowledges that he's the human equivalent of a black hole-dark, cold, and sucks the joy out of every room he's in. Oh, and one more thing-he didn't even look at me, Blake. Not once. I was standing right there, in a killer dress, and the man didn't even flinch. How do you not flinch when someone as fabulous as me walks in?"

"Maybe he's blind," I offered, trying not to laugh.

"Blind to greatness, clearly," Sasha said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "And that's his loss. Honestly, Viv, the Kalashnikov men? Overrated." She paused, grinning at him. "You're the only one with an ounce of human decency in the entire human being. A rare unicorn."

Alexei gave a small bow. "Thank you, Sasha. I'll treasure the compliment."

"You should." She flopped back into her chair, crossing her legs with exaggerated grace. "Now, someone get me a drink. All this talking has parched my fabulous throat."

Sasha leaned closer, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially. "So, Viv, who was that guy? You know, the one with the death grip on your waist. Because I swear, I've seen less possessive behavior from my cat, and she guards her food bowl like it's the crown jewels."

Blake visibly stiffened but stayed silent, glaring at a random spot on the wall as if it owed him money.

I hesitated. "I... don't actually know him."

Sasha's eyes widened dramatically, and she smacked her hand on the armrest. "Wait, wait, hold up. Some random guy just grabs you like he's auditioning for The Most Intense Human on the Planet, and you don't even know his name? Viv, that's not mysterious; that's straight-up serial killer territory."

Alexei raised an eyebrow. "He didn't exactly seem like your average guy, though. The way he looked at you... it was unnerving."

"And hot," Sasha chimed in, earning a glare from Alexei. "What? I'm just saying the truth. Dude's got the whole dark and dangerous thing going on. You could've warned me he was going to give me a heart attack just by existing, Viv."

"Sasha!" I hissed, mortified.

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't notice," she shot back with a smirk. "He wasn't exactly subtle. It was like watching a lion claim its prey. Kind of terrifying, kind of... intriguing?"

Blake finally exhaled through his nose, a low, irritated sound that made all of us glance his way.

"Blake," Sasha said, fixing him with an expectant stare. "Who the hell is he? Because judging by your permanent murder face right now, you know him. Care to share with the class?"

"Drop it, Sasha," Blake muttered, his voice clipped.

"Drop it? Oh, no. I'm not dropping it," she retorted, leaning forward like she was gearing up for a full interrogation. "You obviously know something, and it's clearly pissing you off. Spill it. Who is he? Why was he all over Vivian? And, most importantly, why did he look like he could break a man in half without breaking a sweat?"

"Sasha," Blake growled, his tone sharp enough to cut.

"Fine, be cryptic," she shot back, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "But just so you know, this whole mysterious brooding act only makes me more curious. If you're trying to protect Viv or whatever, maybe tell her instead of sulking like some overprotective bodyguard."

Alexei cleared his throat, trying to mediate. "Sasha, maybe it's best if we-"

"No, Alexei," she interrupted, gesturing wildly. "Because now I'm invested. Who was this guy? A secret Serial killer? An undercover spy? Or-oh my god-an ex-boyfriend with unresolved issues?"

I groaned. "Sasha, please stop."

"What? I'm just trying to piece this together. And don't think I didn't notice you didn't exactly push him away, Viv. What's going on? Is this some kind of forbidden romance thing? Because if it is, I demand details."

Blake stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. "Enough, Sasha." His voice was low and cold, and it was enough to make even Sasha sit back, her expression faltering.

He turned to me, his eyes hard. "You don't need to know who he is. Just stay away from him, Vi."

And with that, he stalked out of the room, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Sasha, ever undeterred, let out a low whistle. "Well, someone's got issues. But seriously, Viv... who the hell was that guy?"

I shook my head, my stomach twisting with unease. "I don't know, Sasha. I really don't."

But the truth was, I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

Sasha leaned back, crossing her arms with a dramatic huff. "Fine, keep your secrets, Vivian. But if this mystery waist-grabber turns out to be a mafia boss or a serial killer, don't come crying to me when things go sideways."

Alexei sighed, rubbing his temple. "Sasha, do you ever consider not jumping to the most extreme conclusions?"

"Nope," she replied cheerfully. "Extreme is where the fun's at, Alexei. You should try it sometime. Might even loosen up that stiff neck of yours."

I glanced at my watch and groaned. "As much as I'd love to sit here and listen to you two bicker all night, I have to get going. I'm already late for my shift."

Sasha's head snapped toward me. "Wait. You're working tonight? Are you kidding me? After all this drama? You need a break, Viv, not a crappy restaurant shift dealing with entitled customers."

"It's called rent, Sasha," I muttered, grabbing my bag.

"Rent, shm-rent," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "You need to prioritize your sanity. Or at least your safety! What if Mystery Man decides to follow you to work and swoop in all dark knight vibes while you're balancing a tray of margaritas?"

I rolled my eyes, heading for the door. "I'll be fine. It's just a late shift, and it's not like anyone's going to cause trouble at a family-friendly restaurant."

Sasha snorted. "You clearly underestimate the Karen population. But fine, go ahead. Just text me when you get there. Oh, and if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous shows up, you better FaceTime me. I want front-row seats to the chaos."

Alexei stood, following me to the door. "I'll drive you, at least. It's late, and I'd rather not have you wandering around on your own."

Sasha smirked. "Ah, see? Alexei gets it. You could learn a thing or two from him, Blake!" she called after my brother, who was nowhere to be seen.

I sighed, nodding at Alexei. "Thanks. Let's go."

As we stepped outside, Sasha shouted after me, "Don't let any Serial killers whisk you away without telling me first! I'll need to plan an outfit for the rescue mission!"

I laughed despite myself, shaking my head as I climbed into Alexei's car. Whatever was going on with that man-whoever he was-I couldn't afford to dwell on it right now. I had bills to pay and a shift to survive.

But as the car pulled away from the house, I couldn't shake the feeling that my night wasn't going to be as simple as I'd hoped.

Alexei dropped me off at the restaurant where I worked part-time. I gave him a quick wave and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar chatter of the staff and the comforting hum of activity. Everything was as it always was-steady, predictable. For the past seven or eight months, this place had been my second home. The salary wasn't great, but it was enough to take care of myself and, occasionally, to help my aunt and uncle with their finances.

This wasn't some high-end restaurant-just a cozy, medium-tier spot. But the food? People came back for it. The flavors were something special, and it gave me a sense of pride to work here, even if it wasn't glamorous. I headed straight to the locker room, changed into my uniform, and dove into the day's routine: taking orders, serving food, cleaning tables. The monotony was comforting, almost therapeutic. When things at home got tense, this was where I came-even if it wasn't my shift. No one asked questions. They were just glad for the extra pair of hands.

I was scrubbing down a table when I felt it-someone standing behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I turned to find Zinoviy. My stomach tightened, anger flaring the second our eyes met. Before I could think twice, I slapped him.

Zinoviy didn't flinch. He didn't raise a hand to his cheek or even step back. He just stood there, staring at me with that maddening calmness.

"Is this how you greet me, sweetie?" he drawled, his hand sliding to rest on my waist. A slow, calm smile spread across his lips.

"I don't want to talk to you, Zin. Get the fuck out of my face." My voice trembled, anger still coursing through me. I didn't want it to subside. Not yet.

He tilted his head, his tone annoyingly patient. "He started it, Vi. I didn't do anything. I was just roaming with Zo, minding my business, and your brother came at me. Punched me. What was I supposed to do? Let him?" His grip on my waist tightened slightly, daring me to argue. "I have some pride, you know. I had to fight back. Your brother left me no choice."

"He's a kid, Zin!" I snapped, my voice sharp as I tried to shrug his hand off.

"A kid doesn't throw punches like that," he shot back, his tone clipped. "If you got hit by him, you wouldn't be so quick to defend him. Besides, I held back. I didn't break anything, did I? No broken ribs, no fractures. That's me being considerate. I could've. But I didn't. Because he's your brother. Your brother, on the other hand, didn't hold back at all."

I shook my head, frustration boiling over. "Why did he even come at you?"

Zinoviy shrugged. "Who the hell knows? He didn't exactly announce his reasons. He just swung at me."

Letting out a heavy sigh, I signalled to a colleague to take over my tables and led Zin to the back door. The alleyway behind the restaurant was secluded, a space where people rarely ventured. It was quiet, and I needed quiet to deal with him.

The moment we were alone, Zin didn't waste any time. His hands found my waist again, pulling me close before crashing his lips against mine. The kiss was intense, consuming, and I let myself get lost in it-just like I always did.

This man had been my secret for seven months now. I met him here before with his friends, since then we'd fallen into this dangerous routine of sneaking around. We weren't in a relationship, just a fling. We existed in this murky in-between, a space where we both found something we needed but couldn't define. I didn't know what to call it, and maybe I didn't want to.

Zinoviy wasn't a good guy, not by a long shot, but compared to his brother Zoran, Zinoviy felt like the lesser evil. Zoran was a walking disaster, unhinged in ways that terrified me. Zinoviy, at least, had a charm that disarmed me every time.

This was our routine. Zin and I were each other's secret-hidden meetings, stolen moments, a dangerous game we played. If I wanted to see him, I had to lie. Blake trusted me to go to parties, and I used those opportunities to sneak away. I hated lying to him, hated ditching my friends. My guilty pleasure. And Zin knew it, too.

Zinoviy wanted to tell Zoran about us, to stop hiding, but I wouldn't let him. What we had was fragile, reckless. It wasn't love. I wasn't ready for anyone to know. I wasn't ready for the world to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But truth was, Zinoviy wasn't just my guilty pleasure-he was my escape, the only part of my life that felt like it belonged to me alone.

Here, in this alley, it's just us - Zinoviy and me. Alone. His arms are around my waist, his lips still tingling against mine, but I can't focus. Something feels off. There's this nagging, unshakable feeling crawling under my skin, like eyes are on us, unseen but piercing. Seconds pass by, but my unease deepens. I step closer, my fingers clutching his shirt as the weight of the shadows presses in. Whatever it is- whether it's paranoia or something real.

I don't know who to blame. But I'm really going crazy.

CHAPTER - 4

I've already had enough goddamn problems. Now this? I should've killed her the moment I knew she existed. No, before I even learned her fucking name. But I couldn't. Something in me held back, and I hate it. I hate myself for it.

The fear that radiates off her... it's intoxicating. Pure adrenaline in the air. Just my presence is enough to unnerve her, to make her falter. I see it—the way she stiffens, the way her breath catches like she's being suffocated by shadows. Terrified. She feels me even when she can't see me. That night, I realized she could sense my presence in a way no one else ever has. I've perfected the art of vanishing into the dark, of becoming a ghost in the room until I decide to make myself known. But her? She knew. She sensed.

She's something else entirely. Something that makes my blood hum. I want her in my grasp, to crush her fear and taste the terror in her eyes. I couldn't help but think about the earlier events.

My father used to take me hunting, teaching me how to stalk prey, how to breathe silent death into the forest. He wanted perfection—no mistakes, no missed shots, no hesitation. I learned fast, faster than he expected, and soon even he couldn't anticipate my next move. That pride I felt then? Fucking euphoric. It made me untouchable. Fearless. Since then, I've craved that high, chasing it in every shadow, every kill, every conquest.

Now, there's her. She's my next hunt, my next fix. Her fear pulls me like gravity, intoxicating and all-consuming.

But my thoughts don't get to linger. Void has been a goddamn thorn in my side lately. Maksim's childish, predictable little games are grating on my patience. The bastard has the audacity to ask for a face-to-face meeting to talk about "conflicts." Conflicts? The only conflict I have is deciding whether to break his neck or gut him first.

Still, I let them pick the location—some mid-tier restaurant. They're trying to be discreet, I suppose. I've already had my men sweep the place. No bugs, no traps, no threats. Maksim seems to really want to talk.

I arrive earlier than the agreed time because fuck waiting for him. A medium-rare steak and red wine? Not bad. I'll admit, the food here is good enough that I might actually come back.

The door creaks open, and I glance up, expecting Maksim. Instead, my little brother walks in. Zinoviy. One of the twins.

What the hell is he doing here? Did someone tip him off about the meeting? I know he despises Maksim. Given the chance, Zinoviy would put a bullet between his eyes without a second thought. But Zin's not looking for me. He's not even glancing around like he's scouting for Maksim.

His gaze softens, and I follow it—to her.

Her.

It's Her.

She's also another reason I came here early. She still owes me something. An apology. And I really, really want to talk to her. To tell her, "Get the hell out of my brother's life." But what's happening here? Unexpected. Mikhail already sent me the details about her.

Orphan. Middle-class, boring life. Lives with her uncle and aunt. Has a younger brother. So, that's him— Blake. And her name, Viv stands for Vivian. As I suspected. Vivian Harper. American. Doing her master's at the same university as my brothers and sister. I knew everything about her. Every irrelevant detail Mikhail could dig up.

But what I didn't know was what's unfolding right in front of me. My brother—keeping this a hell of a secret? No wonder even Mikhail couldn't sniff this out.

She slapped him. Just like that. The prince of the Kalashnikov family. And the bastard, He smiled. A real, genuine, teeth-showing smile. What the actual fuck? I sat there, dumbfounded. Then he had the audacity to slide his hand around her waist and pull her closer like she was his. Like she belonged there. The casual intimacy between them—it wasn't something new. It reeked of familiarity. So that's why he got angry at Zoran. 

They knew each other.

My blood surged hot and fast. I don't know why. The intrigue? The audacity? Or just the plain absurdity of what I was seeing. Whatever it was, it hooked me. She led him toward the alley behind the restaurant, and my appetite for steak evaporated. I found something far more appetizing. I followed them.

The moment they were alone, my darling brother wasted no time. He yanked her close, crushing his lips against hers. She didn't resist. She complied.

So this is their relationship.

Her body stiffened suddenly, her fingers clutching his shirt in a desperate search for comfort. She wasn't just uneasy—she was scared. No, she was terrified. That fear...it was something else. Something pure and unfiltered. It wasn't the kind that people mask with bravado or deny with trembling excuses. It was visceral, raw, and utterly consuming. That kind of fear doesn't just show—it radiates. And it drew me in, like a shark scenting blood in the water. It gripped me, pulled me toward her, and wrapped itself around my very being.

She sensed it. The shift in the air. The oppressive weight of being watched. She felt it before she could even begin to understand it. Her fear sharpened, eyes darting, searching for a threat she couldn't see. She couldn't spot me—no one ever could unless I allowed it—but she knew. Instinct whispered to her that something was there, just out of reach, waiting.

That's when she had me.

She didn't know who was playing the game yet. But I did. And I was going to enjoy every moment of it.

I want her. I need her. In my grasp. In my fucking grip. Under my thumb. Until I break her. Completely. Piece by fragile piece. Until there's nothing left but the ruins I create. The thought alone sends a thrill through me.

This is going to be fun.

Of course, there's Zin. He'll throw a goddamn tantrum when he finds out. He'll rage, he'll curse, maybe even swing at me. But honestly? Worth it.

Zin had his fill on her—his lips devouring hers, his hands mapping out every inch of her body like it was his birth right. And she let him. She fucking let him. Her body melted into his, pliant and submissive under his touch. But what really got me was The coaxing caresses. She clung to him, desperate and trusting, like he was the only anchor in her chaotic little world.

Who the hell even is this version of my brother?

The Zinoviy I know is reckless. Unpredictable. A selfish, unhinged bastard who never softens for anyone. And yet here he is, playing the gentle fucking knight for this girl. My curiosity might have been piqued—might—if I wasn't so damn focused on her.

Let him have his moment.

But Vivian Harper?

She's mine.

And I'll take care of her in ways Zin could never imagine.

Zinoviy finally let her go, but not without reluctance that even a blind man could see. His fingers lingered at her waist, his lips twitching into a smirk that reeked of satisfaction.

"See ya." he murmured, his voice low, barely audible over the distant clatter of restaurant activity.

Vivian nodded, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. It wasn't submission—it was distance. Detachment. She was putting up her walls, but Zinoviy didn't push.

Instead, he pulled back with a casual shrug, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. He glanced at her one last time before muttering, "Take care, sweetie," and walking off.

I returned to the front of the restaurant, slipping back into my earlier seat. Maksim arrived moments later, strutting in like he owned the place. His suit was sharp, his hair slicked back in that way he thought made him look powerful. To me, he looked like a child playing dress-up in his father's closet.

He slid into the seat across from me, tossing a grin like he thought it could disarm me. Amusing.

"Zakhar," he greeted, his voice carefully neutral, but the edge of unease betrayed him.

"Maksim," I replied, my tone flat, unimpressed. "You're late."

"I wasn't aware this was a clock-in sort of meeting," he retorted, sliding into the chair across from me. His smirk was weak, but I let it slide. For now.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my gaze locking with his. "You wanted this meeting. You needed it. Don't act like you're doing me a favor."

His smirk faltered, but he quickly covered it up. "I wanted to discuss the... tensions between our organizations. We've been stepping on each other's toes, and it's time we set boundaries."

"Tensions?" I chuckled, low and sharp. "That's an interesting word for sabotage, Maksim. You don't set boundaries by blowing up my shipments or taking cheap shots at my men."

His jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. "I didn't come here to trade accusations, Zakhar. I came to propose a solution."

I swirled the wine in my glass, the silence between us thickening. Then I set it down deliberately. "A solution? Let me guess—you're going to suggest some bullshit truce where you get to keep everything you've stolen, and I agree to play nice."

"You're paranoid," Maksim shot back, though his voice wavered. "I'm offering to divide the territory cleanly. No more stepping on each other's business. A win-win."

I leaned back, my smile icy. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe you won't crawl right back across the line the second it suits you?"

Maksim's façade cracked just slightly, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "And what's your alternative, Zakhar? Kill me? You think Void will crumble just because I'm gone? We're bigger than one man."

I leaned forward again, lowering my voice. "Killing you isn't my first option, Maksim. But it's on the table. Along with burning your little empire to the ground, piece by piece, while you watch."

His expression hardened. He knew I wasn't bluffing.

"You think you're untouchable," he said, his voice quieter now, laced with forced bravado. "But one day, someone's going to remind you. you're not."

"Then let them try. But if they come for me, they better be ready to lose everything."

The venom in Maksim's expression flashed briefly before he masked it with a tight-lipped smile. "You're going to regret underestimating me."

I tilted my head, "The only thing I regret is I'm gonna let you walk out of here alive."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded reluctantly. "Fine. I'll play ball. Just don't forget—you're not untouchable, Zakhar. Even kings fall."

I leaned in, my eyes narrowing into slits. "Let me make one thing clear, Maksim. You're not even on the board, much less a player. You're a pawn, and pawns don't threaten kings. They get sacrificed."

The silence between us was electric, a taut wire ready to snap. Finally, Maksim pushed his chair back, standing with a forced smile. "I'll be in touch."

"You'll wait for my call," I corrected, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Maksim stiffened but didn't dare respond. He stood, brushing off his suit jacket with exaggerated precision, then left without another word. The door to the restaurant creaked shut behind him. Maksim left, his arrogance still clinging to the air like a foul stench. I didn't bother watching him go; my focus was elsewhere.

Vivian Harper.

I stayed seated, swirling the last remnants of red wine in my glass. My eyes flicked toward the alley where she and Zinoviy had disappeared earlier. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I thought about the scene I'd witnessed. My dear brother was utterly ensnared by her. I wasn't blind not to see that obvious.

When Vivian finally emerged from the alley, her face was flushed, her lips slightly swollen from Zinoviy's attention.

She got back to work, moving through the tables with quiet efficiency, serving customers as if nothing else mattered. I leaned back in my chair, silently watching her. She really was something—a beauty that crept up on her, not flashy, but striking in a way that was hard to pin down. There was a strange charm in how she carried herself, a mix of innocence and defiance.

Some of the male customers tried their luck, throwing her smirks and smooth lines that probably worked on every other waitress here. But not her. She deflected their advances with practiced, waitress-polite refusals, a tight smile on her lips that barely masked her irritation. When they persisted, she cleverly pawned them off onto other waitresses, making it clear she wasn't here for their entertainment. Smart girl. Adorable, even.

I watched her for a while, paid the bill, and left the place. I had this itch to talk to her—until I saw my brother practically devouring her mouth. Now? Now I'm even more invested in her.

I have a bad habit of ditching my guards and wandering the city alone. It's not like I need their protection. My feet always seem to decide where I'm going before I do, and tonight was no different. They took me to some dingy alley where I lit a cigarette, leaned back against the cold brick, and let the smoke curl around me. There's something cathartic about cigarettes. It's not the nicotine—it's the ashes. Watching something burn down to nothing. A reminder that destruction can be beautiful.

The Void has been getting on my nerves lately. Normally, I don't let much bother me—unless someone dares to touch my warehouse or my shipments. Void touched my shipment. No, correction: Maksim, that fucking bastard, burned down 260 crores worth of product. Drugs. Gone. The money? Irrelevant. My great-grandkids won't need to lift a finger in their lives, let alone work. But my shipments? My business? That's personal. So, I retaliated. Burned down their headquarters. A clean tit for tat.

As I stood there, savoring the last drag of my cigarette, I heard footsteps echoing down the alley. The smoke was gone, just ashes now. I stepped further into the shadows, waiting. And then I saw her.

I almost laughed. The little malyshka. Can't seem to stay away from me, can she? She passed right by, oblivious to my presence in the dark. But I saw her earlier at the restaurant. The way her long black hair cascaded down her back. Those emerald-green eyes that could stop a man's heart. She's mesmerizing, sure. But not my type. Too tiny—barely reaches my chest. I like tall women. Still, that doesn't mean I wouldn't fuck her if the opportunity presented itself. I don't say no to women.

But she's not just a body to me. It's her fear that gets me. The way she tenses up when she feels me watching. That intoxicating cocktail of vulnerability and defiance.

I couldn't help but spook her a little, so I sent her a text. Mikhail had handed me her number, along with the rest of her life wrapped up in a neat little file.

"I can't help but watch you, malyshka."

Her phone chimed, and I watched as she froze, her fingers fumbling to check the screen. She didn't open the text—just glanced at the notification, but that was enough. Her expression shifted, tension snapping through her body like a live wire. Her eyes darted around, desperate to find me, but of course, she couldn't.

Baby girl still feels me. The thought twisted something in me, dark and satisfied.

She was smart, though. She didn't give the mystery sender the satisfaction of seeing her read the message. But her body betrayed her—stiff and wired, her steps quickening like a prey animal sensing the predator's breath on its neck.

I stayed hidden, leaning back in the shadows, smirking as I let her go. I could've followed her. Could've hunted her down just to see that fear bloom a little brighter in those emerald eyes. But tonight? Not in the mood to play full-on creep. Just a little.

I watched her figure disappear into the distance, her pace almost frantic. The corners of my mouth tugged into a grin as I flicked the spent cigarette away, got in my car, and headed home.

A few days slipped by, and I found myself watching Zinoviy more closely. He was always with Zoran—like they were glued together—but every now and then, he'd sneak off. Alone. I wasn't surprised when I realized why. To see her, of course. I texted her occasionally. Just too spook her and see her tremble.

Then, my business partner decided it was time for a meeting. At a club. Of all places. Clubs aren't my thing. The pounding bass, the suffocating press of bodies, the drunken laughter—it's all noise to me. But business is business, and sometimes even I have to play along.

This wasn't just any club, though. On the surface, it was your typical den of chaos—flashing lights, thumping beats, and idiots stumbling around with too many drinks in hand. But beneath the façade? A different world entirely.

The meeting was held underground, past the blaring music and the haze of alcohol. I knew this place. I'd been here before, and I hated it every damn time. The forced charm, the fake smiles—it's a stage where everyone's acting, and I don't do well with pretense. Extroversion isn't my strength.

When I arrived, the air changed. The underground chamber was packed with a mix of filth disguised as power. Corrupt businessmen and celebrities, smug in their vices. A handful of mafia leaders—small fries clinging to scraps of relevance. Their eyes darted to me as I entered, some nodding, others offering polite smiles. It was all for show, of course. The weight of my name carried into the room before I did.

Their gestures of courtesy didn't interest me, but I gave them the bare minimum—a slight nod—and nothing more. After a few minutes I settled on a table, the door opened.

There he was. My business partner. The one who trusted me with more than just his operations—who trusted me with his life. My best friend. Rolf Schwarz. A German.

He was a sharp businessman, and his reputation in the arms industry wasn't just good—it was damn near legendary. He designed and sold weapons to the German government and other legitimate dealers. But in the underworld, where I thrived openly as a Bratva leader,, he was just as corrupted as I am. We both lived in the same dirty world—drugs and weapons.

And now the Void had burned the drug shipment meant for Rolf. That shit didn't sit well with me. I should've killed Maksim for this. No question. But I let it slide—for now. Not without consequences, though.

So, when I walked into this meeting, I already knew exactly what kind of game was about to unfold—and where it was headed.

"You're late. What kept you so long?" A genuine smile spread across my lips.

"Ach, scheiße. The traffic was a fucking nightmare, and you know how much I hate driving through this mess. But here I am," he muttered, his voice thick with irritation, letting out a heavy sigh like the world owed him something.

"Here I thought you'd lost your sense of time," I said, my voice dripping with amusement, the weight of the words hanging in the air between us.

"Du bist ein Arschloch, weißt du das? Aber ich bin hier, also reicht's." He chuckled, though it was more of a growl. His words slipped out in German, his native tongue leaking from him without any filter, like a habit he couldn't control.

I took a slow sip from my drink, playing it cool, but I wasn't blind. The irritation was there, hidden behind his attempt to hide it. And I could see it in his eyes—his calm was a mask, and the pressure was building just under the surface.

He took a seat across from me, his gaze never leaving mine. He didn't even wait for the damn drink before launching into it.

"You should've killed Maksim. How dare he touch my fucking shipment?" His irritation and anger were almost suffocating, palpable in the air between us. I could feel the heat of it.

"I dealt with him, Rolf," I tried to calm him down, my voice smooth but firm.

"Like fuck you did. burned down his fucking headquarters isn't the solution, Zakhar." His words came out sharp, laced with disbelief and fury.

"Rolf, patience. I cou—"

"Fuck you, Zak. Patience my ass. That bastard touched my shipment. That motherfucking piece of shit. You should've burnt him alive instead." His voice cracked with rage, and I could see his knuckles whiten as he clenched his fists.

For a second, I felt the urge to put a bullet in Rolf's skull instead of Maksim's. This bastard never had any patience—always jumping to the worst-case scenario without thinking.

He took a drink and started ranting like a damn kid. I was used to it by now. Rolf was a fucking hurricane—terrific yet twistedly funny. That humor? It was only for me. He'd shoot a guy and then talk to the corpse like it was some regular conversation.

The door opened again, and without thinking, my eyes shot over.

Someone else walked past the door. But before the automatic door could close, I caught a glimpse of her— My Malyshka. She didn't step in, but just crossed the threshold. No fucking doubt about it, that was her.

But what the fuck was she doing here?

CHAPTER - 5

I thought I was losing my fucking mind. But no, someone really was stalking me. I could feel their gaze—heavy, unrelenting, crawling over my skin. No matter how many times I looked, I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. It had been happening ever since Zin and I met at the restaurant.

Then the texts started appearing on my phone, like something out of a damn horror movie.

"I can't help but watch you, Malyshka."
"Didn't go to work today?"
"You can't drink Coke all the time, you know."
"Wear something with more contrast. White doesn't suit you."

I didn't dare open any of them, just let them sit there in the notifications because they're landmines waiting to go off.

The worst part? I had no idea who this person was, where they were watching me from, or how the hell they managed to know everything.

I thought the classroom was my sanctuary—the only place where I could finally hide from the stalker's suffocating grip. But that bastard shattered my illusion with one text:

"Don't frown too much. You look even cuter like that—almost to the point where I can't control myself."

My grip on the phone tightened, my nails digging into the casing. I wanted to scream, to hurl it against the wall and watch it shatter into a million useless shards. But would it make a damn difference? Would breaking the phone stop him? Or was he already so far inside my life that there was no escape? His words felt like hands around my throat, squeezing, invading—inescapable. Again...

"Staring at your phone and thinking about me? You should concentrate on what your professor is teaching, Malyshka."

Was it one of my classmates? The thought churned my stomach, bile rising in the back of my throat. Could it be some sick, twisted prank? Some asshole fucking with me for fun?

My eyes darted across the room, scanning for signs of guilt. But all I saw were blank faces, absorbed in the professor's droning lecture. No shifty glances. No one suppressing a laugh. Nothing.

This wasn't a prank. Pranks don't follow me home.

And this... he did.

That suffocating presence, that invisible gaze—I felt it even in the supposed safety of my own house.

In my room.

For the first time, I hated my instincts. Cursed my ability to feel it, to know someone was watching me when I couldn't see them. Because it wasn't paranoia. It was real.

And it was everywhere.

Then another text came through.

"I knew you saw my text, Malyshka. Don't pretend I don't exist. I know you saw my messages on your notifications."

It was a punch to the gut. Cold. Calculated. Each word felt like a noose tightening around my throat. There was no denying it anymore. He was watching, waiting for the moment I slipped up. And now, he knew I was aware.

Was there any escape left? Or was I already trapped in his gaze?

I was defeated. There was no hiding from this bastard anymore. The frustration, the anger, and the fear slowly, slowly built up inside me, threatening to explode. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the pressure rising with every second. Finally, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I opened the chat and, with shaking hands, typed my reply.

"Who the fuck are you? Don't you have the guts to show yourself in front of me?"

The words felt like a challenge—desperate, taunting, almost like an invitation for him to come closer. But what the hell was I supposed to do? Wait around and keep pretending everything was normal?

But what I received from him terrified me even more.

"Don't use swear words with me. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Do not cross the boundaries."

Boundaries? Look who the fuck is talking about boundaries. I couldn't even take a goddamn bath without checking over my shoulder, feeling like someone's eyes were on me every second.

I wanted to scream at that bastard, tell him to fuck off, but deep down, I knew I couldn't. Not with the way he was controlling everything. Not with the suffocating grip he had on me, even from behind a screen.

I put my phone down, forcing myself not to look at it. I didn't want to see any more texts. Didn't want to see myself on the screen, caught in this mess. I'm being submissive to him. The realization hit like a slap in the face. I shut my mouth when he told me not to do something. Why the fuck am I doing this?

I can't tell my brother. He'll lose it—lock me in a fucking cage and go on a rampage. Alexei and Sasha? They'd tell my Uncle and aunt. I can't even imagine what that would lead to. What about Zin? Should I tell him? But we're just... what the hell are we? Convenience. That's all we are.

Fucking hell... I saw this shits in movies, even fantasized about having my own personal stalker. Thought it would be thrilling, like some twisted fantasy. But now? It's suffocating. It's real. It's happening, and I'm fucking trapped.

My phone chimed again. I didn't want to look at it. I should've ignored it. But I couldn't resist. Me and my fucking curiosity.

"You'll get used to me, Malyshka. Wipe that frown off your face."

My mind went blank. I'll get used to that bastard? Like fuck I will. The thought burned in my chest, rage building like a slow, simmering fire. I couldn't focus on anything. Not my class. Not the professor's voice droning on in the background. My whole day felt like a fucking mess. A goddamn chaos.

I couldn't even escape it. I got scolded in every class, punished for zoning out—my thoughts racing in a million directions. It felt like everyone was noticing, even when I tried to shut it all out. Get it together, Vivian. Focus. But I couldn't. And then Sasha—Sasha, of all people—yelled at me for not listening to her ranting about Zoran, as if that was the real problem. 

She still hasn't gotten over him. It was pathetic. It pissed me off more than it should have, but I couldn't help it. I was suffocating under my own thoughts, and this shit wasn't helping. God, why can't she just move on?

I barely heard a word she said. I was too busy trying to keep my head from spinning.

After a few minutes of Sasha's relentless yelling, she finally suggested we hit up some party at a club I'd never even heard of. I just stared at her blankly, trying to shake the creeping dread.

"Bitch, shut up and come with me. Zoran is going there."

"Wh-what?" I stammered, feeling the heat of disbelief creeping up my neck. "Why are you acting like a stalker?"

"It's love, woman. You can't understand." Her eyes locked on mine, unblinking, as if she was daring me to argue further.

"Yeah, love," I muttered sarcastically, "You know who he is, and how he is. Don't make him aware you're doing this shit. But... how the hell do you even know he's going?"

"Oh, that's not a problem. I have a black sheep in his gang."

Alexei and I just stared at her, blinking, unsure whether to laugh or punch something. Is she for real? She was talking like a professional stalker.

"Sasha, you can't do this to people," I said, my voice rising, desperate to get through to her. I knew all too well the suffocating feeling of being watched—and Zoran? He wouldn't hesitate to kill her, no second thoughts.

"I said shut up and come with me."

We both sighed in defeat, the pressure settling in our chests. Unison groans followed. "Fine. But don't pull any weird shit when we're around. We have a reputation, you know? So please, for the love of God, control yourself," Alexei muttered, rubbing his temples.

Then, like clockwork, another text from that fucking stalker bastard flashed across my screen.

"Don't wander around tonight and stay put."

This shit was officially getting on my last nerve. Who the fuck does he think he is, trying to dictate my every move? As if I give a damn what he wants.

I couldn't help the twisted grin that spread across my face, the kind that was more out of anger than amusement, and I shot a glance at Sasha. "Count me in."

"That's the spirit, Viv. Let's go and show Zoran exactly what the hell he's missing right now," she said, practically bouncing with excitement like she had everything figured out.

Inside, I could feel a nasty cocktail of anger and adrenaline swirling around. I was ready to provoke that bastard, to shove every ounce of his pathetic control right back in his face. He thought he could play puppet master with me? Not anymore. I was done with that shit. No more hiding in the shadows, no more following his stupid fucking rules.

I had to suck it up, steel myself, and face whatever the hell consequences awaited. But honestly, when it came down to it, he couldn't do a damn thing. He was nothing but a weak, pathetic coward, hiding behind his screen like a fucking pussy. Too afraid to show himself, too afraid to actually confront me. Just a sad, spineless stalker who thought he could scare me. Well, he didn't know shit. He was powerless.

I forced a smile, but it wasn't a smile at all—it was a mask. A fucking mask, and I was wearing it to convince myself that I was in control. I wasn't. But I'd be damned if I let him see that.

That same evening, Sasha had me all dolled up in a black mini dress, bright red lipstick, and these fucking high heels that felt like they were designed to torture me. I kept the backup shoes in hand—no way I was walking around in those things for long. I told Sasha and Alexei in no uncertain terms—no photos on Instagram. If Blake finds out about me in this shit, he'll probably kill me.

I texted Zinoviy about the party, even called him a couple of times, but of course, the calls went straight to voicemail. Not even a text back. Fucking typical. I didn't even know why I bothered.

Alexei picked Sasha and me up from her place, and after what felt like an eternity of driving, we finally pulled up in front of some club called Black Swan. What. The. Fuck?

Sasha practically dragged us inside, and I had no choice but to follow her like some damn puppet. My stomach churned with anxiety, but I kept my mouth shut. What was I supposed to say? That this was a terrible idea? That I had no fucking business being here? Too late for that now. I was already in the deep end.

I stepped inside and immediately got hit by dim lighting and blaring music. Half-naked women were clinging to drunk assholes, swaying their hips like they were putting on a damn show. What the actual fuck? Was this a nightclub or a strip club?

Sasha dragged us straight to the bar. Me? As usual, I ordered juice. For the record, I don't drink. I'm not into the whole alcohol bullshit, so I stick with mocktails or juice. Alexei, though, went straight for the vodka. I swear, that guy deserves a medal for how much alcohol he can put away without collapsing. Sasha's eyes were darting around, searching for Zoran. Of course, that's why we were here in the first place.

And then, there he was. Finally. Sitting on a couch in some dark corner, surrounded by a bunch of women—some of them from our university. I couldn't give less of a shit about who he was with. This wasn't my mess to clean up. I just glanced around, trying to drown out the chaos. But then, my eyes landed on someone I wasn't expecting to see here. Zinoviy. What the hell was he doing here? I checked my phone—still no response to my texts.

Meanwhile, Sasha was off to the dance floor with a vodka shot in her hand, already getting lost in the music. Alexei just sat there, sipping his vodka, looking like he was trying to enjoy the moment. But then, a bunch of women started to swarm him, pestering him for his number and asking him to dance. I couldn't help but grin at him, but all I got in return was a glare.

I used that as my cue to slip away. "I'm gonna hit the washroom," I told Alexei, but the real reason was to go after Zinoviy. I called him a few times, but the music was so loud he didn't hear me. Where the hell did he go? I followed the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The farther I went in, the fewer people I saw, and the quieter it got. I passed a couple of gigantic men standing by some doorways, but none of them bothered me.

Then, just as I thought I was alone, someone grabbed my elbow and yanked me backward. My heart stopped. I whipped around. The guy was huge—tall, built like a fucking tank—and he wore the same kind of uniform t-shirt as the security guards by the door. They weren't normal, not like the doormen at the entrance of the club. This guy had a dark look in his eyes like he wanted to snap my neck.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" His grip tightened around my elbow, and I swear I could feel my bones creaking under his strength. "You got a death wish or something?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I was scared—no, terrified. But somehow, I found my voice. "I—I'm just looking for my friend. I saw him come in here..."

His grip got tighter, his fingers digging into my skin. "Don't fuck with me. What are you doing—"

His words were cut off by a knife. A fucking knife. It sank into the hand he had been using to grip me, blood immediately welling up around the blade. His fingers spasmed, releasing me in an instant.

My eyes widened in sheer terror, locked on the horrific sight. The blade was buried deep, crimson dripping down his hand, pooling onto the floor. His hand trembled slightly, the pain visible in the tension of his jaw and the faint twitch in his face, but his reaction? Barely a wince. No scream. No panic. Just cold indifference. Was it because of his job? Was this just another day for him? Sweat formed on my palms and forehead.

"Are you—are you okay?" I stammered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "There's so much bl—blood."

The words spilled out, shaky and unsteady, but all I got was a look. The guard's cold, disbelieving gaze bore into me like I was some kind of alien creature. Like I was the strange one for being horrified at what had just happened.

"He'll be fine." A voice, sharp and commanding, came from behind me.

I turned, heart hammering. A man stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and sharp, chiseled features that looked like they'd been carved by some master sculptor. I'd seen him before, but for the life of me, I couldn't place where.

Everything in me told me I'd just walked into something much worse than I'd ever signed up for.

The man waved his hand dismissively, like this whole scene was beneath him. The guard, bleeding profusely, nodded and staggered off without even a glance back.

"Is he—is he really gonna be okay?" The words stumbled out of my mouth, trembling with disbelief. Who the hell was this guy? Casually stabbing someone like it was just another Tuesday? My forehead dripped with sweat, my body paralyzed under the crushing weight of the moment.

"Think about your situation before you waste time worrying about him." His voice sliced through the air, sharp and menacing, like a blade designed to cut through any pretense of safety.

I swallowed hard. Right. My situation. I forced myself to gather the shattered fragments of my courage and meet his eyes—those piercing, frostbitten eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing at once. "I didn't mean to come here. I swear. I saw my friend come here. That's why—"

"You followed your friend?" His voice was too calm, too measured, like he was dissecting every word, peeling back my layers one by one.

"No, I'm..." I exhaled shakily, my thoughts scrambling for an escape, for anything that might make sense. "Yes. I called his name several times, but he didn't hear me."

"I believe I told you not to wander around and stay put, Malyshka." His voice softened, the smooth tone coiling with a mocking edge that sent heat rushing to my face. But beneath it, I felt the simmering anger—a predator barely holding back.

My heart clenched painfully, his words hitting me like a sledgehammer. This man. The man in front of me.

He is my stalker.

My throat dried up, and the breath fled my lungs. The reality crushed me like a vice, twisting my stomach into a brutal knot. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I was trapped, suffocating under the weight of this horrifying truth.

I was fucked. Really, really fucked.

"Answer my fucking question, Malyshka." The teasing note vanished from his tone, replaced by a venomous edge that prickled against my skin. His anger was a tangible force, radiating off him, but there was something darker beneath it, something far more dangerous. It chilled me to my core.

"I..." My voice cracked, the words tangling in my throat. Who the hell was this guy? And why the fuck did he have this effect on me? He hadn't even done anything. Yet.

"Don't make me repeat myself." His hand shot out, clamping around my throat with terrifying speed. My heart seized, every nerve in my body screaming. His grip wasn't crushing—just firm enough to remind me how easily he could snap my neck if he felt like it. And for one horrifying moment, I believed he might.

"My... my friend," I choked out, the words barely squeezing past the knot of terror in my throat. "My friend took me here." Tears stung the corners of my eyes as the last of my composure crumbled.

He tilted his head, scrutinizing me like I was some fascinating new prey. His voice dropped, cruel and cutting. "Shall I kill that friend of yours? Maybe then you'll keep your cute little ass at home like I told you to. Right?"

His words pierced me like a dagger, the cold, deliberate malice making it impossible to tell if he was joking—or dead serious.

"Right?" he pressed, his teeth clenched, his patience razor-thin.

Before I could stammer out an answer, his grip tightened. My airflow was abruptly cut off, panic surging through me like a wildfire. My lungs screamed, my hands clawing desperately at his wrist, but he didn't budge. He didn't fucking move.

The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He was in control. Completely. And now, so was I. Under his control.

My back slammed into the cold wall with a dull thud as he pinned me there, his hand unyielding on my throat. I clawed weakly at his fingers, my nails scraping against his skin, but it was pointless. I couldn't beg, couldn't scream. All I managed was a strangled gasp. Was this it? Was he really going to kill me right here, right now?

A sharp voice broke through the suffocating tension, snapping me back to reality.

"Zak, what the hell are you doing out here? Done talking with Rolf? I wrapped up the next shipment arrangements and tightened the sec—"

The words faltered. My head turned toward the voice, vision blurred from lack of oxygen. Zinoviy.

His eyes met mine, but there wasn't an ounce of concern or shock on his face. Instead, his expression hardened, his glare slicing through me with the sharpness of a blade.

"What is she doing here?" he demanded, his tone cold and almost irritated.

Seriously? I was fighting for my life, gasping for air, and this was his reaction? No panic, no effort to pull this psycho off me—just a detached question. I was really going to die today, wasn't I?

To my surprise, the grip on my neck loosened, just enough for me to drag in a desperate, burning breath. The air felt like fire in my lungs as I gasped and wheezed, my chest heaving.

"She said she saw her friend here," He said, his voice calm and detached, but his eyes stayed locked on me. They held me in place, searing me from the inside out. I hated how powerless I felt, how I'd let my stalker dominate me so completely.

"Let her go, Zak." Zinoviy's voice cut through the tension, hesitant but firm. Finally. Three simple fucking words, yet they felt like they took an eternity to come out. But the man standing in front of me? He didn't even flinch. Zin's words might as well have been background noise.

"Zak," Zin repeated, his tone sharper, louder now, like he was trying to break through the ice surrounding his brother.

That man's response was maddeningly slow. A smirk curled his lips—a wicked, mocking thing that made my stomach churn. And then, as if he had all the time in the world, his hand slid from my throat. Not without leaving a trail. His fingers brushed down, deliberate and scorching, tracing over my collarbone and lingering far too long over my breasts. The heat of his touch burned into me like a brand, leaving my knees weak and trembling, my body betraying me in the worst fucking way. My mind screamed at me to run, but I couldn't move.

Zinoviy suddenly yanked me to his side, his grip tight around my arm like he was trying to steady me—or maybe himself. "What the fuck are you doing here, Viv?" he snapped, his voice sharp, edged with frustration.

I opened my mouth, desperate to explain, but the man's voice cut me off, dripping with sarcasm.

"This little rabbit lost her way, I think. Right, Malyshka?" The mocking endearment coiled around me like a chain, tightening with every syllable. "One of our guards tried to hurt her, so I saved her." His smirk deepened, the malice in his eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey. "Didn't I do a good job, Zin?"

My stomach twisted violently at his words. Saved me? Was he fucking serious?

Zinoviy's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. The anger radiating off him was palpable, but it wasn't directed at Zakhar. No, his glare was locked onto me, sharp and questioning.

"You shouldn't be here," he growled, his tone icy. "Why the fuck are you here in the first place?"

"I saw you and... and I... He—He..." My voice broke, my words stumbling out in fractured pieces as my trembling hand pointed toward the man who had me pinned just moments ago.

Before I could finish, Zin snatched my hand and forced it down, his grip firm—almost like even acknowledging my accusation was a mistake, a danger he didn't want to risk.

That man chuckled softly, the sound low and dark, a vibration that sent shivers down my spine.

"That's my older brother. Zakhar." Zin said, his voice clipped, every word a warning. "You've met him before, remember?"

My eyes widened, the weight of his words crashing into me like a fucking freight train. Older brother. Zakhar. That name, that title—it all clicked together in a sickening instant. The Black Serpent's leader.

The monster.

Zin had warned me before, hadn't he? Repeatedly. Stay away from his brother. Don't catch his attention. Avoid him at all costs. And now here I was, standing in front of him—no, trapped in his grasp, unable to escape. And the worst part? This monster, this nightmare, wasn't some random stranger.

He was my stalker.

My heart pounded in my chest, wild and erratic, like it was trying to claw its way out of me. My breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, the weight of realization suffocating me. Zin's words echoed in my mind, snapping me back to the moment.

"When me and Blake fought," Zin said flatly, his voice cutting through the fog clouding my thoughts.

And just like that, memories hit me like a tidal wave. That evening—This man had grabbed me when I fell. I'd seen him before. Of course, I had. The pieces slid into place, forming a picture I didn't want to see.

But the question that burned brightest, sharp and unforgiving, wouldn't let me go.

How the hell had I drawn the attention of this fucking monster? Enough to make me his goddamn stalker?