Chapter Three

Anya’s POV

The words still echoed in my skull long after Roman shut the car door.

Viktor is dead.

I couldn’t bring myself to move. My body felt like lead, heavy and useless, as the air thinned around me. My chest refused to expand. My ears rang.

Dead.

No, not Viktor. My brother would never be dead. He promised he'll always be there for me so there's no way he would die.

The passenger door swung open again. Roman’s build filled the door space, his dark coat flaring in the cold wind. His hand gripped my arm before I could protest, pulling me out of the seat like I weighed nothing.

“Walk,” he ordered, voice sharp, cutting through the roar of the tarmac. It was obvious he didn't have time for protest, but my knees buckled beneath me, but his hold kept me upright as he guided me toward the waiting jet.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, tears stinging my eyes. “Please, just tell me it isn’t true. Tell me…”

Roman stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning me to face him. His hands gripped my shoulders, fingers digging just enough to steady me. His eyes bore into mine, they had always been dark and lifeless but it was dark and lifeless beyond comparison.

“I don’t lie about the dead,” he said quietly. “There's nothing you can do now. Viktor is dead.”

I broke as he repeated it as if slapping me across the face with the words. The tears came fast, hot, spilling down my cheeks as I shook my head over and over. He was really gone.

Roman said nothing more. He didn’t comfort me. Didn’t soften his grip. He simply turned me toward the stairs again and pushed me up, step by step, until we were inside the jet.

The door sealed behind us with a heavy hiss, shutting us inside the jet.

Inside, the jet was sleek, expensive, all cream leather and polished wood. The hum of the engines vibrated under my feet. I sank into one of the wide seats, my chest heaving as silent sobs ripped through me.

Roman sat across from me, silent, his expression carved from stone. His broad frame filled the seat like it had been built for him. He leaned back, one hand resting against his jaw, eyes fixed on me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking but I was too down to care.

Hours blurred. I don’t remember the plane taking off. I don’t remember the crew moving around us, bringing drinks neither of us touched.

I only remember staring out the window, watching the lights of the city fade into black, my brother’s face flashing in my mind again and again. His laugh. His protective scold when I stayed out too late. The way he is always protective of me.

Gone.

“Why?” My voice cracked as I finally spoke, dragging my eyes from the window to Roman. “Why are they after me? Why would they want to hurt me?”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look away. “Because of Viktor.”

“Because of Viktor?” I whispered, clinging to his name like a lifeline. “What does that even mean?”

Roman’s gaze darkened. “Enough questions.”

My throat closed, frustration bubbling through my grief. “You can’t just… just take me like this, Roman! You can’t tell me my brother is dead and then expect me to sit here and not ask questions…”

His hand slammed against the armrest, the sharp crack making me flinch. His eyes burned, voice low but harsh.

“You are alive because of me. If I hadn’t walked into that bar tonight, you would already be dead or worse. You think you can demand answers now?”

His words stung, but the truth in them left me hollow. My lips trembled as I looked away.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the jet.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled at my body, grief draining me until I could barely keep my eyes open. I curled into the wide seat, clutching my knees to my chest, the last image of Viktor’s smile flickering behind my eyelids before sleep took me off.

I woke to Roman’s voice.

“We are here. In Moscow.”

My eyes fluttered open. The jet door stood open, cold air rushing inside. Beyond it, I saw Moscow’s skyline in the distance, glittering under the gray dawn. The city looked both beautiful and merciless, a maze of steel and history wrapped in ice.

Roman stood by the door, coat draped over his shoulders, watching me with that same unreadable expression.

“Get up,” he said.

My body ached as I pushed to my feet, following him down the stairs and into another waiting car. This one was bigger, armored, its windows tinted so dark I couldn’t see outside.

The ride through Moscow was quiet, the city passing in quick glimpses whenever the lights of dawn caught the glass. Wide boulevards, towering Soviet-era buildings, the glitter of high-rises against the pale sky. It was both foreign and strangely familiar. I had only ever seen it in pictures Viktor showed me when we were kids.

Now I am here. Without him.

The car turned off the main roads and into quieter streets lined with tall iron gates and sprawling estates. Security cameras perched like hawks on every corner. Finally, we stopped in front of a massive set of wrought-iron gates.

They opened silently, revealing a long driveway lined with black cars and stone statues, leading to a mansion that looked more like a fortress. Its high windows gleamed in the pale light, its walls a blend of old Russian architecture.

It was beautiful. And imposing.

My stomach twisted as the car stopped at the entrance. Men in dark suits waited at the steps, their eyes sharp, their stances rigid. Guards. Soldiers. Whatever they were, their presence made it clear this wasn’t just some random house.

Roman stepped out first, straightening to his full height as the men inclined their heads in silent respect. Then he turned back, opening my door.

“Out.”

I hesitated, staring up at the mansion. My feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

“Anya,” Roman’s voice dropped, low and warning, “don’t test me.”

I swallowed hard and stepped out. The cold morning air bit into my skin, but I barely noticed as I followed him up the steps.

Inside, the mansion was breathtaking. Marble floors stretched across a vast foyer, chandeliers glittered overhead, and long halls branched out in every direction. It was elegant, but it lacked the warmth a home has.

I hugged myself as Roman led me deeper inside, past men who bowed slightly as he passed, their eyes flicking curiously to me.

Finally, he stopped at a set of double doors and pushed them open. The room inside was a study, or perhaps a throne room disguised as one. Heavy oak shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books. A massive desk sat near the center, but what drew my eyes was the chair behind it.

Roman walked around it and sat, his presence filling the space as though it had always belonged to him. He leaned back, dark eyes fixed on me.

“This,” he said, his voice steady, final, “is your home now.”

I blinked, heart lurching. “What?”

“You will live here,” he continued. “From now on, you don’t go back to your apartment. You don’t go back to the bar. You don’t leave unless I allow it. Do you understand?”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. My chest tightened. “You can’t just decide that for me. I-I have a life…”

Roman’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, I felt the true weight of who he was. This wasn’t just my brother’s best friend. This was someone powerful, feared… I didn't know who exactly but even though I've been trying to fool myself, it was obvious now. He was a dangerous man.

“You have no life outside of this now,” he said quietly. “The men who killed Viktor…they will come for you. You carry his blood. His name. If you walk away, you die.”

His words struck like ice. He didn't sugarcoat it. He told me raw.

I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, staring at the floor. My mind screamed to fight him, to argue, but deep down I knew…he was right. The men in the bar hadn’t just been random thugs. They had come for me. It was obvious from the way they tried handling me.

Because of Viktor.

But I was left in the dark. I could even ask him what happened and how it happened. I don't know if it was because I feared him or feared knowing the truth.

Roman’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “You will stay here. You will ask no questions. You will do as I say.”

I looked up at him, tears still burning at the edges of my eyes. “And if I don’t?”

For the first time, a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Cold. Dangerous.

“Then you won’t live long enough to regret it.”