CHAPTER FIVE

The sun had barely risen beyond the trees, but Zane was already awake.

He hadn’t slept much. Not because of nightmares—those he had become used to. He couldn't sleep because silence like this was unfamiliar. It wasn’t the stillness of peace; it was the hush before something terrible.

The villa was awake, but just barely. Footsteps echoed now and then through the marble corridors, muffled voices behind closed doors. Servants moving like ghosts, unseen and obedient. He moved past them, his shirt too big, pants clinging low on his hips, his hair still damp from the second shower he’d taken to chase away the crawling remnants of touch.

He hadn’t seen Andrei since breakfast. Hadn’t heard from him either.

That in itself was a trap. Silence was never mercy in places like this. Silence was just a sharper kind of blade.

Zane roamed the estate not because he thought he was free, but because he needed to understand the layout, the exits, the weight of his own movements within these walls. He was taking a surveillance of the estate—or rather, the areas he was allowed access.

The second-floor hallway was lined with dark portraits—men in suits, women in gowns, all with the same cold, pale eyes. Eyes that saw everything and gave nothing. It was a mausoleum, and Zane was the newest ghost.

His fingers brushed the edge of a frame. The oil paint was cracked and aging.

He stepped into a small garden courtyard without meaning to. Walled in on all sides, it was open to the sky above, a strange sanctuary in the center of the storm. Thorned vines crawled up trellises, heavy with blood-red, beautiful blooms. There was a bench. A fountain. The water trickled quietly.

And on the bench—

Sat a girl.

No, a woman. She sat barefoot, wrapped in a pale silk robe, hair the color of ink trailing like ribbons down her back. She was painting with deliberate strokes, her canvas perched on her lap.

Zane froze.

The woman didn’t startle. Didn’t even look up.

"You walk quietly for someone with chains still echoing around his wrists," she said softly.

Zane’s throat tightened.

"Hello," he said, voice dry.

She smiled faintly. "Hello," she responded. "You must be the newest treasure. Or weapon. It’s hard to tell here."

He stepped closer. Her painting was a smear of chaotic color—dark reds, bruised purples, something that resembled a broken wing.

"It’s not a pretty place, is it?" she asked. "People think the wealth makes it easier to breathe."

"It doesn’t," Zane replied.

"Good," she said. "You’re not stupid. That’ll help."

Zane hesitated. "Why are you helping me?"

Joana tilted her head. "Who said I am?"

The silence stretched.

Then, she looked directly at him.

"Because you’re the first thing Andrei has ever brought here that wasn’t dead on arrival."

Before Zane could ask what that meant, another voice cut through the garden.

"Lovely, isn’t she?"

Zane turned. A man leaned against the archway, arms crossed. "My baby sister, Joana." His cheekbones were sharp, angling his slanted smirk. His hair was swept back in that careless way rich boys often wore it. And his eyes…

They dazzled dangerous and bright.

He was without a doubt very handsome.

"Hello, little prince," he said. "I’m Dimitri."

Zane stepped back instinctively. Causing Dimitri’s grin to widened.

"I would say ‘welcome,’ but that would imply you have a choice."

"Charming," Zane muttered.

Joana sighed. "Don’t tease him."

Dimitri ignored her. He circled Zane slowly, like a wolf sniffing for weakness.

"So you’re the one who caught Andrei’s attention. I’ll admit, you’re prettier than the last one. And less… docile."

Zane’s jaw clenched. "If you’re looking for me to roll over, you’ll be disappointed."

"Oh, I hope you fight," Dimitri purred. "It’s more fun that way."

Something about him—about this place and everyone in it terrified Zane, but he would not let them see his fright. He met his gaze. "Touch me and I’ll gut you in your sleep."

Dimitri laughed. "I like him."

Joana rolled her eyes. "He’ll eat you alive if you keep pushing."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Dimitri whispered as he moved closer.

But before anything else could be said, a sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Enough."

All three turned.

Andrei stood at the far end of the garden, a black coat draped over his shoulders, eyes unreadable.

Dimitri’s smirk faded, but only slightly.

"Brother," he greeted with mockery, bowing theatrically. "Come to collect your pet?"

Andrei didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on Zane.

"Come," he said, and walked away without waiting.

Zane glanced once at Joana. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was clear: This is a test. Brave it; pass it.

So Zane followed.

They walked in silence through a narrow corridor that opened into a massive room—high ceilings, long tables, and a wall of monitors showing camera feeds from around the estate. A war room.

Andrei turned to him.

"You’re going to sit in on something today. A meeting. No chains. No threats. But you will observe. Say nothing. Do nothing unless I say."

Zane crossed his arms. "Why me?"

Andrei’s gaze sharpened. "Because you need to understand what this place is. And what you are in it. I told you, you are not here to be my prisoner... not unless you want to."

Zane didn’t respond.

Andrei stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

"And also, because I want them to see you."

"Who?"

Andrei smiled, cold and slow. But he said nothing. He only spoke on his own terms.

The meeting was held in a long dining hall.

Twelve men sat around the table, most older, all powerful. Whispers ceased when Zane entered behind Andrei.

He felt every eye on him. He felt the weight of judgment, of disdain, of curiosity. He felt her eyes too—sharp, catlike, painted with venom.

This woman he he didn't know—Katherina, was a palpable force in this male-dominated room.

She wore red with matching lips and fingers adorned with rings that gleamed like knives. When her gaze met Zane’s, it was like being slashed across the face.

"So this is the adopted stray," she said, voice like poisoned honey.

Zane didn’t flinch.

Katherina turned to Andrei, her smile brittle.

"Should I be worried?"

"You’re always worried," Andrei replied coolly. "That’s why I like you." He smiled. Zane had never seen him smile.

The woman laughed softly, but there was no emotion to it.

The meeting began and across the table flew names Zane didn’t know, territories, bribes, blood debts.

He said nothing. He couldn't. He wasn’t even seated at the table.

He watched.

And once—just once—when one man interrupted Andrei too forcefully, Zane saw it. The flicker.

Andrei’s fingers tensed.

And within seconds, the man was silent. Not by force. But by fear.

Andrei didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to draw a weapon. He was the weapon.

And the room knew it.

Zane sat still.

But inside?

Something dangerous shifted.

He had underestimated the devil.

He wasn’t just cold.

He was calculated.

And Zane knew, with bone-deep certainty that if he wanted to survive, he would have to become the same.