Chapter 4

The Antonov Estate

Ezra had expected extreme luxury. Gold railings, oversized crystal chandeliers, something theatrical that flaunted money in every direction.

What he found instead was the exact opposite.

The Antonov estate rose in slabs of pale stone and glass, driveway stretched like a private road into a world that did not belong to him. No fountains or statues the crème de la crème of society usually had littered around their estates. Instead it was endless space, security personnel and the overwhelming stench of control.

It felt less like a home and more like a sovereign state.

A man in a dark suit led him inside without speaking.

Ezra’s footsteps echoed across marble floors. The air smelled faintly of pine and steel and every surface gleamed with not a speck of dust in sight. Everything here seemed designed to remind visitors that they were temporary.

They passed armed men in black, watching as they walked past.

Ezra straightened his spine as the guide stopped before a pair of tall doors and knocked once.

“Enter,” a voice said from within.

The doors opened.

Matteo Antonov stood by a wall of glass overlooking a frozen lake, phone pressed to his ear. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. No jacket, tie or any ornaments that showcased the wealth he had.

He did not turn around.

“Move the shipment through Riga instead,” Matteo said calmly. “And if Volkov argues, remind him I own his debt.”

He paused as the person on the other end spoke.

“Then let him be offended.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

Only then did he face Ezra.

Ezra’s heartbeat kicked.

Up close, Matteo was devastatingly composed and… handsome, though it annoyed him to admit. But not in a soft way. He was sharp, intentional in every slight twitch and movement suggested purpose.

“You came,” Matteo said.

“You ignored me,” Ezra replied.

“I ignore most people.”

Ezra folded his arms. “You dismantled my career in under a minute.”

“Your career is intact.”

“I’m not captain anymore.”

“Leadership is a privilege,” Matteo said. “Not a right.”

Ezra took a step forward. “You don’t know me.”

“I know your name,” Matteo replied as something in his eyes flickered.

Ezra frowned. “Have we met?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Matteo walked past him toward a sleek desk. “Sit.”

“I’m not here to be ordered around.”

Matteo stopped. Turned.

The room seemed to contract.

“Everything in your life is ordered around,” Matteo said softly. “By money,sponsors, by leagues and by men you’ll never meet. The only difference is that I’m honest about it.”

Ezra swallowed.

“I worked for this,” he said. “I earned that spot for team captain.”

“You earned a jersey,” Matteo replied. “I own the court.”

Ezra’s jaw tightened. “You’re doing this because you can.”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?”

Matteo’s gaze held his. “Isn’t that enough?”

Ezra’s fingers curled. “You’re cruel.”

Matteo’s mouth curved slightly. “And you’re still standing.”

The silence stretched.

Ezra exhaled. “What do you want from me?”

Matteo studied him. He saw the boy in the visiting hall, the folded paper and the promise the boy had made.

He remembered the blood after.

“I want you,” he said, and let the words hang.

Ezra’s pulse thundered. “For what?”

Matteo leaned back against the desk. “To understand what it feels like to lose something you love.”

Ezra stared. “I already have.”

Matteo’s eyes sharpened. “Then you should recognize the terrain.”

Ezra shook his head. “This isn’t reasonable at all. It’s spite for absolutely no reason.”

“Call it what you like.”

“Why me?” Ezra demanded.

Matteo stepped closer.

Because your name is Roman.

Because your father died where mine did.

Because I never stopped hearing it.

Instead, he said, “Because you matter.”

Ezra’s voice broke out of frustration despite himself. “To you?”

Matteo did not answer and that was worse.

“What do I have to do to get my position back?” Ezra asked quietly.

Matteo considered him.

“Live here.”

Ezra blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ll work for me,” Matteo continued. “Personal staff. No media, or games and definitely no team. I want complete and absolute compliance.”

Ezra laughed once. “You want me to be your servant.”

“I want proximity,” Matteo corrected.

Ezra’s chest tightened. “You’re insane.”

“Perhaps.”

Ezra stepped back. “I won’t humiliate myself for you or your sick hobbies. Hell, I don’t even know you!.”

Matteo’s voice dropped. “Then watch Damon finish what I started.”

Ezra’s throat burned.

“You’re blackmailing me.”

“I’m offering you control,” Matteo said. “Over how far I go.”

Ezra’s nails bit into his palms.

“If I agree,” he said slowly, “you stop the sabotage.”

Matteo nodded. “Immediately.”

“And I get my life back afterward?”

Matteo paused. “Eventually.”

Ezra met his eyes. “You’re lying.”

Matteo smiled faintly. “You’re learning.”

Silence roared between them.

Ezra closed his eyes. “I’ll do it.”

Matteo’s breath stilled.

Ezra opened his eyes. “But this ends with me walking away.”

Matteo inclined his head. “We’ll see.”

Ezra turned toward the door.

Behind him, Matteo whispered, “Welcome to hell, Ezra Roman. We’ll see how long you pretend not to know me.”

—

Ezra expected the door to slam behind him since he’d practically flung it open… It didn’t. Instead, it closed with a soft, final click that sounded far more ominous and it irked him.

A man in black waited outside the office. He gave Ezra a brief nod. “Follow me.”

Ezra hesitated, then did.

They walked through corridors that seemed to stretch forever. Glass walls revealed indoor gardens, a gym that looked like it belonged to a private military and a kitchen larger than his and Aurora’s entire apartment.

“This place is ridiculous,” Ezra muttered.

The man did not respond.

They stopped at a staircase. Another guard joined them, then another.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence but I’m not that strong. You don’t need to be scared of me,” he said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes but they didn’t respond.

“You’re really afraid of me?” Ezra asked.

One of them replied without looking at him. “We’re afraid of disappointing him.”

That settled in Ezra’s chest like a stone.

They reached a guest wing and the guide opened a door. Inside was a room the size of a small apartment with a bed, desk, bathroom and window overlooking the frozen lake.

Ezra stared. “This is where I’m supposed to live?”

“For now.”

“For now,” Ezra echoed. “And what am I supposed to do?”

The man finally met his eyes. “Wait.”

The door closed and Ezra stood alone. He dropped his bag on the bed and sank beside it.

You chose this, he reminded himself. You chose not to be erased.

A knock sounded.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened to reveal a man in his twenties with sharp eyes and a crooked grin.

“Dimitri Antonov,” he said. “You must be the storm my cousin summoned.”

Ezra blinked. “Your cousin?”

“Matteo,” Dimitri clarified. “Unfortunately.”

Ezra snorted before he could stop himself. “He’s unbearable.”

Dimitri laughed. “Welcome to the club.”

They studied each other.

“You’re not what I expected,” Dimitri said.

“What did you expect?”

“Someone already broken.”

Ezra straightened. “I’m not.”

Dimitri’s smile softened. “Good. He needs resistance.”

Ezra frowned. “He doesn’t need anything.”

“He thinks he does,” Dimitri replied. “That’s worse.”

There was a brief pause.

“Why is he doing this?” Ezra asked.

Dimitri hesitated. “Because Matteo doesn’t forgive ghosts.”

Ezra didn’t understand. “What does that mean?”

Dimitri opened his mouth.

Then Matteo’s voice cut through the hallway.

“Dimitri.”

Dimitri winced. “That’s my cue to disappear.”

He leaned in slightly. “You don’t deserve this. But if you’re here, don’t let him turn you into silence.”

Then he was gone.

Moments later, Matteo entered. He surveyed the room. “Acceptable.”

Ezra stood. “You said I’d work for you.”

“You will. Now.”

Matteo turned and walked out.

Ezra followed.

They descended into the main hall where several men in black were gathered around a long table, eating.

Conversation died and multiple eyes slid to Ezra.

Matteo gestured. “Serve.”

Ezra stared. “Serve what?”

Matteo lifted a brow. “Dinner.”

Heat rushed to Ezra’s face. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he said.

“Yes.”

The men watched with open curiosity.

Ezra inhaled then he picked up a tray. He moved stiffly, pouring water, setting plates.

One man murmured, “Is he for real?”

Matteo’s gaze never left Ezra.

Ezra placed a glass in front of him and their eyes met.

Ezra’s voice was quiet. “You’re enjoying this.”

Matteo replied just as softly. “You’re enduring it.”

Ezra straightened. “That’s the difference between us,” he said. “I survive.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

Ezra moved to the next man. Behind him, Matteo’s voice followed.

“Don’t mistake survival for victory, Ezra Roman.”