Chapter 5

Ezra learned the rhythm of Matteo Antonov’s house the way prisoners learn time.

By footsteps.

Matteo rose before dawn and the estate stirred with him. Guards shifted posts, doors slid open and in the depths of the house, machines hummed to life.

Ezra woke to that hum.

It crept into his bones. His first morning began with a knock that was not a request.

“Up.”

Ezra rolled onto his back, blinking at the ceiling. “It’s barely light.”

“It’s five.”

“So?”

“So Matteo Antonov doesn’t wait for the sun.”

Ezra swung his legs off the bed. He opened the door to find a man he hadn’t seen before.

“I’m Mikhail,” the man said. “You answer to me when he’s busy.”

Ezra rubbed his face. “Does he ever not look busy?”

Mikhail’s mouth twitched. “You have ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“Breakfast service.”

Ezra stared. “You’re joking.”

Mikhail didn’t move.

Ezra exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Lead the way, General Doom.”

Mikhail turned without comment.

The kitchen was already awake.

Steel counters gleamed. Chefs moved with purpose. Ezra stood in the doorway, suddenly very aware of his borrowed clothes and sleep-tangled hair.

A woman in a white coat glanced at him. “Who is that?”

“Property,” one of the guards replied.

Ezra flinched.

Mikhail handed him a tray. “Coffee. Black. Matteo’s office.”

Ezra accepted it and walked the corridor, every step echoing with humiliation.

Matteo’s office door stood open.

He entered.

Matteo stood by the window again, phone to his ear.

“No,” he said. “If he touches that route, burn it. I don’t care what it costs.”

He ended the call and turned.

Ezra held out the tray.

Matteo studied him, “You slept.”

“I tried.”

Matteo took the coffee but Ezra did not leave.

Matteo sipped. “You’re in the way.”

“You said I’d work,” Ezra replied. “Not vanish.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Matteo’s face.

“You’ll shadow me today,” he said. “Learn what you’ve traded your freedom for.”

Ezra’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re taking me outside this gloomy house?”

Matteo’s mouth curved faintly. “Don’t sound so grateful.”

The car they took was armored. Ezra noticed because the door weighed like a vault.

They drove through Saint Petersburg in silence. Snow drifted across sidewalks and Ezra watched people hurry past.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“A meeting.”

“With who?”

“Men who don’t like me.”

Ezra snorted. “That narrows it down.”

Matteo glanced at him. “Fear makes people honest.”

“You seem to prefer fear.”

“I prefer clarity.”

They arrived at a dockside warehouse. Inside waited three men and a table covered in documents.

The air was tense.

“You’re late,” one man said.

Matteo removed his coat. “You’re alive. Be grateful.”

The man’s jaw tightened.

Ezra stood near the door, trying to look smaller than he felt. Matteo spoke in low, lethal tones. Numbers, routes and stern warnings.

One man slammed a fist on the table. “You don’t own us.”

Matteo leaned forward. “No. I own your mistakes.”

Silence followed and the men signed.

Outside, Ezra exhaled.

—

The ride back to the estate was quiet. Ezra stared out the bulletproof window, trying to absorb the scale of the world Matteo moved in. Everything he had ever thought about power, control, and danger—it was all smaller than what he had seen today.

“Do you always bring new people to this…” Ezra hesitated. “…showcase of intimidation?”

Matteo didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were on the road—or maybe on the invisible map in his mind. Finally, he said, “No. Only those who need reminding that the world doesn’t bend to kindness.”

Ezra’s pulse thumped. “And I—?”

“You’re learning the rules,” Matteo said. “Some survive, some don’t.”

Ezra’s stomach twisted. “And which am I?”

Matteo’s lips twitched into what wasn’t quite a smile. “Time will tell.”

The estate loomed again, cold and silent as ever. Ezra stepped out first. Snow crunched under his boots. The guards flanked him, watching every step like he was prey in a cage.

Inside, the mansion felt different somehow—smaller, oppressive.

Matteo walked ahead without acknowledging him. Ezra tried to follow, but a sense of unease slowed his steps. Something was off.

In the main hall, the staff was unusually silent. Trays were untouched and doors that were opened to kitchens and corridors were closed. Ezra frowned.

“Matteo?” His voice echoed.

No answer.

He turned a corner and froze.

A figure stood at the top of the grand staircase. Tall and shimmering under the chandelier light but the face hidden behind shadows.

“You’re early,” a woman’s voice said, smooth as ice.

Ezra’s throat went dry. His instincts screamed run, but his legs didn’t move.

“She’s… not one of your staff,” he muttered.

Matteo appeared behind him, his hand brushed Ezra’s shoulder, just enough to steady him—and warn him.

“You know her?” Ezra asked.

Matteo’s expression darkened. “She knows you.”

The woman smiled—a cold, predatory curl of lips. “Hello, Ezra Roman. I’ve been waiting.”

Ezra’s chest tightened. “Who are you?”

Her eyes glittered. “Someone who remembers everything you don’t…”

Ezra’s stomach lurched, heart pounding. He glanced at Matteo, searching for the calm he usually radiated—but this time, Matteo’s eyes held the barest hint of worry.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, the lights in the hall cut out.

Darkness swallowed them.

A single, deliberate sound cracked through the silence—metal clinking. Chains.

Ezra froze.

The woman’s laughter echoed through the hall. “Let’s see how obedient you really are.”

And then the first chain slammed against the marble floor.

Ezra’s blood ran cold.