All Chapters of BLOODSTAINED HEARTS: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ZOEY The fluorescent lights of Gotham Press buzzed like angry bees, their harsh glare reflecting off the clutter of my desk. Papers piled high, coffee mugs forgotten in their wake, and a half-eaten donut provided the backdrop for my latest battle—a battle not with shadowy mob figures or elusive informants, but with my own infuriating boss, Theodore. Theodore, resplendent in a pinstriped suit that could probably buy a small island, stormed into my office, his face contorted in a scowl that would curdle milk. “Zoey,” he barked, his voice dripping with disapproval, “what in God’s name have you been doing?” I braced myself, already anticipating the lecture. “I’ve been working on the Pushkin story, Theodore,” I replied calmly, trying to keep my own irritation in check. He scoffed, a sound that resembled a particularly disdainful cat. “Working? You call this working? You’ve barely scratched the surface of this story, Zoey. Weeks ha

ALEXEIThe metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils, the scent mingling with the acrid smoke that choked the air. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins, a primal response to the chaos that had unfolded before my very eyes. Zoey lay still on the asphalt, her face pale and drawn, her eyes tightly shut.Panic, a monster I knew all too well, clawed at the edges of my control. It was the same fear that had haunted me for years, the fear I had worked so hard to suppress.As the orange tongues of fire licked the metal, a surge of memories flooded my consciousness—a haunting echo of the past that refused to be silenced. The world around me seemed to blur, and for a moment, I was transported back to a night marred by tragedy.The acrid scent of burning rubber and the crackling of flames filled the air. The night was etched with despair as I stood, paralyzed, watching my brother Kirill’s car engulfed in an inferno. His wife, my sister-in-

ZOEYThe acrid tang of smoke clawed at my throat, searing my lungs with every ragged breath. Flames danced before my eyes, licking at the tattered wallpaper and gnawing at the wooden beams above. Each crackle and hiss was a taunting whisper, echoing the inferno that had consumed my childhood.I was six again, small and terrified, huddled against the inferno with my mother. Her comforting embrace, once a haven, was now a scorching cage. The heat warped the air, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare. Was I trapped in the burning embers of the past, or was this the chilling reality?The inferno pulsed around us, a monstrous heart spewing licks of fire like venomous tongues. The screams of my mother, raw and desperate, pierced the cacophony of crackling wood and roaring flames. She shielded me with her own body, a frail barrier against the searing heat."Mommy, it hurts!" My voice, a thin thread of terror, was lost in the inferno's

ALEXEIThe click of the lock, a clear punctuation mark against the velvet hush of her gilded prison. I watched her, in the mirror of my study, the reflection a sliver of defiance fluttering in the luxurious room. Her anger, palpable even through the polished glass, was a delicious heat against the ice of my control.She'd thrown her tantrum, a petulant child flinging accusations and tears against the bars. Predictable, in a way. But beneath the surface, something else glinted. A spark of cunning, a flicker of resistance that intrigued me. I'd expected compliance, a hollow echo of her broken spirit, not this simmering defiance.Her scream, raw and desperate, had echoed through the halls, a primal cry against the gilded silence. I almost smiled. It was the first genuine sound I'd heard from her, the first hint of the fire that burned beneath the ashes of her captivity.I watched, a predator observing his prey, as she approached the feast, h

ALEXEIThe air was filled with the rich aroma of leather and expensive cologne, setting the stage for the impending meeting with the Polish Don and his crew. These men reveled in luxury, surrounded by velvet and mahogany, a far cry from the gritty days of my youth. The Poles demanded elegance, and I was not one to settle for less. Yaz and Viktor, kept a close watch, their eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble. In this world, even among supposed allies, trust was a scarce commodity, especially after Mikhail's betrayal.Today, my focus was on the Polish, a man whose influence resonated like steel, his seasoned gaze a testament to a lifetime in the underworld.Leaving Yelena and Zoey with Ivan gnawed at me, a familiar knot of unease tightening in my gut.They were an unlikely pair, the fiery journalist and the golden princess, yet their laughter had become a balm to the silence in this rich prison. I had only glimpsed