All Chapters of MINE TO OWN : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The auction house stank of blood money, ego and desperation. It dripped from the gold ceilings, soaked into the velvet curtains, and pooled between the cracks of polished marble tiles. It was the kind of opulence that could only be paid for in blood. Andrei Dostoevsky leaned back in his chair, disinterested, but at ease. He lit a cigarette. His movements were slow and precise — a predator in no hurry to hunt. The ember flared against the darkness, momentarily painting his sculpted face in shades of crimson and gold. His father would want a full report later. Fyodor Dostoevsky, head of the largest and most feared Bratva in Russia and maybe the world, was a man who demanded excellence — who demanded everything. Tonight, Andrei would be expected to recount every detail: who attended, what was bought, who whispered secrets over fluted glasses of poisoned wine. It was politics disguised as pleasure. Power masked as art and culture. Andrei thought it laughable. He was only h

The boy hadn't spoken once since they'd left the auction house. Andrei liked that. Not the silence itself — he was surrounded by enough silence in his life to build a graveyard from it — but the way the boy wore his silence. Not out of fear. Not brokenness. But defiance. Like a blade tucked behind his tongue. Waiting. Waiting for his moment. Andrei leaned back against the leather seat of the car, exhaling slow streams of smoke that escaped through the slightly opened window. Istanbul’s lights streaked past in a rapid, blurred, gold, red and dirty white against the blackened sky. The car's engine purred beneath them, an expensive, imported machine designed to outrun anyone who might have the silly idea of engaging in a chase or race. Zane — the name still lingering in Andrei’s mind though it had yet to be offered — sat opposite him, wrists still bound loosely, ankles chained together, a dark jacket thrown over his bare shoulders. A token kindness. Or perhaps a mockery. Th

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

The suit fit like a second skin and Zane stood in front of the mirror, his expression unreadable as he smoothed the black silk down his chest. It was expertly tailored, cut to enhance the angles of his frame, the dangerous allure of his beauty, of his presence. The collar was fastened around his neck, silver, sleek, and elegant—almost regal. Almost. A symbol, Andrei had said. Zane stared at himself. He wasn't sure what he was. Not a prisoner. Not a guest. Something in between. Something undefined and therefore dangerous. A knock tapped softly at the door. He didn’t need to answer. It was a simple courtesy. He had no rights here, nothing outside those clearly stated. A servant entered anyway, bowing slightly before placing a card on the side table. Zane opened it. “You will walk two paces behind me. You will speak only when addressed. Smile when necessary.” – A.D. He smiled faintly. The grand dining hall had transformed into a stage. Gold chandeliers dripped crystal from

Zane sat by the window looking outward onto the vast grounds of the estate, but his eyes took note of nothing before him. His mind was elsewhere, everywhere and nowhere all at once. He sat, wondering what his situation was; what his fate would be. Why Andrei bought him only to set him free. He wondered if this was freedom and if it was, what did he have to do to clear his debt. He wondered what game was being played here—this house, what Andrei’s angle was, who the enemies were and if there were friends here. He didn’t know for certain where this family’s wealth and power came from, but he could hazard a guess. His mind drew several pictures of an escape plan, but none of them seemed good enough or possible. He was stuck. He was terrified. Wrapped in the fur blanket that came with his cage—the room given to him, he wondered if he would come out the other end of this alive. Zane had no idea what time it was when Andrei appeared again. The man entered like he always did—without k