29. Chapter 29

twenty-nine

Clara

" S on of a motherless goat!” I groan; my eyes snap open. The room spins as I try to sit up. “Where the hell am I?”

My head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. “Urgh…” I blink, trying to focus. This isn’t the trunk of Leonid’s car.

Or some torture dungeon?

It’s… a bedroom?

The memory of Leonid injecting something into my neck flashes through my mind. My jaw tightens. That bastard. When I get my hands on him, I’ll…

No. Focus, Clara. Stay alive first, revenge later.

Something soft slides off my body . A blanket ? I shove it aside, confused and irritated. What the hell? Who tucks in their prisoner?

I put my hands over my face, trying to clear my thoughts. That’s not important right now.

Get it together.

I struggle to my feet, nearly tripping over the plush carpet. “What the…?”

The room is dimly lit, a soft glow coming from a lamp in the corner. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but as they do, I start to make out more details.

My eyes dart around the room. King-size bed. Fancy-ass chandelier. Even a mini-bar in the corner.

I look around for a way to escape. Damn. No windows.

“Shit,” I mutter, stumbling to the nearest wall. I run my hands over it, searching for any hidden panels. Nothing.

I try the door. Locked, of course.

“Come on, there must be some way to get out of here.”

A door to my left catches my eye. I push it open, revealing a bathroom that could be straight out of a five-star hotel. Marble countertops, a rainfall shower, and… is that a jacuzzi tub?

“What kind of fucked up game is this?” I whisper, running my fingers along the smooth edge of the tub.

My stomach churns as memories of the failed assassination attempt flood back.

“Fuck, fucking fucking shit fuck,” I curse under my breath.

Suddenly, Elijah’s voice echoes in my head. “Oh, Mommy, you used the ‘f’ word.” I can see his big, beautiful eyes—damn it, just like Leonid’s. What if he finds out he has a son? No— our son. What then?

Friggin’ fudge nuggets.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, panic rising in my throat.

Don’t go there, Clara.

I shake my head like a madwoman, trying to dispel the thoughts.

I pace the room, my mind racing.

“Focus, dammit,” I scold myself. “One problem at a time.” But how the hell am I supposed to escape? And what’s with this setup? This isn’t how the Bratva usually treats their prisoners. I should know; I’ve seen the aftermath of their “hospitality” before.

So why am I in this fancy-ass room instead of chained to a wall somewhere?

I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror. My dress is wrinkled, hair a mess, but otherwise, I look… fine. No bruises, no cuts.

Just what the hell is going on?

Back in the bedroom, I notice more details. A flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. A writing desk with a leather chair. Even some fancy-looking art on the walls.

“This isn’t a prison,” I mutter. “It’s a fucking holiday resort.”

Except for the lack of windows and the locked door, of course.

I eye the heavy lamp on the bedside table. Not much of a weapon, but it’ll have to do.

As I reach for it, my stomach growls loudly. How long was I out? The mini-bar tempts me, but I shake my head. Can’t risk being drugged again.

Footsteps echo from beyond the door. My heart pounds.

“Time to bleed,” I mutter, gripping the lamp tight as I position myself by the door.

Whatever Leonid has planned, he’s in for one hell of a surprise. I’m not going down without a fight.

The lock clicks. I hold my breath, muscles tensed, ready to swing.

Time seems to slow as the door begins to open. My palms are sweaty on the lamp’s base, but my grip is firm. I’ve got one shot at this.

In my mind, I see Elijah’s face again. His smile, his laugh. The way he calls me “Mommy” with such love in his voice.

“I’m coming home, baby,” I whisper. “I promise.”

The door swings wide. A figure steps in. I raise the lamp, ready to bring it crashing down.

But then a familiar voice stops me cold.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, myshka .”

The lamp slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor. Leonid stands in the doorway, a tray balanced in one hand, his eyes locked on mine.

My brows knit together as I spot it—no mistaking that underneath the tray, there’s a shotgun aimed straight at me.

“Shit,” I mutter, backing away.

He steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him. “Now, now, myshka . Is that any way to greet your host?”

“Host?” I spit. “More like captor, you piece of—”

“Ah-ah,” he interrupts, setting the tray on the desk. “Let’s keep it civil, shall we?”

The smell of food hits me, and my stomach betrays me with a loud growl. Leonid’s lips twitch.

“Hungry?” he asks, gesturing to the tray.

I cross my arms. “I’d rather die starving.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He picks up a piece of bread, taking a bite. “Though I assure you, it’s not poisoned. That’s more your style, isn’t it?”

I clench my fists, anger boiling up. “You bastard. You killed my brother, and you have the nerve to—”

“Your brother?” Leonid’s eyebrows shoot up. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Care to elaborate?”

Shit . I’ve said too much. I press my lips together, glaring at him.

He sighs, setting down the bread. “Look, myshka , we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”

“Go to hell,” I snarl.

“Been there, the weather sucked,” he quips. Then his face hardens. “But seriously, you tried to kill me. I think I deserve some answers.”

My eyes dart to the door. Maybe if I’m quick enough…

Leonid catches my gaze. “Don’t even think about it. You wouldn’t make it two steps.”

“Watch me,” I challenge, tensing to run.

Before I can move, he’s there, his hand gripping my arm. I twist, trying to break free, but he’s too strong.

“Let go of me!” I shout, struggling against his hold.

“Not until you calm down,” he says, his voice maddeningly calm.

I aim a kick at his shin, but he sidesteps easily. In one fluid motion, he spins me around, pinning me against the wall.

“Now,” he says, his breath hot on my ear, “are you ready to talk?”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

He chuckles. “Maybe later, myshka . First, let’s discuss who you really are.”

My heart races. If he finds out about Elijah…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

Leonid leans back, studying my face. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.”

He releases me suddenly, stepping back. “Here’s the deal. You know who I am. What I’m capable of.”

A chill runs down my spine. I’ve seen firsthand what the Bratva can do.

“So,” he continues, “you can tell me the truth now, or I’ll find out on my own. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

“Why?” I ask, hating how my voice shakes. “What difference does it make?”

His eyes harden. “Because if I have to dig, I’ll uncover everything. Every secret, every person you care about. And I can’t guarantee their safety.”

The threat hangs in the air between us. I think of Elijah, of my father, of everyone I’ve tried to protect.

Leonid must see something in my face because his expression softens slightly. “It doesn’t have to be that way. Just tell me who you are and what you mean by I killed your brother. ”

For a moment, I’m tempted. But then I remember Jake, broken and bloody. This man, this monster, is responsible for that, and now he is pretending he doesn’t remember?”

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. “Do your worst. I’m not telling you shit.”

Leonid sighs, shaking his head. “Have it your way, myshka. ” He moves to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “But remember, whatever happens next is on you.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click. I slide down the wall, my legs giving out.

What have I done?