Chapter 13

Chapter 12

Sophia

BALANCING A tray of steaming cups in one hand, I weave through the busy cafe, feeling like a fraud in my waitress uniform. It's hard to believe that just last night, I was tangled in Luka Ivankov's arms, lost in a haze of pleasure I never thought possible.

"Here's your cappuccino, sir," I say, placing the cup in front of a middle-aged man engrossed in his newspaper. He doesn't even glance up, just grunts his thanks. Sighing, I make my way back to the counter, where another cup of coffee awaits me – my third this morning.

I down the bitter liquid, hoping it will banish the memories of last night from my mind, but they refuse to fade. Luka's touch still lingers on my skin, as if he's branded me with his possession.

"Hey, Sophia, can you take these orders to table six?" my coworker, Emily, calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Sure thing," I reply, forcing a smile and taking the plates from her.

Delivering the food to the customers, my thoughts wander back to the wild, dangerous world Luka inhabits. Memories of last night flash by as I recall the shocking intensity of my own desire, the way I'd craved his domination.

I shiver, remembering the sting of his hand on my ass in the meeting room, the sensation of his fingers leaving their mark. The memory sends a shockwave of arousal through me, making my pussy tighten with need. God, what has he done to me? My life has never been like this before, filled with such raw, primal lust.

The filthy thoughts invade my mind, one after another, and I find myself struggling to keep my composure. I don't want to think about how affected I was by Luka's touch, his presence. But every time I close my eyes, I can feel the ghost of his fingers, the taste of his lips, the dominance that had me begging for more.

The catering manager had caught me as I was sneaking out barefoot and bedraggled, her eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and disdain. But I didn't care. I had to escape before the spell Luka had cast over me became impossible to break.

As I clear the empty plates from table six, I feel the outline of a small device in my apron pocket. Panicking, I remember the microchips I'd been tasked with planting in Luka's mansion. My heart races as I realize I never pressed the tiny button to activate them.

"Fuck!" I blurt out, my voice louder than I intended. The cafe falls silent, every eye turning to stare at me.

Emily's mouth drops open in shock while my boss's face darkens like an approaching storm.

"Sophia!" he barks, motioning for me to come to him. "In my office. Now."

Feeling the weight of the unactivated device in my pocket, I reluctantly follow him, knowing I'm in for a thorough dressing down.

The door to Greg's office creaks open, and I step inside. The dimly lit room feels oppressive, with the small desk lamp casting elongated shadows on the walls. Greg, a portly middle-aged man with thinning hair and a perpetual sheen of sweat on his forehead, sits behind the desk, his eyes scanning me up and down.

"Sophia, have a seat," he says, his voice dripping with insincerity, a stark contrast to his usual gruff tone. I sit down, feeling uneasy at his sudden change in demeanor.

Over the months, I've grown adept at avoiding Greg's advances. I need this job; it pays slightly better than other cafes in the area, and it's close to my home, making it easy to bring food back to my grandmother. But today, something feels different, more sinister.

He leans in, feigning concern. "You know, I've noticed you seem a bit…distracted lately. That little scene out there was…out of character. Is everything okay?" He reaches out, placing a hand on my thigh, and I stiffen at the unwanted touch.

I force a smile, trying to appear unaffected. "Everything's fine, Greg. Really, I'm just a little tired, that's all."

His hand slides up my thigh, his fingertips grazing my skin. My heart races, but I know I can't afford to lose this job. "Maybe you just need some help to relax. I could give you a nice massage, maybe even help you forget about whatever's troubling you."

My stomach churns, but I bite my tongue, desperate not to provoke him. "Thanks, Greg, but I'll be fine."

His grip tightens, and his tone takes on a menacing edge. "You know, Sophia, you owe me a lot. I usually wouldn't hire someone like you. You've taken too many emergency leaves, not to mention asking for advances more than twice."

I clench my fists, my mind flashing back to the dreadful scenes that prompted my leaves. My brother, pale and barely breathing after taking too much cocaine, the ambulance sirens wailing in the night. My grandmother, her face etched with pain, lying in a hospital bed after another episode of her illness. Each memory weighs heavy on my heart, and I feel the crushing pressure of my life closing in around me.

Greg smirks, taking pleasure in my discomfort. "Now, don't you think it's time you show me some gratitude for all the chances I've given you?"

The moment his grip tightens, something inside me snaps. A red-hot surge of anger wells up, and without thinking, my hand flies up, connecting with Greg's face in a sharp slap. We both stare at each other, shocked at my sudden outburst.

My anger doesn't subside, though; it festers and grows, feeding on my resentment of a life that's been nothing but a shitstorm. I'm furious at my brother for falling into the pit of addiction, at my parents for leaving us too damn early, and at myself for being so damn helpless. The fury swells within me as I think about my own weakness – my inability to resist the magnetic pull of Luka and the fact that I forgot to press the fucking button on the device.

The weight of it all becomes too much to bear, and hot tears of frustration and shame prick at the corners of my eyes. My chest tightens, and I struggle to catch my breath, feeling suffocated by my own helplessness and the overwhelming sense of failure that threatens to consume me.

Greg's face contorts with rage, and I find myself unable to hold back any longer. "You think I owe you something, you greasy, lecherous prick? I don't owe you a fucking thing!" The words pour out of me, venomous and raw.

His eyes narrow, and I know I've pushed him too far. "You ungrateful little bitch," he snarls. "You're fired. Get your things and get the fuck out of my cafe." I'm on my feet and storming out with his words still hanging in the air. I'm breathless with rage.

But as I gather my belongings, my anger begins to ebb, replaced by a growing sense of dread.

What the hell am I going to do now?

Emily watches me with sadness in her eyes. I can see the fear creeping in as she realizes she'll be alone with the creep Greg now. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I curse under my breath, "Fuck! What now?"

Fumbling with my belongings, I pull out my phone and see my neighbor's number flash across the screen. Mrs. Thompson has been a godsend, always kind enough to help watch over my grandmother while I'm at work. But her calling me now makes my heart clench with fear.

My heart races, a sudden sense of dread washing over me. I answer the call, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Hello?"

"Sophia, it's Mrs. Thompson," she says, her voice trembling. "You need to come home right away. It's your grandmother; she's collapsed!"

Panic seizes me, my hands shaking as I struggle to find the words. "W-What happened? Is she okay?"

"I don't know, dear," Mrs. Thompson replies, her voice breaking. "The ambulance is on its way, but you need to come home now."

Tears well up in my eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. "I'm on my way. Thank you, Mrs. Thompson."

Hanging up, I choke back a sob, my mind racing with fear and worry. I sling my bag over my shoulder, giving Emily a tight hug before rushing out the door, my world crumbling around me.

I'm such a fucking disaster. That's the only thought I can muster as I sit in the sterile hospital room, holding onto Nana's bony, fragile hand. How did I let things get this bad?

Nana's breathing is labored, each wheeze a dagger to my heart. I can see the pain etched on her face, and it's tearing me apart. The beeping monitors and humming machines do nothing to drown out the sound of her struggling breaths, each one reminding me of everything we've been through, everything we've lost.

When Mommy and Daddy died right after my seventh birthday, Nilo was only fourteen, and Nana was the one taking care of us. She was the glue that held our family together, even as her own health started to decline. And now…

Dr. Peguero enters the room, his warm brown eyes filled with concern and sympathy. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed, and the lines on his face speak to years of caring for others. He's been our family doctor since I was a child, and he's been there for us through all of our ups and downs.

"Sophia," he says gently, "Your nana is fighting, but her condition is serious."

The weight of responsibility presses down on me, suffocating and relentless. This is my fault, isn't it? If only I had been more careful, more attentive…maybe things would be different.

"Is she going to be okay?" I choke out, unable to look him in the eye. He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"It's difficult to say, Sophia. With her existing heart disease, pneumonia is a dangerous complication. We're doing everything we can to help her."

My insides twist, each word like a vise tightening around my chest. I want to scream, to lash out, but I know that won't help Nana. Instead, I squeeze her hand, feeling the frailty of her bones beneath my fingers. I can't lose her too. I just can't.

Dr. Peguero places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Sophia, you've always been strong for your family. You've been there for your nana and Nilo, even when things seemed impossible. Don't give up hope."

Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I won't, Dr. Peguero. I promise."

I just don't know how now.

He looks down, his expression heavy, and I can tell he's wrestling with something. Finally, he says, "Sophia, I don't want to add to your burden, but we need to discuss the cost of your grandmother's treatment. The medications and hospital bills are going to be substantial."

My heart sinks, and my stomach churns. "I… I'll find a way," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I'll do whatever it takes to save her."

Dr. Peguero nods, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know you will, Sophia. You've always found a way to take care of your family. How's Nilo doing?"

I grit my teeth, forcing a smile. "He's…getting better, Dr. Peguero. Taking it one day at a time." I hate lying to him, but I can't bring myself to say that my brother is a fucking prisoner of the Russian Bratva, and it's all my fault.

No, it's not. It's his own fault, dammit!

The thought brings little comfort, though. Sitting there, clutching Nana's hand, a chilling thought creeps into my mind, making my chest feel tight.

What if I never see Nilo again?

The thought has me shuddering, leaving me cold and empty.

"I've fucked up," I whisper, despair settling in. This situation may be Nilo's fault, but if he dies, it'll be mine.

Chapter 13

Luka

THE AIR in the room is thick with tension, the stench of sweat and fear transporting me back to the first time I was exposed to the true meaning of Bratva business. I was just sixteen years old when my father led me down to his torture chamber for the first time.

"Son, this is your birthright," he'd said, his voice cold and steady as he tied the trembling man to a chair. "One day, you'll take over the business. Violence is an unavoidable part of our world."

I watched, wide-eyed and silent, as the man's pleas for mercy filled the room. My father didn't waver; his face expressionless, his movements methodical. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the grisly scene unfolding before me.

"Dad, please," I remember whispering. "Isn't there another way?"

My father had turned to me, his eyes glinting with a hardness I'd never seen before. "This is how we maintain order, son," he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "This is how we protect our family and our business."

Now, as I stand in the room, I'm no longer the na?ve, cowardly teenager I once was. In this shadowy underworld, I've become a monster fueled by a vicious and cruel streak that only grows more savage with each passing day. My life is a never-fucking-ending parade of treachery and bloodshed, and I revel in it. The screams and suffering of others are music to my ears, bringing me a perverse satisfaction that nothing else can. I've become a master of malice, my heart as cold and unforgiving as the steel of my blade.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Hidden beneath my mansion, this torture chamber has been carefully constructed with high security and soundproof walls. No one will ever discover the horrors that take place in this place.

The walls of the chamber are lined with old, rusted hooks, chains, and restraints, a sinister homage to the Russian prisons of the past. Dim, flickering light casts eerie shadows, making the space feel like a macabre theater of pain. The floor is cold, wet, and stained with the dark remains of countless acts of brutality.

Erik and I stand before the two traitors, one of the men's whimpers and pleas filling the space between us. They'd betrayed us for money, sold us out to Aleks, who's become a fucking monster, involved in human trafficking and supplying innocent women and children to pigs masquerading as politicians and businessmen.

The room seems to close in on us, the oppressive atmosphere punctuated by the traitors' labored breathing and the creaking of the chains. A table in the corner holds an array of wicked-looking tools, their purpose obvious and terrifying. The sadistic history of this chamber is unmistakable, a chilling reminder of what humans are capable of when pushed to the brink.

My blood boils at the thought of Aleks, but right now, I'm focused on these two pieces of shit. My blood is hot with rage, the savage need for vengeance gnawing at my insides. My grip tightens around the handle of my knife, my knuckles turning white.

Mikhail, my runner who betrayed us, sits bound to a chair. The smell of stale sweat and fear hangs heavy in the air. His muscular frame shudders as he finally regains consciousness, the fresh bruises and cuts on his body evidence of the pain we've already inflicted upon him.

"Svoloch!" he yells, venom dripping from his words. "You think you can break me? Idi nakhuy! Fucking coward!"

"I should go fuck myself?" I chuckle and shake my head.

Some fools don't know when to shut up.

He struggles against the restraints, but they're not giving in. I made sure they'd hold even the strongest of men. The muscles in his arms tense, veins bulging as he fights against the unyielding straps.

"You won't get anything from me!" Mikhail spits, his breathing labored.

"Don't you understand, Mikhail?" I say, circling him like a predator. "You chose the wrong side when you decided to help those fuckers rob our cannabis factory. You caused the deaths of two of our men. Now, you'll pay for that, mudak."

I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the savage need for vengeance gnawing at my insides.

"Please, Luka…we didn't know," the other man stammers, his face wet with blood and snot. "We didn't know what Aleks was doing. We swear."

I sneer at him, the rage in my chest making it hard to breathe. "You knew enough to sell us out, didn't you?" I spit, the words like acid on my tongue.

Erik, silent until now, chuckles darkly. "You fucked up, duraki. And you know what happens to betrayers in the Ivankov Bratva." He watches from the corner of the room, his expression cold and unforgiving. The tools of our trade lay scattered on a nearby table. Pliers, knives, and other unmentionable instruments that send chills down the spine.

Mikhail's breath hitches as I pick up a beautiful Yakut knife belonging to my grandfather, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light. With a sick smile, I step forward, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back. I press the blade of my knife against his cheek, watching as the defiance in his eyes turns to sheer terror.

"You think you're going to win this war you want to start with Aleks?" Mikhail growls, mentioning my uncle's name. A surge of anger courses through me.

"I'll be wiping out Aleks and his men. It won't be a war. It'll be a massacre." I narrow my eyes on him. "This is going to hurt," I whisper, my voice cold as ice. And then, I begin.

I slowly draw the knife down his face, skinning him with methodical precision. His screams echo off the walls, mixing with gagging sounds made by the man beside him. But I don't stop. I can't. Not until they feel the pain they've caused, the suffering they've inflicted.

But the fucker is tough. I'll give him that. Even as he peers at me from the ruin that once was his face, I see a glint of resistance in his eyes.

"Do whatever you want to me," he croaks out, "but it doesn't change the fact that everyone in the underworld knows that you're weak. You're a coward, just like your—"

My vision blurs with rage, my grip on the knife in my hand tightening. With a flick of my wrist, I silence Mikhail, his sentence cut short as he chokes on his own blood, the thin line from my knife on his neck spilling crimson.

The second man, now visibly trembling, pisses his pants. "Aleks is going after a safe house tonight, one where they keep the most vulnerable victims," his voice pitches high as he finally breaks, desperate for mercy. "Please, I'm telling you everything I know. Just let me go."

I glance over at Mikhail's lifeless body, his throat slit wide open, blood still oozing from the wound and pooling beneath him. The crimson liquid has begun to flow towards the feet of the second man, making him sob uncontrollably.

"You think that's enough to save you?" I ask, my voice dripping with contempt. "You betrayed us. You sold us out to a man who preys on fools like you. And now, you want to be saved?"

His face contorts in terror as he pleads with me, desperate to avoid the same fate as Mikhail. "I swear, I didn't know what Aleks was really doing! I just thought it was about money! I never wanted any of this! Please, Luka, you have to believe me!"

I turn to Erik, who's been watching the whole ordeal with an icy expression. "What do you think? Does he deserve mercy?"

Erik studies the second man for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating.

"No," he finally replies, his voice devoid of emotion. "He made his choice. He knew the risks. There's no mercy for traitors."

I nod. He's right. I turn back to the second man. The hope drains from his eyes, replaced by abject terror.

"You heard him," I say, my voice hard and unforgiving. "No mercy."

As the second man's screams fill the chamber, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction. We've avenged our fallen comrades and struck fear into the hearts of those who would betray us.

But we're not done.

I slam the door shut with a resounding thud that echoes through the hallway. The man's screams still linger in the air. But I feel no remorse for my actions.

It had to be done, plain and simple.

I can almost feel Erik's rage as he continues his bloody work inside the chamber. Out of the three of us, he's always been the most unhinged, the craziest of the bunch. But that's why I trust him with my life. He's a man

of few words when it comes to killing enemies. His actions speak for themselves.

As I stand outside the door, listening to the muffled sounds of the betrayer's screams, I feel a sense of satisfaction. This is what happens when you cross us. When you betray the trust we've placed in you.

You pay with your life.

"Boss," Maria, Yulia's nanny, stands before me, her expression one of fear and concern as she takes in the blood on my shirt. Her face is as white as a ghost.

"Boss… Mr. Ivankov," she stammers, her voice barely a whisper.

I turn to face her, my eyes narrowing. Maria may be Yulia's nanny, but she's also a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. The fact that she's seen me in this state, covered in blood and with a killer's look in my eyes, is not something I take lightly.

But as I study her more closely, I see something else in her expression. Something that tells me she's not just afraid of me, but also of the situation she's found herself in. I know that look well. It's the look of someone who's stumbled into a world they never intended to be a part of but have been forced into due to circumstances.

I take a step toward her, my voice low and dangerous. "Maria," I say, "how long have you been with us?"

She gulps, her eyes darting around nervously as she answers. "Only…only five months, Boss. Erik and Dimitri, they paid me well to come work for you. But, sir, I… I…" As Maria stammers out her response, I feel a twinge of annoyance. I had made it clear to everyone in my employ that I didn't want to be disturbed during my business dealings. And yet, here she is, standing before me, looking like she's about to faint from fright.

"Where is Yulia?" I demand, my voice harsh and commanding.

"She's…she's drawing in her room. She… I…," Maria replies, her words tumbling out in a jumbled mess.

I regard her with a cool gaze, waiting for her to explain why she's down here, in the depths of my empire. It's not a place for someone like her, someone who does not belong among these shadows and secrets.

"So… Why are you down here?" I ask. It's clear I'm impatient.

Maria starts to splutter as she speaks again, tears streaming down her face. "I…I can't work anymore," she whispers. "I can't work with criminals. I can't be a part of this…this violence."

I feel a surge of anger rise up within me. Erik and Dimitri had been very clear with her about who we were, what we did. And yet, here she is, acting as if she's been duped.

"You knew exactly who we were when you took this job," I grind out. "You knew what you were getting into. Now you want to quit, just like that?"

Maria's face crumples as she sobs harder. "I'm sorry," she cries. "I didn't know it would be like this. I can't do it anymore."

I feel my rage boil over as I take a step toward her. "You knew," I repeat. "You knew what you were getting into. And now you want to quit because you can't handle it? That's not how this works, Maria." I make a dismissive gesture. "Get out," I say, my voice cold and hard.

I feel a surge of anger rising in my chest. This is the problem with people like her. They think they can just waltz in and out of our world whenever it suits them, without any consequences. But that's not how it works.

Except I can't kill the goddamn nanny just because she's quitting.