Have you ever killed someone?

ANYA POV

The morning sun bathed the garden in golden light, but it did nothing to soothe the aches in my body.

Beside me, Nikolai walked with infuriating ease, hands in his pockets, like we were just two friends out for a stroll instead of prisoner and captor.

Behind us, the mansion loomed—a silent, unyielding fortress. The estate stretched endlessly, a paradise disguising its true nature.

He had woke me up to give me a tour of the place, so as not to be bored.

I swallowed hard. “How big is this place?”

Nikolai smirked. “Big enough that you’ll never reach the end.”

I met his gaze, refusing to let him play his little games. “That’s not true. I almost made it to the fence last night.”

He chuckled. “No, printsessa. You didn’t.”

I frowned. “I did.”

His amusement deepened. “What you saw was an illusion.”

A chill ran through me. “What do you mean?”

“The estate is designed to keep people inside.” He gestured toward the horizon. “The further you run, the more the land stretches. An optical trick. You think you’re getting close, but you’re just running in circles.”

My stomach twisted. My hope had been nothing but a mirage.

I exhaled sharply. “So there’s no way out.”

“Not on foot,” he said with a shrug. “Not without help.”

I clenched my fists. “And what happens to me now?”

His expression softened slightly. “My uncle is a good man, printsessa. He won’t hurt you.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “His actions say otherwise.”

Nikolai’s lips curved, but something unreadable flickered in his gaze. “Compared to other mafia lords, Viktor is a saint.”

That didn’t comfort me. If Viktor was the saint, what was the fate of my friend. Who got her?

Silence stretched between us, the scent of roses filling the air—beautiful, yet trapped in the same prison as me. My thoughts drifted to Celine, to the others. Were they safe? Did they even know what had happened to me?

“Nikolai…” My voice was quieter this time. “Have you ever killed someone?”

His body stiffened. The teasing lightness vanished.

“No,” he said firmly. “Viktor didn’t want me involved in that side of things.”

“But you work for him.”

“I oversee businesses. The legal ones.”

I frowned. “Why?”

Nikolai’s gaze drifted toward the horizon. “Because Viktor raised me to be different.”

That caught me off guard.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I lost my parents when I was a kid. Viktor was barely more than an adult, but he took me in, raised me like his own. Made sure I had an education. Made sure I never had to pick up a gun unless I wanted to.”

I swallowed hard. He wasn’t just talking about Viktor as a boss. He was talking about him as family.

It was a side of Viktor I hadn’t considered—the man who stepped up to raise a child when he was barely more than a child himself.

Nikolai must have sensed my shift in mood. His voice grew lighter. “Viktor is ruthless, yes, but he never hurts without reason.”

I scoffed. “And what was his reason for taking me?”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Now that… is a question only he can answer.”

A thought gnawed at me. “Aren’t you worried?”

He raised a brow. “About?”

“The authorities,” I said, watching him closely. “Won’t they be looking for me? Won’t they find Viktor?”

Nikolai let out a deep, amused chuckle. “Where do you think you are?” he asked, shaking his head. “This is Moscow. The authorities belong to the mafia.”

My heart sank.

He leaned in slightly. “Even the club where you worked—it was never just a club. It was a front. A place for business. Deals were made there, people were traded. You were surrounded by the mafia long before you even knew it.”

I stopped walking.

Had they always known? Had I been working under their noses, blind to the danger?

I opened my mouth to ask more, but Nikolai waved a hand dismissively. “Enough of that,” he said, cutting me off. “You’re making me sound like a strict historian. Let’s just enjoy the weather, yeah?”

I swallowed my questions. It didn’t matter anymore. I was already here. Trapped. And if what he said was true, no one was coming to save me.

I needed a phone. My mother had to be worried sick by now. Days had passed, and I had vanished without a trace. Was she calling the police? Had they even found anything?

I clenched my fists. I wasn’t going to break. Not yet.

“Nikolai.” I turned to him. “I need a phone. Or at least some way to contact my mother.”

He quirked a brow. “And say what? ‘Hey, Mom, I got kidnapped by the mafia, but don’t worry, they’ve got a great garden’?”

I glared at him. “She’s probably terrified. I can’t just disappear like this.”

He studied me for a moment, then sighed. “I’ll talk to Viktor about it.”

Relief flickered inside me. It wasn’t a promise, but it was something.

We walked further, and soon, the scent of hay and horses filled the air. The stables.

“They have names,” Nikolai said, stroking a chestnut-colored horse. “This one’s Mars. And that one’s Zima—means ‘winter’ in Russian.”

Hesitant, I reached out. When Zima nudged me gently, something inside me softened.

“You like her?” Nikolai asked.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmured.

For a moment, I let myself feel normal, talking to him about nothing important. An illusion of peace.

By the time I returned to my room, I felt… different. Not free, not safe. But not drowning in helplessness.

Nikolai had lunch with me before leaving for one of Viktor’s hotels. Alone, I peeled off my dress, sighing as the cool air hit my skin. My muscles ached from last night’s escape attempt.

Then the door swung open.

I froze.

Viktor stood in the doorway, watching me.

Heat crawled up my neck. I yanked the silk robe around myself. “Do you not know how to knock?!”

He took a slow step inside, shutting the door behind him. “Take it off.”

My pulse spiked. “Excuse me?”

His voice was like steel. “I said take it off.”

I shook my head. “No.”

Viktor didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, gripping the robe and yanking it off me in one swift motion.

I gasped, body exposed under his heavy gaze. My breathing hitched, but I refused to move, refused to shrink.

His dark eyes roamed over me, slow, possessive.

I clenched my jaw, lifting my chin defiantly.

“You belong to me,” he murmured. “I can do whatever I please with you.”

I hated him.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Viktor’s gaze lingered before he stepped back, unreadable.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered, his voice low but firm.

I hadn’t even realized I had shut them. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his, tears clinging to my lashes.

His lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “I heard you and Nikolai have been roaming the mansion together.”

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

His expression darkened, amusement laced with something sharper. “I bought you, Anya. I own you. Yet, it’s my nephew you’re closest to.”

The words stung, like a claim I hadn’t agreed to.

Before I could react, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the bed beside me.

“Nikolai said you needed a phone,” he said casually.

I stared at it, stunned. “Just like that?”

Viktor tilted his head, as if amused by my disbelief.

I straightened, narrowing my eyes. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll use it to call the authorities?”

A deep, rich laugh rumbled from his chest. He ruffled his hair, his sharp gaze never leaving me. “This is Moscow, kukolka. The authorities work for me.”

He rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. “Be free to call whoever you want,” he said, his voice smooth, almost mocking. “But you will never leave—unless I want you to.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving behind nothing but his words, the phone, and the suffocating realization of my helplessness.

I hated him—for making me feel so powerless, for making me feel anything at all. I hated him for the way he could make me tremble.

I nearly ran back to my bed, snatching the phone with shaking fingers. Without thinking, I powered it on and typed out a quick email to my mother.

Where the hell have you been, Anya? I've been worried.

Her response came fast, panic woven into every word.

I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not even close. So I kept it simple.

I’m fine, Mom. Just… a bit busy. Miss you.

With that done, I exhaled shakily, my fingers hesitating over the screen. I swallowed hard and dialed Celine’s number.

It was a dead trial, noone was with their phones, I could only hope she was safe and was with her phone.

“Celine!” I almost shouted, relief crashing over me like a wave as the call connected.

But my breath caught in my throat.

The voice on the other end wasn’t hers.

It was a man’s. Smooth, smug. A chuckle slithered through the receiver, making my skin crawl.

“Well, well,” he mused, amused. “What a perfect little connection between the two of you.”

My stomach dropped. “Who… who is this?”

His laugh was slow and taunting. “Celine’s new owner.”

My blood ran cold.

“Here, let me put her on. Just for a moment.”

There was shuffling, muffled sounds—then a weak, trembling whisper.

“Anya?”

Celine.

My grip tightened on the phone. “Don’t you dare hurt her!” I snarled, my fists clenching.

The man laughed again, cruel and amused. “Oh, I won’t… as long as you cooperate.”

I forced my voice to stay steady. “What do you want?”

His tone turned to ice. “I need information.”

A heavy pause.

“Spy on Viktor Romanov. I want to know what’s going on inside his fortress—his plans, his movements. Every single detail.” His voice sharpened. “That is the only way your little friend stays safe.”

My pulse pounded. “Are you insane?” I spat, but my voice wavered.

A low, buzzing sound crackled through the speaker. Then—

Celine’s sharp, pain-laced scream tore through the line.

My breath hitched. “No! Please, don’t hurt her! I’ll… I’ll do it,” I choked out, my voice breaking.

His smirk was almost tangible through the line. “Smart girl.”

Then the call went dead.