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Confusion wars with frustration within me. "Then what am I expected to do here? Am I a prisoner?"
The twitch of a smile plays on Oskar's lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Mr. Sidorov has provided you with a credit card account in your name with an unlimited spending limit. The house and everything in it is yours to explore. You have the freedom to live as you wish."
"But?" I sense there's more, an unspoken condition to this apparent freedom.
"But," he echoes, confirming my suspicions, "you are not to cause any trouble for Damien."
I'm baffled, trying to piece together the fragments of this strange puzzle. "Why is he doing this? Marrying me, seemingly giving me everything, but nothing at all? Who is Damien Sidorov?"
Oskar looks at me for a long moment as if sizing me up. "Damien is a man with many layers. You would do well not to peel them back."
His words hang in the air, leaving a chill that seeps deep into my bones: a man with layers, a man who has given me a life of luxury yet remains an elusive shadow. A husband in name only, it seems.
Before I can question Oskar further, he turns on his heel, leaving me alone once again with my thoughts. The mystery that is Damien Sidorov weighs heavily on my mind, and I'm left with more questions than answers about the man to whom my life is now inexplicably tied.
Or rather, it would’ve been. I’m not about to stay a prisoner forever. Tonight, I’m making my escape. Two days in this place has been more than enough.
The heavy cloak of night stretches over the horizon, and the quiet of the house makes It feel as though time itself has paused, providing a hush as it anticipates my next move. I stand by the window, feeling the gentle fabric of the lace curtains on my fingers. Opening the window, the night breeze whispers promises of freedom, urging me on.
With tremendous caution, I begin my descent, the ivy that clings to the house providing just enough of a foothold. Each step I take brings a blend of fear and exhilaration, but with every inch, the grip of my past life loosens just a bit more.
Once on the ground, the cool touch of dew-kissed grass caresses my feet. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. The edge of the property beckons, and thoughts of Finland, of liberty and a fresh start, propel me forward.
The trees at the boundary of the property rise like ancient guardians, their silhouettes carved against the moonlit sky. I can't help but feel a poetic allure as they stretch before me, a forest threshold between the world I’m trapped in and the one I yearn for.
Although every rustling leaf and whisper of the wind makes my heart jump, I refuse to let fear dictate my pace. I push on, navigating the woods with determination and the light from the moon as my guide.
As I near the fence, a rush of adrenaline propels me. This is it. The final barrier. With a surge of strength, I grasp the top, pulling myself up. The cold metal bites into my palms, but the pain is inconsequential compared to the taste of freedom so close at hand.
With one final effort, I drop to the other side, the world outside the Sidorov property stretching infinitely before me. There’s no Oskar, no watchful eyes. Only the promise of a new life ahead.
I can't help the sly smile that graces my lips. The thrill of the escape makes me feel more alive than I've felt in years. With newfound energy, I scurry off, the shadows of the night my only companions. The weight of the Bratva, of Damien, of obligations all fade into the distance as I embrace the path of the unknown.
Chapter 2
Damien
"Mr. Sidorov," he begins, his accent thick, "your proposal intrigues us. However, you're relatively new in this game. So tell me—why should I trust you?”
The room is bathed in muted light, and a palpable charge of tension and expectations rests on my shoulders. Ahmet Sahin, representative of the Turkish mafia, sits across from me. His dark eyes dissect every word and gesture, gauging my worth.
Ahmet exudes an aura of quiet authority. He is middle-aged, with a graying beard meticulously groomed to sharp precision, and his olive skin hints at his Mediterranean heritage. Every inch of him speaks of a man accustomed to power, from the expensive silk he wears to his broad frame to the silver pinky ring bearing an intricate emblem. Flanking him are two imposing bodyguards, both dressed in dark suits. Their silent, watchful demeanor contrasts starkly with their bulging muscles, making it clear that they are more than capable of handling any threat to their master. Both scan the room, exuding an air of unspoken menace.
In a calculated move to display both vulnerability and trust, I have come alone, the opposite of the well-guarded Ahmet with his entourage. It's a risk, but in this game, sometimes risks are the only way to earn respect.
I smile thinly, showing confidence. "Every great player has a beginning, Ahmet. And believe me, I’ve prepared extensively for this. The Black Sea route is profitable, efficient, and ripe for our collaboration."
He studies me, lips curling in a contemplative smirk. "Your Bratva is known for its reputation. However, you, Damien, are a wildcard. Why should I make a deal with you?"
Ah, the constant reminder of my “place.” I can almost hear the Nicolaevich brothers' voices echoing Sahin’s sentiment. My half-blood status has been both a curse and a challenge. "Because I have something to prove," I say, letting a hint of vulnerability slip. "And those with something to prove often work the hardest."
He nods slowly, seeming to consider what I just said.
Good, I think.
He’s willing to listen.
The conversation continues with a detailed discussion of the agreed-upon numbers and strategies. My heart races with the implications of this deal. It’s a ticket to recognition, to proving that Nicolaevich's blood, diluted or not, still courses through me with strength and ambition.
