Movement at the top of the stairs caught my eye, and then she was there—already halfway down. Black dress clinging like sin. Hair falling in waves that made my hands itch to fist it. Gold at her throat like a collar waiting. Lips glossy, begging to be smeared. She looked like something meant to be ruined. And fuck—all I could think about was how badly I wanted to be the one to do it.
She paused when she saw me.
So did I.
Pakhan didn’t notice the look we exchanged. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t give a damn.
The dining hall beyond was exactly what you’d expect from a man like him—opulent, overdone, drowning in wealth. The chandeliers overhead shimmered cold and bright, casting their glow onto a mahogany table long enough to seat thirty—each place meticulously arranged for tonight’s gathering. Ornate gold trim framed every wall panel, and velvet curtains hung thick and theatrical over tall windows, shutting out the rain.
Two guards flanked the arched entry, rigid and silent, their eyes sweeping the space with mechanical focus. Around the table sat a collection of power-hungry men—Pakhan’s inner circle and invited guests, all of them draped in tailored suits and inflated egos, laughing too loudly and watching each other too closely. It wasn’t a dinner. It was a show of force.
All of them were quick to laugh at the wrong jokes, to toast to blood spilled and deals sealed. They barely glanced at Kira when she entered, as if she were nothing more than part of the decor, another asset on display.
And yet, she was the only one in the room who looked real.
“This is Felix,” Pakhan said, gesturing to a man already seated at the long table. “Son of Dmitri Vlasov. First time meeting, I imagine.”
Felix rose with all the grace of a predator dressed for a gala. Mid-twenties at most, tall, polished mannequin bullshit, hair greased flat like wet tar, smirk dripping with the kind of privilege that begs for a fist. My stomach turned just looking at him.
He extended a hand like a fucking diplomat. “Maksym. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I shook it, briefly. Not out of respect, but because Pakhan was watching. I didn’t say anything.
Pakhan chuckled. “Sit. Eat. Drink. We’re celebrating.”
I didn’t ask what—but it twisted in my gut. The sight of Felix sitting there like he owned the place, Pakhan beaming like a proud father, Kira done up like a gift—it was enough to make me want to break something. I had no right. I knew that. Still, I was already pissed. Already burning.
Dinner was a full spread—roasted duck glazed dark and shiny, platters of grilled mushrooms and potatoes dripping in butter, thick slices of cured meats, black bread, bowls of pickled vegetables, and caviar set out like it was nothing. Expensive champagne stood open on the table beside heavy bottles of red. No speech needed—Pakhan fed you excess to remind you how small you were.
I didn’t touch the wine. Kira barely touched the food.
Felix, of course, wouldn’t shut up. He had the grin of a man who thought he owned the world already.
“I must say,” he told Pakhan, “your daughter is... radiant.”
She gave him a tight smile and reached for wine.
Pakhan puffed his cigar, beaming. “She’s untouched, you know. Pure. I kept her that way for someonedeserving.”
Kira’s eyes widened, a deep flush spreading across her face as if the words physically slapped her.
I nearly choked on my food.
She shot me a glance—quick, anxious—before casting her gaze downward, cheeks still burning.
“Dad—” she began, her voice strained.
He dismissed her with a flick of his hand.
“Let a man speak truth at his own dinner table,” he said, lounging back with smug satisfaction. “She’s got fire, this one. But that’ll be good for the bloodline.”
Felix leaned in slightly, his grin stretching wider, teeth glinting. “Oh, I enjoy fire.”
I gripped my fork so tightly my knuckles went white.
I didn’t realize I was staring until her eyes locked with mine and then neither of us looked away. No one noticed. No one said a word. They were too busy laughing, drinking, celebrating this fucked-up arrangement.
It was just her. And me. And everything unsaid between us.
