Right now, she looks like a cornered animal, all teeth bared and ready to bite the hand that pulled her from the trap.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she spits. Her fingers twist in the seatbelt until the fabric creaks. “And Fadir… he is…he’s not your business. This isn’t your fight.”
I let a beat of silence stretch before answering. The SUV hums smoothly over the wet asphalt as I merge onto the bridge that would take us toward downtown.
“It became my business the moment he decided to muscle into Sokolov territory. He targeted my sister, Katya, to make it personal. Thought he could use women as pawns. Tonight, he raised his hand to you. That was his mistake.”
She goes quiet for a moment, as if processing what I just said. I feel her eyes on the side of my face, studying me as if I were a puzzle with too many missing pieces. Rain drums harder against the roof, the windshield wipers keeping up with the rainfall. The city lights are reflected in the obsidian river below us, fractured and shimmering.
“You’re Bratva,” she says finally. The word comes out like a curse. “I heard him say your name.Sokolov. I know what that means. Violent messengers, threatening to take whatever’s left when the gambling arrears pile up. You’re all the same.”
Her voice cracks again on the last sentence. Not from fear this time, but something deeper. Old scars. I file it away. Useful information, but not something to press tonight.
“I will not harm you. That’s a promise. But your boyfriend just made an even bigger enemy of the Sokolovs than he already had. The slow kind. The kind that doesn’t end with a bullet but with everything he values turning to dust while he watches.” I keep my tone detached and professional.
She shivers visibly, arms wrapping around herself. The auburn highlights in her long black hair catch the passing streetlights in flashes of copper. She is beautiful in a way thatlooks accidental. She is tall, with striking features and green eyes that seem to see too much. But right now she looks exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that comes from months of betrayal and survival.
It is all perfect. She’s vulnerable, and I’m ready to pick up the pieces in her life.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she whispers. “I just wanted… God, I don’t even know anymore. A job. A life that isn’t falling apart. He offered help, and it turned into... Now you—”
She stops, swallowing hard. Her hands are still shaking. She stares out the passenger window, ignoring me.
I signal and take the exit toward the financial district, heading for the penthouse. Neutral ground for now. Secure. Far from Fadir’s reach.
“You can hate me if it helps,” I say quietly. “Call me a monster. It changes nothing. Tonight, you sleep somewhere he can’t touch you. Tomorrow we will talk about the rest.”
She doesn’t answer. Just turns her face toward the window, watching the city slide past like she is already calculating escape routes. I let the silence settle. There is no need to fill it. The plan had shifted the moment I stepped through that warehouse door with my instinct overriding the careful weeks of preparation. Using her as leverage is still on the table, but something in the raw pain of her voice has complicated the equation.
Fadir would watch everything he thought he owned slip away. Slowly, publicly, and very painfully.
The young woman beside me, still trembling with adrenaline and distrust, has just become the sharpest tool in that particular arsenal.
Whether she wants to be or not.
I glance at her once more as we approach the underground garage of my building. She bites her lower lip, eyes distant, and her fight is momentarily banked but far from gone.
Good.Fire like that doesn’t die easily. But it would make the next few months interesting.
The garage gate rolls up with a soft mechanical hum. I pull in, find my private parking space, kill the engine, and turn to her.
“Ready?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
She meets my eyes for the first time since the warehouse. Dark green against dark brown in the hazy light of the underground parking structure. They are filled with defiance and a question all at once.
“No,” she says. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”
“No, you don’t,” I confirm.
We step out into the cool concrete silence of the garage. Her sneakers echo softly beside my boots as we head for the private elevator. Surrounding us, the city continues its indifferent rhythm, completely unaware that the slow dismantling of Fadir Klem has just begun in earnest.
Somewhere in the rain-soaked warehouse district, Fadir is already panicking, and I’m sure calculating how much damage this one impulsive rescue has cost him.
He has no idea how much more is coming.
***
The private elevator hums upward in near silence, the only sound the soft mechanical whir and the faint, unevenrhythm of Anja’s breathing beside me. When the doors slide open directly into the penthouse foyer, she hesitates on the threshold. Her eyes widen despite herself.
