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My brother eyes me suspiciously. “Why are you so worried about him all of a sudden?”
I realize I can’t hide things much longer if he’s already suspicious. I take a deep breath, deciding to confide in my brother fully.
"Viktor, there's something I need to tell you."
My heart skips a beat as my phone vibrates, the screen lighting up with Samuil's name. But it isn’t a regular call—it's a FaceTime request. That’s odd. Samuil never FaceTime’s me. Ever. Inhaling sharply, I answer the call.
Immediately, my heart feels like it's been squeezed in a vice. Samuil, looking more vulnerable than I've ever seen him, is tied to a chair in a dimly lit room. His face is swollen and bloody, dark bruises marring his skin, his clothes stained with crimsonred. My stomach churns with a mixture of dread and fear. My grip on the phone tightens to the point where I'm afraid I might crush it.
A cruel face appears next to Samuil's—Radu Popescu. His smirk makes my blood boil. "Good evening, Anastasia. Hope we didn't interrupt anything too important," he says with mock politeness, glancing briefly at Samuil's battered face. My heart races as I try to figure out what to say, how to gain control of the situation.
"You filthy bastards! Let him go!" My voice trembles, and my eyes are burning with anger.
Radu snickers, brushing his fingers across Samuil's face, causing him to flinch. "Oh, we will. But only if you do exactly as we say."
"What do you want?"
"It’s simple," Radu says, leaning into the camera. "You will compete in the Death Match fight. But know that if you don't show up or if you try any tricks, we'll finish what we started with Samuil here. And trust me, you won't like the pieces you'll get in return."
I can barely breathe. Viktor is sitting next to me, clenching his fists, his knuckles white. I can see the anger flashing in his eyes, the realization dawning on him.
"That's them," he whispers, voice shaking with fury. "They're the ones who did this to me."
My thoughts race. I have to think of something, find a way out. I glance back at the screen, and Samuil’s eyes lock onto mine, the pain in them evident, along with determination.
"Don't do it, Ana," he rasps out, his voice weak but steady. Radu slaps him, and the screen jostles a bit. I feel a pang of fear and anger.
Radu's face fills the screen again, his cold eyes analyzing my every move. "Clock's ticking, Anastasia. You have a fight to prepare for."
With that, the screen goes black. The room is eerily silent as I process what just happened. My head spins, anger, fear, and desperation making it hard to think. But one thing is clear: I need to figure out a plan, and fast.
When I turn to face Viktor, I find his eyes sharp and filled with a mixture of fury, pain, and a deep understanding. It's clear he's put the pieces together, recognizing the depth of my relationship with Samuil.
"I should've told you," I begin, struggling for words. The sterile hospital lights make everything seem more exposed, more vulnerable.
Viktor's gaze never wavers from mine. "You and Samuil?"
I nod, my throat constricting. "We've gotten close. Closer than I ever imagined. And I didn't know how to tell you."
A pensive silence follows my confession. After what seems like an eternity, Viktor finally speaks, his voice soft, "You should've come to me, Ana. Always."
The weight of his disappointment hits me harder than any blow I've taken in the ring. I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat. "I'm sorry."
Viktor's eyes soften, but they remain filled with urgency. "Apologies later. Right now, we need to act."
"You're right," I agree, determination flooding me. "We need to involve the family. Andrei needs to know what’s happening."
I quickly pull up Andrei's number, each ring echoing the drumming of my heartbeat.
The line connects, and his voice, deep and controlled, resonates in my ear. "Ana? It's late. What's wrong?"
The concern in his tone is evident, a testament to the deep ties that bind our family. I hurriedly detail the situation—Samuil's capture, the Romanians' demands, and our dire predicament.
Silence follows my outpouring, and I can almost picture Andrei, his brow furrowed in thought, planning our next move.
"We'll handle this," he finally states, the hard edge in his voice promising retribution. "Gather everyone you trust. We're meeting at the base in an hour."
A wave of gratitude washes over me. "Thank you, Andrei. We'll be there."
