The city didn't sleep.
It pulsed — restless, hungry, and unbothered by the rain that poured down in sheets. Leah Donwit clutched her jacket tighter as she hurried down the nearly empty street, muttering at herself for staying late at work again. The café lights behind her dimmed as the owner locked up, leaving her alone with the echo of traffic and the faint sound of thunder.
Her shoes splashed against puddles as she crossed the alley — a shortcut she'd taken a hundred times before. But tonight, it wasn't empty.
A black car was parked midway down, sleek and wrong in this part of town. Its headlights were off, but she could see silhouettes — tall men, tense movements, and the glint of something metallic under the streetlight.
Her breath hitched. She froze.
Then she heard it — a sound no one should ever hear so close.
A gunshot.
Leah's scream caught in her throat. She stumbled backward, heart slamming against her ribs, but before she could run, a voice cut through the rain — low, cold, and smooth like whiskey over ice.
"Don't move."
She turned slowly, her pulse roaring in her ears.
He stepped out of the shadows — tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man that looked born to command. The black of his suit was immaculate despite the rain, his eyes sharp and emotionless. The air around him was suffocating.
"Who are you?" he asked, his accent faint but unmistakably Eastern European.
"I— I didn't see anything," Leah stammered, backing away.
He smirked — a dangerous, knowing curve of his lips. "That's a lie."
He took a step closer. Then another. She caught the faint scent of his cologne — cedarwood, smoke, and something darker. He studied her face like he was memorizing it, like she'd just become something… important.
"What's your name?"
"Leah." Her voice barely came out.
"Leah," he repeated slowly, as if testing how it sounded on his tongue. "You just made my night very complicated."
And before she could run — before she could even think — his men had surrounded her. Leah's wrists were cold from the zip ties. Her breath fogged the tinted windows of the car, her pulse still erratic from what she'd seen — or what she thought she'd seen. Every sound outside felt amplified: the rain against metal, the hum of the engine, the quiet murmur of men who didn't need to raise their voices to be obeyed.
She didn't belong here. She knew that.
Across from her sat him — Adrian Volkov. His name she'd only just learned when one of the men had slipped and called him Boss. The name didn't ring any bells, but something about the way they said it made her blood chill.
He hadn't said a word since they'd left the alley. Just sat there, watching her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Leah swallowed hard. "Look, I swear, I didn't see anything. I just— wrong place, wrong time."
His eyes flicked to her, sharp and unbothered. "You saw me, Leah. That's enough."
She hated the way he said her name. Smooth. Controlled. Like he owned it.
"Please," she tried again, voice trembling, "I won't tell anyone. I don't even know what happened—"
Adrian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't take chances."
Her heart sank. "So what, you're gonna kill me?"
Something flashed in his eyes — amusement, maybe. Then that same cruel smirk. "If I wanted to, you'd already be dead."
The car came to a stop. The door opened, rain immediately spilling in. One of his men nodded. "We're here, boss."
Adrian stood first, straightened his suit, and looked down at her. "Welcome to your new reality, Leah Donwit."
He offered a gloved hand — not gently, not cruelly, just firmly. And despite every instinct screaming not to, she took it.
The mansion loomed ahead — dark, sprawling, with iron gates and guards that moved like ghosts. Inside, everything smelled expensive and dangerous. The air felt heavy, like secrets clung to the walls.
Adrian walked ahead without looking back. "You'll stay here until I decide what to do with you."
She followed, trying to keep her voice steady. "You can't just—"
He stopped abruptly, turning so fast she nearly collided with him. His hand shot out, gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
"Don't tell me what I can or can't do," he said softly, almost a whisper. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."
Her heart pounded. Their eyes met — his dark, unreadable; hers wide, frightened but defiant.
"Then tell me," she whispered. "Who am I dealing with?"
He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing her jaw before he let go.
"I'm the man who decides whether you live or die. "