I'm not a property.

Anya pov.

His gaze pinned me in place, sharp and unreadable. I felt like prey caught in the sights of a predator.

I wanted to look away, to find something—anything—that would make me feel less vulnerable. But Viktor’s dark eyes held mine with a silent command, daring me to break first.

It wasn't as if this was my first time witnessing someone being killed, but it was with the authorities.

“What do you want?” I stammered again, my voice cracking, betraying the fear clawing at my throat.

He took another step forward, and I pressed myself harder against the wall, but there was nowhere to go.

His closeness was suffocating, making it impossible to think straight. His gaze remained on me, intense and unyielding, as if he could peel away my defenses with a single look.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around,” he said softly, almost dangerously.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to steady my breathing. “You can’t just keep me locked up,” I managed, each word shaking with defiance. “I’m not a…prisoner here. I didn’t ask to be dragged into this!”

Viktor’s expression didn’t waver, but something in his eyes flickered—something darker, colder.

“A prisoner?” he repeated, voice low. “You’re here because I bought you, Anya. Don’t confuse your situation.”

My heart pounded in my chest, anger mixing with fear. “You had no right,” I spat back, hating how weak I sounded. “No one does. I’m not property.”

His gaze softened, just barely, and for a moment, he looked almost human. “Rights?” he said, with a bitter edge in his voice. “Rights don’t exist in my world.”

I wanted to shove him, to scream, to fight back, but he was close—too close. His presence felt as immovable as a wall. My mind raced, searching for something, some piece of control I could turn back.

“You can try to control me all you want,” I whispered, the words trembling on my lips, “but you’ll never break me.”

Viktor’s lips twisted into a slight smirk, though there was no humor in it. “That sounds like a challenge.”

He lifted a hand, and I tensed as his fingers brushed along my cheek, tracing a line so soft it was almost gentle.

I felt a surge of heat in my veins, betraying every warning my mind screamed at me.

“Be careful with your words, Anya,” he murmured. “They have a way of coming back to haunt you.”

The touch stayed for a heartbeat longer than it should have, and then he stepped back, and as much as I hated to admit, I missed his touch.

I felt a shaky breath escape me as he turned toward the door. “You shouldn't be wandering about in places you're not supposed to, you might be overwhelmed.” he said over his shoulder.

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with my pounding heart and the realization that I might be losing control in more ways than one.

I sank against the wall, my legs finally giving way. My skin still tingled from where his fingers had touched, and I hated myself for it.

This was my captor, my enemy, and he wanted to control me—to break me. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

I pulled myself to my feet, I wasn't going to break. He might have the power to hold me here, but I’d find a way to resist. No one was going to tell me what I could or couldn’t do—not even him.

I closed my bathroom door behind me, I couldn't believe amafia lord bought me.

I had always heard rumors about the mafia running things in Moscow, but I’d brushed them off as urban legends.

I had always seen men running businesses and there was no sign of mafia presence.

Celine.

My heart thumped furiously at the thought of what was going on with her? Who bought her? What was she made to do?

Celine had always been the naive, nerdy girl, not half as strong as I was. My eyes stung, tears forming before I could stop them.

No one knew where I was or where the rest of the women ended up. Viktor’s confidence told me no one was going to look for us, either.

Mom, I thought, feeling the ache deep in my chest. She’d be worried sick. I don’t go this long without sending her an email.

I had known Celine since I was 20 years old. Even though we hadn't seen each other, our relationship was strong and when I had to leave America a year ago, I came straight to her place.

And since she enjoyed working in the club, I joined. I was 29 years old, so mom didn't need to worry about my whereabouts but I emailed her occasionally.

My dad was a traveler, he didn't stay at home frequently and we didn't see eye to eye, reason? I don't have an idea.

But that aside. I needed to get the hell out of here. I need to save Celine and the others.

But how?

My mind raced, thinking of any way I could escape. I was so tired, both in my body and my mind. All I wanted was to feel…normal, even if just for a second.

With a sigh, I stood up and started to strip out of my clothes, thinking a hot bath might ease some of the tension. But just as I turned toward the bathroom, the door to my room swung open without a knock or warning.

The second time that day.

My heart stopped, and I clutched my shirt against my chest, trying to cover myself. Viktor stood in the doorway, his dark gaze sweeping over me, lingering just a little too long.

A smirk played on his lips, a smug, knowing look that made my skin crawl. He’d seen everything. Every fucking thing.

Heat rushed to my face, a mix of anger and humiliation boiling over. “Why do you think you can just barge in here?” I snapped, gripping the fabric tighter. “I locked the door!”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his smirk not fading. His eyes were fixed on mine, unflinching. “Locked?” he said low and taunting. “Even if you locked it tightly, Anya, I’d open it with a click.”

It was then I realized that there must be an invisible lock he controlled to grant him access to my room even if I locked it.

My throat tightened with frustration and fear, but I forced myself to stand tall.

“Get out,” I said, trying to sound firm, though my voice wavered. “I want to take a bath.”

For a second, I thought he might listen, but his expression darkened. He crossed the room in two swift steps, his hand darting out to snatch the shirt from my grasp.

I gasped as the cloth was torn from my hands, leaving me completely exposed.

I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body tensing as I fought to keep the tears from welling up. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You belong to me, Anya,” he said, his gaze cold and strict as it roamed over me. “I’ll see you whenever, however and wherever I want.”

I bit my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat, trying to keep my breathing steady. Anger flared up, but I felt trapped—helpless. I could still hear the gunshot and the blood spilling. He could do the same to me.

“You can’t just…do that,” I whispered, trying to hold my voice together.

He took a step back, his smirk still in place but his eyes were dark and challenging. “You’d better understand, Anya. Here, you have no control.”

And with that, he turned, leaving me standing there, cold and vulnerable, my chest heaving with need, anger and humiliation.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I felt the tears slip down my cheeks despite all my efforts to hold them back.

I swiped them away, hating myself for being weak, for letting him see me like this. But one thing was certain—I wouldn’t let him break me.

As I slumped onto the bed, my mind raced, a million questions pounding in my head like a relentless drumbeat.

What did he mean when he said I had no control here?

Why was he so intent on keeping me close, making me feel this helpless?