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I came home and found him sitting in my chair. In the dark. My roommate was unconscious on the floor and the deadbolt was still locked from inside. Viktor Petrov — the Bratva’s most dangerous strategist, the man I believed murdered my parents — looked at me like I’d kept him waiting. He didn’t explain. He didn’t apologize. He told me my roommate was a spy, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me out screaming. Now I’m in his penthouse. Locked elevators. Armed guards. Cameras in every hallway. He says I’m not his prisoner. But the man who watches me sleep every night isn’t my protector either.