The rumors said he was dead. They lied.
Because I was brought to this house for one reason: to keep Viktor Morozov alive. The injured mafia heir in front of me is the most dangerous thing in this room. Even from a bed, he owns the space.
Even wounded, he owns me. I’ve never looked at a man this way. I’ve never wanted one to touch me. But he doesn’t ask for permission. He takes what he wants. Now, I don’t have a choice.
Someone in this house is a traitor. He knows it. Now, I know it too. The doors are guarded. The debt is unpaid. And I’m not allowed to leave.
In this house, I don’t know which of us is truly captured.
