Page 14

CHAPTER 14

Sabrina

“Why are you doing this?” My voice drops. I can’t stop the tremble. “Because I said no to your help with Tara? Is your ego that fragile?”

Something flickers in his eyes—but it’s gone too fast.

“You asked for my trust last night,” I continue, forcing the words out through the knot in my throat. “You told me you’d never hurt me. But I guess that promise only applied inside your precious pleasure zone. Out here in the real world, you’re someone else entirely—just like you warned me.”

He doesn’t deny it. His jaw is tight. Silent.

“But I’m not like you. I don’t have two versions of myself. I’m still Sabrina—whether I’m in the bedroom or not. I only have one heart. One soul. One trust. And you shattered it.”

I draw a breath, my voice breaking. “I’m not your toy to control. I’m a mother. A dancer. A woman with a mind and dreams. I’m not someone you get to break for fun.”

His eyes darken. But he doesn’t step back.

“All you have to do is apologize,” he says quietly, “and this will all go away. Then we can go into my office and discuss the terms of your new job. One where you can spend time with Elena, and never have to dance for strangers again.”

And there it is, he already sees me as his possession.

It was never about helping me. It was about owning me. Controlling me.

“No,” I whisper. Then louder. “No.” I watch his face twitch at the word. “There—I said it again. No.”

“This will not end well for you, Sabrina,” he warns, low and dangerous.

“Or maybe it won’t end well for you.”

My phone buzzes. Right on time.

I hold up a hand to silence Oleksi, loving the way his nostrils flare with irritation. Good. Let him simmer.

I swipe to answer, my voice smooth. “Ciao, Marco.”

“Rina, mia piccola ballerina,” he says, warmth and mischief rolling off his tongue. “è fatto. Dovresti avere quello che hai chiesto, adesso.”

“Grazie, Marco,” I murmur. “E sai cosa fare... se ne avrò bisogno?”

There’s a pause, then his voice drops to that dark promise I remember all too well.

“One word from you,” he says in English, slow and deliberate, “and it’s done.”

I smile as I end the call and slide my phone back into my purse. When I lift my eyes to Oleksi, he’s already watching me with suspicion burning behind those stormy blues.

Perfect. Something dark and satisfying tugs at me—vindication peppered with a dash of spite and a whole lot of triumph. Which I know I’m going to regret later as I’m none of these things but it seems last night it wasn’t just my dark desire Oleksi freed—it was my darker ego.

“You’ve joined the mob?” Oleksi sneers. “You know they’re more afraid of me than I am of them. I doubt they’d start a war with my family over our little spat.”

“Not everyone who speaks Italian is in the mob,” I reply coldly. “That’s just stereotyping.”

I ignore how easily he’s belittled what he’s done to me by calling it a little spat. I’m already far too angry to test the limits of my temper any further—and for the first time in my life, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned actually makes sense to me. And this prick is about to have my fury unleashed on him.

I step closer, rolling up my sleeves. “Besides, I don’t need the mob to help me with this. I don’t need the help of any gangster .”

I show him my wrists—faint, blooming bruises wrapping around them like his mark.

“You see,” I say, “the law protects me too.”

His brows knit. I continue without giving him time to comment.

“You restrained me. I have bruising consistent with bondage. That, combined with what you did today, could be argued as coercive retaliation—especially with the imbalance of power between us. You're a Bratva prince with empire-level reach. I’m a dancer with a kid.”

His mouth opens, but I cut him off.

“If I take this to a prosecutor and spin the narrative the right way? It becomes assault. Possibly false imprisonment. And let’s not forget defamation—intentional infliction of emotional distress. Sabotaging my employment using planted evidence?” I give him a slow, sweet smile. “That’s defamation per se, Oleksi. You don’t even need a conviction for that to destroy your reputation. Accusing someone falsely of a crime—especially theft—is actionable by law.”

His smirk falters.

“What proof do you have?”

“Glad you asked.”

I pull out my phone, tap the screen, and hold it up. The video plays.

Oleksi’s face drains of color.

It’s Ivan—clear as day—on surveillance footage, slipping into my dressing room with a bag. Moments later, he moves my costume rack and tucks something behind the clothes.

“That doesn’t prove it was me,” he mutters.

I swipe again. New footage.

Ivan stands outside the Golden Stage hallway. Oleksi steps into frame, all six-foot-something of arrogant mobster king. The audio crackles, but it’s clean.

“Is it done?” Oleksi asks.

“Yes, I hid the evidence in Sabrina’s costume wardrobe,” Ivan confirms.

“Good. Let’s go tell Heather Gold that one of her dancers seduced me and stole my shit.”

Oleksi blinks. His jaw ticks once. Twice.

“You should know,” I say softly, “before you throw around words like illegal surveillance—that footage was legally obtained. You tripped motion sensors the moment Ivan stepped up to my dressing room door. The surveillance system was installed for my safety—after my mother was attacked by a masked man in her dressing room at the Ember Club.”

I keep my tone cool, but firm. “Heather Gold, Sam, Nikolas… they were all worried I’d be next. So they installed motion-activated cameras outside and inside certain areas of my dressing room,” I add pointedly. “I signed the consent form inside my dressing room. Just outside of it, the hotel has full legal right to monitor for safety.”

He opens his mouth, clearly ready to argue.

I hold up a hand. “Wait, I’m not done.”

One more swipe, and the final video plays.

This one shows him tying my wrists with the curtain cord. His voice—clear, distinct—commanded me to hold still, to do a lot of other nasty things. No face shown on mine, but it’s clearly me. The bruises are clear. The submission is clear. But the context? Oh, that’s the fun part. It’s been altered just enough to make it look non-consensual. Marco’s that good.

Oleksi’s eyes snap to mine. His voice is quiet but sharp.

“Where the fuck did you get this?”

I tilt my head. “You know Heather doesn’t trust just anyone with her penthouse, right?”

He frowns.

“You signed a waiver at check-in, Oleksi. All guests staying in the hotel’s highest suite consent to security oversight due to the value of the furnishings and art. You probably skimmed over it in your arrogance, but the fine print is airtight.” I smile. “I know. I wrote it. Heather asked me to look over the hotel’s liability clauses last year.”

He steps forward. “I can still get around this.”

“Maybe,” I reply. “But even if you do… the damage is already done. You’ll have a hell of a lot of explaining and cleaning up to do.”

His nostrils flare. “You’re not scared, standing here in my den, showing me this?”

“Yes,” I admit, my voice low but steady. “I won’t pretend I’m not petrified.” I swallow, unashamed of the truth. “You’ve made it very clear what you’re capable of.”

Then I lift my chin, meeting his gaze dead-on as I deliver the coup de grace.

“But do you remember that call I took earlier?”

He freezes. A flicker of recognition flashes across his face.

“If Marco doesn’t hear from me in an hour…” I let it hang, letting the weight of the threat settle between us. “Let’s just say several government agencies—ones desperate to bring your family down—will get everything I have. And trust me, what I have is enough to bury you in investigations for years.” I take a slow breath. “And by now, Marco’s gathered even more. He’s not going to stop until he’s certain I’m okay.”

I lower my voice, calm and razor-sharp. “Oh, you won’t have any luck trying to find him. Not even the CIA can. When they need him, he finds them. He’s untraceable. Off the grid. And he doesn’t scare easily.”

“Yet he called you.” Oleksi says as if he’s tripped me up.

I nod. “Yes. Because he’s that confident he’ll never be found. Just like you’ll probably never see daylight again if he decides you’re a threat.”

“Congratulations, Sabrina.” He grits his teeth. “We’re at a stalemate.”

“No,” I say, stepping closer. “This isn’t a stalemate, Oleksi. This is checkmate.”

His eyes burn into mine.

“I’m not proud of having to stoop to your level,” I say, feeling my voice wobble but I don’t care. I want him to know what he’s done. Not that the fucking bastard will care. “But you left me no choice.” Tears start to burn the back of my eyes and it mortifies me at how quickly this man got under my skin. “When I walk out of here,” I continue, “you will not lay a hand on my mother. Or on Heather Gold. You started this war, and dragged them into it. They have nothing to do with what’s between us. You will leave me the fuck alone and not go near my sister when I find her.” I glance at Syd who has not said a word this whole time. “And you’ll call off your British bitch—I’m tired of her tailing me like I’m some flight risk.”

Syd blinks from behind him, stunned that I knew she’d been tailing me for over a week.

Oleksi doesn’t answer. He just watches me.

I spin on my heel and walk to the elevator, hoping he doesn’t see how my legs tremble. I hold myself together until I reach my car. Once I’m out of the Diamond Hotel’s reach, I pull into a quiet spot near the block and burst into tears.

I don’t cry because I lost my job. I cry because I now know exactly what he’s capable of.

And the worst part?

I still wanted him to be someone different.

But this is who he really is. And I’ll never forget it.