Page 7

The study is dimly lit, a single lamp casting a golden glow over the dark wood of my desk. The faint scent of leather and old books lingers in the air, mixing with the remnants of whiskey in the glass beside me. I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping absently against the armrest, my thoughts drifting where they shouldn’t.

Julie Spade. She doesn’t fit.

I expected a Spade to be ruthless, sharp-edged, as cold as the father who built their empire. But Julie? She’s something else entirely. Innocent. Na?ve. Foolish enough to think she could escape me.

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose. The image of her trembling by the window lingers—her back pressed against the glass, wide, terrified eyes locked on mine as she realized she’d been caught.

She had hope for a moment. I took it away.

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips.

Foolish as she is, I have to admit there’s something about her that intrigues me. She’s soft, all wide-eyed defiance and misplaced bravery. Even when she was in pain, barely holding herself together, she still had the nerve to challenge me.

Her reaction to the documents in my office was telling. The moment she saw her family’s involvement in my uncle’s murder, she broke. Not in the way someone guilty would.

Not in the way someone prepared for that truth would. No, she was shocked, frightened, as if she truly had no idea what was happening, or why. Like she had been stabbed in the back for the first time.

I don’t know if she’s lying to herself or if she’s truly ignorant of the Spade family’s dealings. Either way, it doesn’t matter. She belongs to me now.

My phone vibrates on the desk, pulling me from my thoughts. The number flashing across the screen is unknown, but I don’t hesitate before answering.

I already have a feeling about who it is.

I lift the phone to my ear. “Sharov.”

There’s silence for a beat. Then, “You have something that belongs to us.”

Sophia Spade.

Her voice is sharp, smooth as glass and just as dangerous.

I lean forward slightly, grinning. “I have a lot of things that belong to people. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play games with me,” she snaps. “I know you took Julie. I also know you’re trying to use her as leverage.”

I chuckle, swirling the remaining whiskey in my glass. “What exactly do you think I want from this, hmm? A trade? A favor?” I pause, letting my voice dip lower. “Or maybe I just enjoy having her here.”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. “You don’t scare me, Sharov.”

“That’s a shame,” I murmur. “Most people find me terrifying.”

“Cut the bullshit,” she spits. “I didn’t kill anyone, and Julie sure as hell has nothing to do with this. If you have a problem with my father, then deal with him. Leave her out of it.”

I let the silence drag, reveling in the way she’s trying so hard to control the situation.

“I… don’t?”

A pause. Then, her voice drops, deadly. “Then I’ll make you regret it.”

The amusement fades slightly from my expression, though my grin remains. “Big words for someone who couldn’t even keep their own sister safe,” I taunt.

“She’s not my responsibility,” she bites back.

I hum in interest. Not my responsibility. There it is again—that subtle distance she keeps from Julie, the way she separates herself.

I lean back in my chair, considering her. “Why so concerned, then?” I press.

Another beat of silence. Then she exhales sharply. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Mm,” I hum, unconvinced. “Yet here you are, calling me in the middle of the night, demanding her return. Forgive me if I don’t believe this is just about family loyalty.”

Sophia doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she lowers her voice. “Let her go, Sharov. Or I’ll make sure this war you think you’re starting? Ends with you in the ground.”

I chuckle darkly. “Now that,” I say, swirling the whiskey in my glass, “I’d like to see.”

The call disconnects, but the weight of her words lingers. I stare at the phone for a moment before setting it down, my fingers drumming against the wood of the desk.

So Sophia denies killing Valeri. Interesting. I don’t believe her, but I do believe that she’s hiding something. I have just the person to help me find out what it is.

I glance at my study door, and imagine beyond to the cold room where Julie sits, trapped in a world she doesn’t fully understand.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

I don’t look up right away. My mind is still tangled with Sophia’s threats, with the layers of deception that seem to stretch deeper than I initially expected. I don’t believe her denial of Valeri’s murder, but something about the way she spoke… it wasn’t just lies. It was calculated. Like she was steering me away from something bigger.

The knock comes again, firmer this time.

My jaw tightens. What now? “Enter,” I say, my voice edged with irritation.

The door swings open, and one of the household staff—a woman whose name I don’t bother remembering—steps in hesitantly, hands clasped in front of her. She keeps her gaze lowered, the way they always do.

“Sir,” she says, her voice careful, as if bracing for my reaction. “It’s about… Miss Spade.”

I arch a brow, setting my whiskey glass down. “What about her?”

The maid hesitates, shifting her weight slightly. “She’s… unwell.”

I exhale through my nose, my irritation sharpening. Julie Spade is a problem I do not have time for. Not tonight. Not when I have Sophia circling like a vulture, waiting for the moment I slip.

I rub my temple, already regretting what I’m about to say. “What do you mean unwell?”

“She hasn’t eaten since she arrived,” the maid says carefully. “She barely drinks water. When I checked in to clean, she was curled up on the floor. She looked feverish.”

I tap my fingers against the desk. “She’s not my concern.”

The woman swallows. “Yes, sir, but if she’s sick, she’s no use to you.”

That gives me pause. I don’t need Julie to be comfortable. I don’t care if she’s scared, miserable, desperate. If she’s weak—if she wastes away before I can use her, before I can break her—then she becomes worthless.

That , I do care about.

I push back from my chair, standing with a slow, measured breath. My initial irritation simmers beneath the surface, but I force myself to shove it aside. Julie Spade is a pawn, a means to an end, but she is my pawn.

She won’t slip through my fingers that easily.

I glance at the maid. “Send someone to bring food to her room. Something light—broth, tea. If she doesn’t eat, force it.”

The woman nods quickly, turning to leave, but I stop her with a low voice.

“I’ll check on her myself.”

I don’t go to her right away.

A part of me wants to. Not because I care—not because her suffering stirs anything in me—but because she’s mine to control. Control isn’t just about force. It’s about timing. If I go now, she’ll still have that spark of defiance buried beneath her pain. She’ll still see me as her enemy, her captor.

If I wait? If I let her suffer a little longer—let her body weaken, let the hunger twist in her stomach, let the fever cloud her thoughts—then when I finally step in, when I give her food, medicine, relief….

She’ll be grateful. Or at least, she’ll need me, and that’s the beginning of something I can use.

I take my time, pouring another glass of whiskey and sinking back into my chair. The firelight flickers across the rim of the glass as I swirl the liquid absently. My mind drifts, but not to Julie—not yet.

Sophia.

She was angry. Not just the forced kind of anger people wield when they want to seem in control. Real anger. Controlled, sharp, dangerous.

She’s not a threat—not yet. That doesn’t mean she’s harmless.

I set my glass down and reach for my phone, pressing the call button.

Ivan answers immediately. “Boss?”

“Come to my study,” I say. “Now.”

A brief pause, then, “On my way.”

I hang up, exhaling slowly as I tap my fingers against the desk. I know Ivan won’t question the urgency. He’s been with me long enough to know when I call, it isn’t without reason.

Minutes later, there’s a sharp knock at the door.

“Enter.”

Ivan steps in, his movements precise as always. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “What is it?”

I lean back, studying him. “Call for the doctor again. Julie’s condition is deteriorating.”

Ivan blinks, then scoffs. “You’re worried about her?”

“No,” I say smoothly, “I don’t intend to let her die before she serves her purpose.”

His lip twitches in mild amusement, but he nods. “I’ll call the doctor.”

I swirl my whiskey, watching the way the firelight dances across the glass. “Make sure he keeps it quiet. No fuss. She doesn’t need to think anyone actually cares.”

Ivan rolls his eyes slightly. “Of course.”

I take a slow sip before shifting the conversation. “Sophia Spade called me tonight.”

That gets his full attention. His posture stiffens slightly, his gaze sharpening. “And?”

“She’s exactly what I expected,” I say, setting the glass down. “Arrogant. Confident. Thinks she’s untouchable.”

Ivan tilts his head. “So she’s not a problem?”

“Not yet,” I admit. “She’s capable.”

Ivan crosses his arms. “What do you want to do about it?”

“Keep an eye on her,” I murmur. “She’ll make her move eventually. When she does….” I drain the rest of my whiskey. “I’ll be ready.”

Ivan leans against the desk, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. “You shouldn’t underestimate her.”

I smirk, swirling the last drops of whiskey in my glass. “You think I would?”

“I think,” Ivan says slowly, “that if she really did have Valeri killed, then she’s capable of hurting us too.”

The amusement lingers on my lips, but something sharp twists in my chest at the mention of my uncle. A reminder. A wound still bleeding beneath my skin.

“Sophia Spade doesn’t scare me,” I say flatly, setting the glass down with a soft clink .

“No,” Ivan mutters, “but she should concern you.”

“She’s concerned about me,” I counter. “She called me in a rage because I have her sister. That tells me she’s emotional. Unbalanced.”

Ivan exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You think she called because she cares about Julie?”

I pause for a beat, considering. “I think she called because she doesn’t.”

Ivan watches me carefully. “Go on.”

I tap my fingers against the desk, my mind running through the conversation I had with Sophia, the way she spoke, the little shifts in her tone. “There was no panic in her voice. No desperation. She demanded Julie’s return like she was negotiating a business deal, not begging for her family.” I glance up at him. “That means Julie isn’t important to her—not really.”

Ivan nods slowly. “So if Julie dies, she won’t care.”

“Exactly.”

“If Julie suffers?”

I smile. “That,” I murmur, “might be something different.”

Ivan tilts his head, considering. “You think Julie’s more valuable as leverage than as a corpse?”

“She’s more valuable as something,” I say. “We just have to figure out what.”

Ivan shifts, his gaze darkening slightly. “If Sophia really was behind Valeri’s death, she had to know what that would mean. That the Bratva would come for her.”

“She was prepared for retaliation,” I agree.

“Which means she’ll be prepared for you.”

I let out a low chuckle, standing to pour another drink. “Let her be.”

Ivan doesn’t look convinced. “You sound like you’re enjoying this.”

I glance at him as I take a sip, the whiskey burning smooth down my throat. “Betrayal was my father’s favorite thing, Ivan. Mine?” I glare. “Revenge.”

Ivan exhales, shaking his head. “One day, that’s going to get you killed.”

“Maybe,” I murmur, my gaze flicking toward the dark window. “Not today.”

Ivan watches me for a moment, then exhales sharply, pushing off the desk. “Just don’t get cocky, Mikhail. Revenge is a slow game. You move too fast, and you end up the one bleeding.”

I grin, tilting my head slightly. “Worried about me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Worried about getting caught in your mess.”

I chuckle, finishing the last of my whiskey before setting the glass down. The weight of this conversation should press heavier on my shoulders, but it doesn’t. Maybe Ivan is right to be cautious, but I’ve never been the kind of man to fear the unknown.

Sophia might be dangerous, but so am I. I always get what I want.

Ivan runs a hand down his face before straightening. “I’ll make arrangements,” he says, his tone clipped, resigned. “Extra eyes on Sophia. More people rotating security here. I’ll deal with the doctor’s visit quietly.”

I nod, already dismissing him in my mind as I glance toward the clock. The evening has stretched long, and I’ve allowed too much of my night to be consumed by thoughts of revenge, of strategy.

Julie Spade lingers at the edges of those thoughts. Still waiting. Still suffering. I think it’s finally time I remind her of what she is now.

“Good,” I say, straightening. “You know where to find me.”

Ivan doesn’t need further instruction. He strides toward the door, pulling it open and slipping into the hallway, his steps fading into the distance.

I take my time getting up, rolling my shoulders before adjusting the cuffs of my shirt. Every motion is careful and focused. Because now, I’m ready.

Julie Spade might think she knows fear. She might think she’s seen the worst of me, but she hasn’t.

Not even close.

I leave the study, my steps quiet against the wooden floor as I move through the dimly lit hallways of my home. The house is still, wrapped in a heavy kind of silence that only deepens as I approach her door.

The two guards stationed outside straighten as I approach, their eyes flicking to me for instruction. I don’t acknowledge them. I don’t have to.

I rest my hand on the doorknob, feeling the cool metal beneath my palm.

Then, without hesitation, I push it open.