CRYSTAL ELIZA DIMITRI POV...
The morning sun seeped through the curtains, casting a dull glow across the room as I slipped out of Vera's bed. I had stayed with her last night-she was restless, worried about Ivan and Egor's absence. I had whispered reassurances, chased away her darkest thoughts, and lulled her into sleep. In the end, I had succumbed to exhaustion myself.
But now, as I stepped back into my own room, sleep was the last thing on my mind.
My breath hitched.
He was there.
The monster himself.
Seated on my bed like he belonged there, legs crossed, phone in hand-completely at ease, like he hadn't nearly destroyed me before. His dark eyes flicked up, meeting mine with that quiet, suffocating intensity that always stripped the air from my lungs.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to move, shutting the door with a trembling hand before cautiously making my way toward him. Each step felt like I was descending into hell.
"Master..."
He barely glanced up. "Sit."
I obeyed without hesitation, lowering myself beside him. The space between us felt nonexistent. His presence alone was a cage, locking me in.
"Master?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
That was when he turned, hand wrapping around my throat in a deliberate, unhurried motion. Not enough to choke-just enough to remind me that he could.
"I once asked you about the connection between you and Samira," he murmured, his voice almost gentle, almost deceptive. "What did you say?"
My pulse hammered. "I-I d-don't k-know her."
His fingers tightened.
The pressure crushed my throat like a vice. I clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but it was useless-his grip remained unyielding. My vision blurred, my lungs screamed for air, and just as my body began to fail me, he released me.
I collapsed forward, gasping, coughing, struggling to drag oxygen back into my burning lungs.
A chuckle.
"Baby doll," he purred, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, "I hate being lied to. We're married. We should learn to be honest with each other, don't you think?"
You sick bastard. Go to hell. I will never be your wife.
But I didn't dare say it.
Instead, I flinched when he pushed me down, my back hitting the mattress. My pulse skyrocketed as he yanked up my oversized hoodie, exposing the canvas of scars he had left behind.
His gaze darkened, his smirk cutting through me like a blade. "You look so beautiful with my marks all over your body."
I shuddered. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as I fought back the wave of nausea rising in my throat.
Tears burned at the edges of my vision. How could someone be this cruel? How could anyone take pleasure in another's suffering?
"Baby doll," he murmured, tilting his head. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"
I shook my head frantically.
His smirk widened. Without warning, he scooped me up and carried me into the bathroom.
"No-please-" I struggled, but his grip was unshakable. The cold tiles met my bare feet as he set me down before the mirror.
I clenched my eyes shut. "Please don't make me do this. I don't want to see-I don't-"
"Hush now," he cooed mockingly, lips brushing against my ear. "Your body is more beautiful with my scars on you."
His fingers dug into my chin, forcing my face up toward the mirror.
"Now open your eyes," he whispered.
I shook my head violently.
His grip tightened. "Open them, or I won't think twice about stabbing them out."
A shudder ran through me. My breath came in shallow gasps, fear coiling in my gut like a living thing.
Slowly-hesitantly-I obeyed.
The smirk that curled on his lips sent ice through my veins. He had been waiting for this moment. Anticipating it. Relishing it.
Slowly, almost reverently, he reached for the hem of my hoodie.
I flinched but didn't move. There was no point in resisting.
The fabric peeled away from my skin, the cold air prickling against my exposed flesh. Silent tears streaked down my cheeks as the final layer of comfort was stripped from me.
His eyes darkened, roaming over the carnage he had painted onto my body.
A deep, jagged cut ran from my neck down to my navel-an unholy signature, claiming me in ways I could never erase. Smaller slashes decorated my arms, my ribs, my thighs. Scars in various stages of healing marred what had once been untouched, what I had once cherished.
I had adored my body. Now I couldn't even bear to look at it.
"You're trembling," he murmured, almost fascinated. His fingers traced the raw lines with a featherlight touch, sending fresh waves of nausea roiling through me.
I sucked in a breath, willing myself to disappear. To sink into the cold tiles beneath my feet and never resurface.
Then his smirk deepened.
"Your tears turn me on, baby doll," he whispered against my ear, voice thick with depravity. "I want to fuck you."
A hollow, distant part of me registered the words.
I didn't have the strength to fight. Didn't have the will to beg.
I was nothing more than a broken doll in his hands.
I sobbed as he took me against the counter, his brutal rhythm driving me further into the abyss. Hours passed in agonizing silence, his touch searing filth into my skin. Every second felt like a lifetime. Every thrust another nail in the coffin of who I once was.
By the time he was done, my body was a lifeless husk, crumpled and discarded.
He shoved me off him carelessly, and I hit the cold, unyielding floor with a dull thud. The pain barely registered. I was already drowning in it.
"Next time, sleep in your room," he ordered, adjusting his clothes with sickening ease. "I don't want to find out you slept somewhere else. Do I make myself clear?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
With whatever strength I had left, I nodded weakly.
He clicked his tongue in disgust before turning on his heel and leaving, shutting the bathroom door behind him as if he hadn't just shattered me beyond repair.
For a moment, I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps.
Then the nausea surged.
I dragged myself toward the bathtub, my fingers barely finding purchase on the slick floor. Inch by inch, I crawled to the toilet, my entire body trembling with exhaustion and pain.
The moment I reached it, I lurched forward and vomited, choking on bile and misery.
It didn't make me feel any cleaner.
::::::::::::::
I slept through the entire day, exhaustion sinking deep into my bones. When I finally opened my eyes, the room was cloaked in soft evening hues. The clock read nearly seven.
Dragging myself from the bed, I slipped on a cardigan and stepped out, the cold air of the hallway sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I made my way downstairs, my footsteps eerily quiet against the polished floors.
"Where is everybody?" I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.
Vera, already dressed in a coat, glanced at me while adjusting the sleeves. "Katherine and Nadia are at the hospital with Egor."
I frowned, a gnawing sense of unease curling in my gut. "Are they okay?"
She gave a short nod. "Egor was shot and beaten to a pulp. I'm heading there now to bring Katherine and Nadia home-Egor's request."
"Okay..."
"Want to tag along?" she offered, though her eyes held the answer-she already knew I wouldn't.
I shook my head immediately. I couldn't. Not when I barely had the strength to hold myself together.
Vera sighed softly but didn't press. Instead, she leaned in, giving me a quick hug and pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek before walking out the door. The cold air swallowed her, and soon she was gone.
Silence.
The house felt heavier than usual, an unspoken tension lingering in the walls. And then, a thought formed in my mind.
I hesitated only for a moment before turning on my heel and heading back upstairs.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I entered my room. I moved carefully, avoiding any signs of suspicion as I made my way to the closet. Kneeling, I reached for the hidden purse I had tucked away days ago.
The weight of it was familiar in my hands.
Steady. Calm. Controlled.
I took a slow breath before walking out of my room, forcing a composed expression onto my face.
I descended the staircase with practiced ease, my grip on the purse tightening when I spotted Alfred standing near the corridor. His sharp eyes flickered to me immediately.
"Where to, ma?" he inquired, his tone neutral yet edged with quiet scrutiny.
I arched a brow. "Do I have to explain myself to you? I can walk as I please in this house."
His face remained impassive, but I caught the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Suspicion? Amusement?
"Sorry, ma," he murmured.
I turned on my heel, walking away from him with measured strides.
When I reached Damien's room, I slipped inside and locked the door behind me. The soft click of the lock sent a small wave of relief through me, but it was short-lived. My pulse still thundered in my ears.
I wasted no time.
Rushing to the closet, I pressed myself into the shadows, just in case Alfred-or anyone-had decided to lurk outside the door. My fingers trembled as I unzipped my purse, pulling out the hidden phone.
The weight of it suddenly felt dangerous.
But I turned it on anyway.
I had stored the number in my head for this exact moment.
As soon as the screen lit up, I dialed.
It rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Kiran Crest speaking. Who is this?"
My throat tightened. Just hearing him made something inside me crack.
"It's Crystal," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady.
A sharp intake of breath. "Crystal?" He sounded stunned. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for the longest time! Are you okay? What happened to you?"
"I'm fine," I lied. "My phone fell, and I just... didn't want to get a new one."
A pause. A weighted silence.
"Are you sure, Crystal?"
I forced a small chuckle. "Yes. Kiran... do you know a Samira Aharif?"
The line went dead for a moment.
Then, finally-"Yes."
I clenched my fist. "We dated when you were about twenty," he added.
I blinked. "How come I never heard of her?"
"It wasn't important," he admitted. "Besides, you were in college."
I exhaled slowly. "What happened between you two?"
His voice turned grim. "She turned out to be the Persia Queen. Her mother sent her to spy on the American mafia. She used me, Crystal. My father never liked her, but I fought against him. I trusted her. And because of that trust, her mother invaded two of our warehouses. She played me, and I was too blind to see it."
I felt a dull ache in my chest. "I'm sorry, Kiran. You didn't deserve that."
A dry chuckle. "Mila and I are getting married."
I gasped. "No way! What does Devon have to say about this?"
"I was scared at first to tell him," he admitted, "but he was the happiest when I did."
A small, genuine smile tugged at my lips. "Has a date been set? I'll definitely be there."
"Not yet," he said. "But I'll send you and your husband an invitation when we do."
The word husband sent a violent shudder down my spine. I barely managed to keep my voice even. "Sure."
Then, I hesitated before adding, "Kiran... Samira is here. In Russia. She keeps claiming she knows me. And Ivan suspects I have something to do with her."
The shift in Kiran's tone was immediate. "She's a snake, Crystal. Stay away from her. Don't believe a single word that comes out of her mouth. If things get worse, tell Ivan."
I rubbed my forehead, frustration weighing heavily on me. "I don't think he'll believe me."
"Crystal," Kiran's voice was firm, urgent, serious. "Nothing good will come from keeping it a secret. Tell Ivan the truth about her. Listen to me on this."
I swallowed. "Kiran-"
"Don't Kiran me. Tell Ivan. Okay?"
I bit my lip. My hands curled into fists. "Okay."
"Good." His voice softened. "I have to go now. There's a meeting I need to attend before heading home."
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Alright. I'll speak to you soon."
"Take care, Crystal."
The line clicked off.
I exhaled sharply and immediately turned off the phone, stuffing it back into my purse.
Then, as if the weight of everything finally crashed onto me all at once, I gripped my hair tightly, a choked sob escaping my lips.
What the hell was I thinking?
I couldn't tell Ivan.
He'd kill me.
How was I even supposed to explain the phone?
The panic clawed at my chest, constricting my lungs, suffocating me.
This was too much.
All of it. Too much.
IVAN SERGIO DIMITRI POV...
I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the deep crimson liquid coat the sides before taking a slow sip. Across from me, Samira lounged in her seat, poised and self-assured, her perfectly manicured fingers flipping through the file I had just slid across the table.
A smirk curled on her lips before she chuckled, pushing the file back toward me.
"You want a treaty that will last for as long as the Russian and Persian mafia shall live?" she mused, tilting her head as if amused by my audacity.
I met her gaze, unwavering. "Not so bad, is it?"
She let out a soft giggle, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Why do you possibly think I would make such a treaty with you? After all, you are good at backstabbing."
I leaned forward slightly, my fingers tapping against the stem of my glass. "When it comes to a treaty, nothing is going to happen. This benefits both of our organizations and strengthens our bond."
Her smirk remained, but the amusement in her eyes sharpened. "I don't want a lifetime treaty."
I downed the rest of my wine in a single gulp. "Then what do you desire?"
Samira's lips parted in a slow, deliberate smile. "I want your wife."
The glass in my hand shattered.
I barely registered the sharp sting as shards pierced my skin, warm blood mixing with the remnants of the wine. My grip on the broken stem tightened as I slowly raised my gaze to her.
"Why would you want my wife?" My voice was low, cold.
Samira stood, moving gracefully toward me. The faint click of her heels against the marble floor was the only sound in the room. When she reached me, she took my injured hand in hers, plucking out the shards with practiced ease before using a napkin to wrap the wound.
Her touch was gentle-too gentle for someone like her.
I grabbed her elbow, yanking her closer until her face was mere inches from mine. She didn't flinch. Instead, her eyes flickered to my lips, and she smirked, as if daring me.
I shoved her back roughly, watching as she stumbled but quickly regained her footing.
"Ivan, Ivan," she cooed, dusting off her coat. "You act like you're a faithful husband when, in reality, you're nothing but a manwhore."
I let out a dark chuckle. "I can't be satisfied with just one meal all the time."
Her playful expression vanished in an instant, replaced by something unreadable. "Men like you only know how to cheat. You don't care about feelings-only power."
I tilted my head. "Why? Have you gotten your heart broken, Samira?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she smoothed her dress and adjusted her posture. "Your wife in exchange for anything you desire. I leave Russia in a week, so make your choice."
Without waiting for my response, she grabbed her purse and strode toward the exit.
I sat there for a moment, gripping my still-bleeding hand.
What the fuck does she want with Crystal?
Was this Kiran's doing? Did he send her to retrieve his sister? Or was this something else entirely?
A slow, simmering rage settled in my chest as I left the restaurant.
The moment I slid into the car, Kostas glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Where to, Don?"
"The mayor's house."
The drive was silent, tension thick in the air. My thoughts churned violently, the weight of everything pressing down on me.
When we arrived, I was immediately ushered into the mayor's grand living room. He greeted me with a forced smile, but I didn't return it.
I followed him into his office. The moment the door shut, I grabbed him by his collar and slammed his bloated body against the wall.
"D-Don Ivan-"
I tightened my grip, my voice razor-sharp. "I hear you've been slacking on your work."
His face paled, shaking his head violently. "I-I'm not! It's just that your men... they've been getting careless!"
I sneered, pulling my gun from my holster and striking him across the face. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
He didn't stay that way for long.
A bucket of ice-cold water later, he jolted awake, gasping. "D-Don Ivan-!"
I pressed my boot against his chest. "I put you in this fucking seat eight years ago. The campaign is coming up soon, and if you fuck up again, I'll replace you with someone who deserves it."
He scrambled to his knees. "Forgive me, Don Ivan! I swear, I won't fail you again!"
I leaned down, gripping his chin between my fingers. "You better not. Because the next time I come here, your wife will pay the price... or maybe your eldest daughter. She seems like a nice fuck."
His entire body shook. "N-No, Don, p-please-!"
I shoved him back with disgust. "Then do your fucking job."
He nodded frantically. "Y-Yes, Don!"
I patted his head mockingly. "Good boy."
As I left the house, my mood soured further when I spotted Alina leaning against my car. She straightened the moment she saw me, her eyes pleading.
"Ivan, please," she rushed toward me, her voice dripping with desperation. "I'm sorry for what I did to your wife. Please... take me back."
I didn't bother responding, pushing past her. But the moment I reached for the car door, she wrapped her arms around my waist.
"Please, Ivan," she whispered. "Forgive me."
I turned slowly, my expression unreadable. "Can you really be this low?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm pregnant, Ivan."
I let out a sharp, mocking laugh, the sound laced with disbelief. "Definitely not mine," I scoffed. "We haven't fucked in nearly three months.
Alina's desperate eyes locked onto mine. "Ivan, please, you have to believe me." She grabbed my hand and pressed it against her stomach. "Look."
I yanked my hand away as if burned. "The fuck was that?"
"Our baby," she whispered, voice trembling. "When my father rushed me to the hospital, I found out I was thirteen weeks pregnant."
I studied her, my expression unreadable. Then, my lips curled into a cruel smirk. "We both know what a whore you are, Alina. The baby isn't mine. Get lost and never show your face to me again."
Tears spilled down her cheeks, her body shaking. "P-please, trust me. You are the father of my child. Don't leave me alone with this responsibility."
I didn't dignify her with another word. Instead, I slammed the car door shut.
Kostas drove off, the tension in the car thick enough to suffocate. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror too many times for my liking.
"What?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.
Clearing his throat, he hesitated before speaking. "With all due respect, Don... I think Miss Alina might be telling the truth."
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "I know Alina. She's lying."
"But think about it," he pressed. "Why would she insist you're the father, even after everything you did to her? Even after cutting off her hand? If she were lying, she wouldn't push this hard."
"Or she's desperate," I said coldly.
"Then bring her in," he suggested. "When the child is born, have it tested. If it's yours, you'll know for sure."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Does it fucking look like I'm ready to be a father?"
Kostas didn't answer right away. Then, he sighed. "The decision is yours, Don."
I leaned back in my seat, staring out at the passing city lights. Why the fuck was my life becoming more complicated by the day?
I pulled out my phone and shot a text to Damien. Come to my house. I need to talk.
By the time I arrived home, the tension in my chest hadn't eased.
Katherine was pacing the main living room, her face tight with frustration. The second she saw me, she rushed forward.
"Ivan, you need to talk to Egor," she blurted out.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "What now?"
"He insists on leaving the hospital tomorrow, but he's not strong enough. I tried talking sense into him, but he won't listen."
"Once Egor has made up his mind, nothing we say will change it," I muttered.
She sighed, exasperated. "Fine. But at least keep him from working for a few days. He won't listen to me, but maybe he'll listen to you."
I nodded once. "I'll handle it."
Her face brightened, and before I could react, she threw her arms around me. My body went rigid.
Realizing her mistake, she quickly pulled away. "I'm so sorry, Ivan. I overstepped-I was just happy."
I forced a nod, saying nothing as I turned away.
The last person who had hugged me was Alyona.
The thought made my stomach twist.
I needed a fucking drink.
I was halfway through a bottle of Scotch in my private bar when I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"Couldn't wait for me?" Damien's voice was light, but I could hear the concern beneath it.
I slumped against the wall, bottle in hand. Damien grabbed one for himself and sank down beside me.
"What's on your mind, brother?" he asked.
I let out a slow exhale. "Samira wants Crystal," I muttered. "She's willing to give me anything in return."
Damien frowned. "What the fuck does she want with her?"
"That's the question I keep asking myself," I admitted. "And if that wasn't enough, I ran into Alina. She's pregnant."
He inhaled sharply. "Bloody Mary."
I took another swig. "She claims I'm the father."
Damien let out a low chuckle. "I warned you about that bitch."
"Shut up," I muttered. "I don't need a fucking lecture right now."
He took a sip of his vodka. "Your head's a mess, Ivan. And it's not because of Alina."
I shot him a glare. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You're not scared that Alina might be telling the truth," he said simply. "You're scared of losing Crystal."
"Bullshit," I muttered.
He smirked. "Then why haven't you killed her yet?"
I clenched my jaw. "Because I still need the bitch for my plans. This is just the beginning."
Damien shrugged. "One day, you'll see the truth in what I'm saying."
"Stop it already. You're not even married to Vera yet, but you're already acting like her."
He barked out a laugh. "I will never be like Vera."
"You better not be. I might go crazy having two Veras around."
He smirked before turning serious again. "Listen... take Alina in. When the baby is born, get a paternity test."
"Kostas said the same thing," I admitted.
Damien placed a firm hand on my knee. "If the child is yours, it's your responsibility. You have enemies, Ivan. A child is a weakness they can exploit. If that baby is yours, keeping it safe means keeping Alina safe-for now."
I sighed heavily. "I can't bring her in yet. Samira is still in Russia. If she's planning something, it's too risky."
Damien nodded. "Then I'll handle it. I'll keep her somewhere safe until Samira is gone."
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "Thanks, brother."
He grinned, clinking his bottle against mine. "What are brothers for?"
I let out a rare, soft chuckle, taking another long drink.
The storm inside me didn't settle, but for now, at least, I wasn't alone in it.
I hope you all are not confused. Alina has only one hand and the other is artificial.