Chapter 6
The vault was underground.
Cold concrete walls. Steel door, three inches thick. A single fluorescent light that buzzed and flickered above my head. I sat on a metal bench, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped around myself.
Muffled sounds penetrated from above — gunfire, shouting, things breaking. Each burst made me flinch. I pressed my palms against my ears, but nothing blocked out the violence.
Viktor was up there. Fighting. Maybe dying.
*Why do I care?*
The question burned. He'd caged me. Bought me. Watched me for months without my knowledge. He was everything I should despise. And yet — the thought of those silver eyes going dark...
My stomach twisted.
Time lost meaning in the vault. Could've been twenty minutes or two hours. Then — silence. Complete, absolute silence.
I held my breath.
The door's lock mechanism groaned. Metal scraped. Light flooded in.
Viktor stood in the doorway.
Alive.
But not unscathed. Blood smeared across his forehead — not his own, or maybe some of it was. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, revealing a deep gash that had already started to clot. His knuckles were shredded. His eyes were wild.
He scanned the vault until they found me.
Something in his body released — just barely. A tension that had coiled every muscle.
He said nothing. Just looked at me like I was oxygen after drowning.
I stood slowly. "Are you—"
"They're gone." His voice was rough, barely controlled. "Volkov sent six men. A message."
"What message?"
His jaw worked. "That he knows you're here."
Cold dread flooded my veins.
Viktor stepped into the vault. The door stayed open, but the space felt smaller with him in it. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the gunpowder on his skin.
"Did they—" I started.
"None of them got inside. My men handled it." His hand lifted, hovering near my face, then dropped. Like he wanted to touch me but remembered my earlier words. *Don't touch me.*
I swallowed. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
"Your shoulder is bleeding."
"I've had worse."
I stared at the wound, dark blood soaking through torn fabric. Without thinking, I reached out and pressed my fingers to the edge of the tear.
Viktor went completely still.
I didn't know why I did it. Instinct. Stupidity. The look in his eyes when he'd found me alive. Something broke through my walls — something I didn't want to name.
"You shouldn't have—" My voice was barely audible. "You could've sent someone else."
"No." His hand closed over mine where it rested on his shoulder. Warm. Solid. "I couldn't."
Our eyes met. Something crackled in the inches between us — not sexual, not yet — something more terrifying. Understanding. Recognition. A thread pulled taut between two people who shouldn't fit but somehow did.
I pulled my hand back. He let me.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now we move." Viktor stepped back, his mask sliding back into place. "This location is compromised. I have another safe house — further out. More protected."
"More isolated, you mean."
"Yes."
I laughed bitterly. "So I just keep running. Keep hiding."
Viktor's gaze hardened. "Until Volkov is dead, yes."
"Why does he want me?"
"Same reason everyone wants you." He turned toward the door. "Because you're the key to the Karev fortune. Without you, no one can access it. And Volkov has been trying for twenty years."
I blinked. "Fortune? What fortune?"
Viktor paused. "Your grandfather didn't just run an empire, Sera. He built a vault — real, physical — locked behind biometric security keyed to his bloodline. Everything inside — billions in assets, weapons contracts, territorial agreements — can only be accessed by a living Karev heir."
"Me."
"You."
My mind reeled. A waitress. A nobody. And I was sitting on billions I'd never known existed.
"Does anyone else—"
"Your father knew. That's why he hid you. That's why he kept you poor, invisible, off the grid." Viktor looked back at me. "And that's why, when his debts crushed him, he gave you to the one person who'd protect the investment."
"Investment." The word tasted like acid.
"His word. Not mine."
I searched Viktor's face for deception, for the mercenary calculation I expected. But all I found was that same raw, barely-leashed intensity.
"Is that all I am to you?" I whispered. "An investment?"
He stared at me for a long, aching moment.
"If that's all you were," he said quietly, "I would have sent someone else to the vault."
He walked out.
I followed, because what choice did I have? But as I climbed the stairs behind him, past broken glass and bullet-riddled walls, past guards who nodded at him with blood on their faces, I felt something shifting inside me.
Not trust. Not yet.
But the first crack in my armor.
And a terrible, growing certainty that Viktor Kozlov — monster, criminal, captor — would burn the world to keep me alive.
The question was: *why?*
Cold concrete walls. Steel door, three inches thick. A single fluorescent light that buzzed and flickered above my head. I sat on a metal bench, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped around myself.
Muffled sounds penetrated from above — gunfire, shouting, things breaking. Each burst made me flinch. I pressed my palms against my ears, but nothing blocked out the violence.
Viktor was up there. Fighting. Maybe dying.
*Why do I care?*
The question burned. He'd caged me. Bought me. Watched me for months without my knowledge. He was everything I should despise. And yet — the thought of those silver eyes going dark...
My stomach twisted.
Time lost meaning in the vault. Could've been twenty minutes or two hours. Then — silence. Complete, absolute silence.
I held my breath.
The door's lock mechanism groaned. Metal scraped. Light flooded in.
Viktor stood in the doorway.
Alive.
But not unscathed. Blood smeared across his forehead — not his own, or maybe some of it was. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, revealing a deep gash that had already started to clot. His knuckles were shredded. His eyes were wild.
He scanned the vault until they found me.
Something in his body released — just barely. A tension that had coiled every muscle.
He said nothing. Just looked at me like I was oxygen after drowning.
I stood slowly. "Are you—"
"They're gone." His voice was rough, barely controlled. "Volkov sent six men. A message."
"What message?"
His jaw worked. "That he knows you're here."
Cold dread flooded my veins.
Viktor stepped into the vault. The door stayed open, but the space felt smaller with him in it. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the gunpowder on his skin.
"Did they—" I started.
"None of them got inside. My men handled it." His hand lifted, hovering near my face, then dropped. Like he wanted to touch me but remembered my earlier words. *Don't touch me.*
I swallowed. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
"Your shoulder is bleeding."
"I've had worse."
I stared at the wound, dark blood soaking through torn fabric. Without thinking, I reached out and pressed my fingers to the edge of the tear.
Viktor went completely still.
I didn't know why I did it. Instinct. Stupidity. The look in his eyes when he'd found me alive. Something broke through my walls — something I didn't want to name.
"You shouldn't have—" My voice was barely audible. "You could've sent someone else."
"No." His hand closed over mine where it rested on his shoulder. Warm. Solid. "I couldn't."
Our eyes met. Something crackled in the inches between us — not sexual, not yet — something more terrifying. Understanding. Recognition. A thread pulled taut between two people who shouldn't fit but somehow did.
I pulled my hand back. He let me.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now we move." Viktor stepped back, his mask sliding back into place. "This location is compromised. I have another safe house — further out. More protected."
"More isolated, you mean."
"Yes."
I laughed bitterly. "So I just keep running. Keep hiding."
Viktor's gaze hardened. "Until Volkov is dead, yes."
"Why does he want me?"
"Same reason everyone wants you." He turned toward the door. "Because you're the key to the Karev fortune. Without you, no one can access it. And Volkov has been trying for twenty years."
I blinked. "Fortune? What fortune?"
Viktor paused. "Your grandfather didn't just run an empire, Sera. He built a vault — real, physical — locked behind biometric security keyed to his bloodline. Everything inside — billions in assets, weapons contracts, territorial agreements — can only be accessed by a living Karev heir."
"Me."
"You."
My mind reeled. A waitress. A nobody. And I was sitting on billions I'd never known existed.
"Does anyone else—"
"Your father knew. That's why he hid you. That's why he kept you poor, invisible, off the grid." Viktor looked back at me. "And that's why, when his debts crushed him, he gave you to the one person who'd protect the investment."
"Investment." The word tasted like acid.
"His word. Not mine."
I searched Viktor's face for deception, for the mercenary calculation I expected. But all I found was that same raw, barely-leashed intensity.
"Is that all I am to you?" I whispered. "An investment?"
He stared at me for a long, aching moment.
"If that's all you were," he said quietly, "I would have sent someone else to the vault."
He walked out.
I followed, because what choice did I have? But as I climbed the stairs behind him, past broken glass and bullet-riddled walls, past guards who nodded at him with blood on their faces, I felt something shifting inside me.
Not trust. Not yet.
But the first crack in my armor.
And a terrible, growing certainty that Viktor Kozlov — monster, criminal, captor — would burn the world to keep me alive.
The question was: *why?*