Chapter 2 THE GOLDEN CAGE

THE GOLDEN CAGE

The first thing I noticed was the silence.

Not the comforting quiet of my shitty Queens apartment-the hum of the fridge, the drip of the leaky faucet, the distant sirens that used to lull me to sleep. This was the kind of silence that pressed against my eardrums like a physical weight. The kind that made my own breathing sound too loud.

I blinked against the headache pounding behind my eyes. The bed beneath me was too soft, the sheets too smooth against my skin. Not my threadbare cotton. Not my bed.

Memory came rushing back-the knock at the door, the needle in my neck, Viktor's voice saying Kazan like it was my death sentence.

I bolted upright.

Big mistake.

The room spun violently, bile rising in my throat. I barely had time to register the massive four-poster bed, the silk sheets tangled around my legs, before I was stumbling toward what I hoped was a bathroom.

Cold marble bit into my knees as I emptied my stomach into a toilet that probably cost more than my car. My fingers shook as I gripped the porcelain, my torn nails-broken during the struggle-standing out starkly against the gleaming white.

The door clicked open behind me.

I didn't need to look to know it was him. The air changed when Viktor entered a room-got heavier, sharper, like the moment before a lightning strike.

"Drugs wear off ugly," he said, his voice closer than I expected.

I spat into the toilet. "Go to hell."

A low chuckle. Then the sound of running water. When I finally looked up, he was holding out a crystal glass, his expression unreadable.

I knocked it from his hand.

Water splashed across his polished dress shoes, the glass shattering against the marble floor. For a heartbeat, we both stared at the glittering shards.

Then Viktor sighed.

Before I could react, his hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. My scalp burned, tears springing to my eyes as he forced me to meet his gaze.

"Let's get something clear, kotik," he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek. "I don't mind breaking you. But I'd prefer you intact." His grip tightened. "Understand?"

I bared my teeth. "Fuck you."

Something dark flickered in his eyes. Then he released me so suddenly I nearly fell.

"Clean yourself up," he said, straightening his cuffs like he hadn't just threatened me. "You stink of fear and airplane."

The door clicked shut behind him.

---

The house-no, the estate-was a fucking nightmare of opulence.

Viktor led me through endless hallways lined with gilded mirrors and oil paintings of grim-faced men who all shared his ice-chip eyes. My bare feet sank into carpets so thick I nearly tripped, the silence broken only by the distant hum of what sounded like a generator.

No windows.

I'd noticed that immediately. The bedroom had heavy drapes pulled tight over what I assumed was glass, but the halls were lined with blank walls interrupted only by the occasional security camera.

"Where are we?" I demanded, my voice hoarse from screaming.

Viktor didn't slow his pace. "Home."

"Bullshit."

He stopped so abruptly I nearly collided with his back. When he turned, his expression was colder than the marble floors.

"You'll learn, Emilia," he said softly. "This is where you live now. Where you eat. Where you sleep." His gloved hand brushed my cheek, making me flinch. "Where you please me."

I recoiled. "I'd rather die."

His lips curved. "We'll see."

---

The dining room looked like something out of a period drama-a massive table that could seat twenty, set with enough silverware to arm a small militia. Only two places were set.

Viktor took the head of the table. I remained standing.

"Sit," he said without looking up from his phone.

"No."

The word hung between us, fragile as glass.

Viktor set his phone down with deliberate slowness. When he finally looked at me, his gray eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them.

"I won't ask again."

Something in his voice-some undercurrent of violence-made my knees weaken. But I held my ground.

"Go to hell."

The silence stretched. Then, so fast I barely saw him move, Viktor was out of his chair and across the room. His hand closed around my throat, not tight enough to cut off my air, but enough to make my pulse rabbit against his palm.

"You're testing my patience," he murmured, his thumb brushing my frantic pulse. "And I have very little of it."

I swallowed against his grip. "What do you want from me?"

His smile was all teeth. "Everything."

Then he released me, returning to his seat like nothing had happened.

"Sit. Eat. We have much to discuss."

This time, I obeyed.

---

The food was obscenely good-roasted duck, some kind of potato dish that melted on my tongue, vegetables so fresh they still tasted like earth. I hated how much I enjoyed it.

Viktor watched me over the rim of his wine glass. "Your father owes me more than money."

I set my fork down with deliberate care. "I don't care."

"You will." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "He didn't just gamble away cash, Emilia. He gambled with secrets. My secrets."

A chill crept down my spine. "What kind of secrets?"

The smile he gave me was razor-sharp. "The kind that get people killed."

The duck turned to ash in my mouth.

Viktor pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the marble. "You'll stay here until your father resurfaces. If he doesn't..." His gaze trailed over me, slow and assessing. "Well. I always collect what I'm owed."

He left me there, staring at my reflection in the polished silverware-a pale, hollow-eyed ghost of the girl I'd been yesterday.

The girl who still believed she had a choice.

---

I waited until the house was silent.

The bedroom door was locked, but the balcony-when I finally wrestled the drapes open-wasn't.

Cold air slapped my face as I stepped outside, the stone railing biting into my palms. Below me, manicured gardens stretched into darkness, the perimeter lit by sporadic security lights.

No guards in sight.

My breath came in sharp gasps as I swung my leg over the railing. The drop was maybe fifteen feet-manageable if I landed right.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice came from behind me, so close I nearly lost my grip.

Viktor leaned against the balcony door, arms crossed, his white dress shirt glowing in the moonlight. He hadn't even bothered to sound surprised.

I tightened my grip on the railing. "Stay back."

He sighed, pushing off the doorframe. "You'll break your legs."

"Better than staying here."

In two strides, he was at the railing, his large hand wrapping around my bicep. His touch burned through the thin silk of the pajamas someone had dressed me in while I was unconscious.

"Let go," I hissed, trying to pry his fingers loose.

Viktor ignored my struggles, hauling me back over the railing like I weighed nothing. When my feet hit the balcony, he didn't release me-just spun me around and pinned me against the cold stone, his body caging mine.

"You don't seem to understand," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "There's no running from this. From me."

I shoved against his chest. "I'll die trying."

His laugh was dark, sending shivers down my spine. "Oh, kotik," he said, his hand sliding up to cup my throat. "We're just getting started."