Chapter 2 A Game of Eyes and Lies

Anastasiya sat by the giant window in the guest room-though "guest" was a kind word for what she was. The sun was beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold across the sky, but her eyes were dark with thoughts. She hadn't slept. Not even for a second.

She couldn't.

He knew her name.

Her real name.

One she hadn't spoken aloud in over a year.

How?

Why?

What else did he know?

Her fingers curled against the silk sheets. She was dressed in simple black loungewear now-clean, comfortable, but none of it belonged to her. Nothing here did. Not even her freedom.

The door creaked open. She turned sharply, ready to defend herself, but it wasn't a guard.

It was him.

Damien Castellano.

No suit this time. Black T-shirt. Grey sweats. Casual. Lethal.

There was something terrifying about how calm he always looked-like a man who could crush you with a smile.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, stepping inside like he owned the room.

Which, of course, he did.

Anastasiya didn't reply. She just narrowed her eyes.

Damien smirked. "Still playing mute? Cute." He walked over to the table and poured himself a drink from the bar in the corner. "You know... in my line of work, silence is more dangerous than screaming."

She stood slowly, crossing her arms. "And in mine," she said, her voice hoarse but defiant, "men like you always think they have the upper hand."

Damien's brows lifted, surprised and amused.

"There she is." He took a sip. "The Russian flame."

She didn't move. "What do you want from me?"

"Everything," he replied smoothly. "But we'll start with answers."

She scoffed, turning toward the window. "And what makes you think I'll give you any?"

"Because, darling," he said, walking up behind her, his voice dangerously low, "the people who sold you are closer than you think. And I'm the only one keeping you alive long enough to find out who they are."

Her breath caught. Her fists clenched.

He knew.

He knew there was betrayal.

And he was playing her like a game of chess.

"You were a gift," he continued. "From someone who wanted you... erased."

Anastasiya turned, her voice sharp. "Why keep me, then?"

He stared at her for a moment, then stepped closer-so close she could feel his breath.

"Because there's something about you," he murmured, "that feels... familiar. Dangerous. And I don't let danger roam free."

Her pulse quickened, but she didn't back down.

Instead, she whispered, "Neither do I."

A beat of silence.

Then Damien chuckled, backing away. "I like you, Ana. But liking you won't save you."

---

Meanwhile... in Brooklyn

A man sat in a dark room, swirling whiskey in a crystal glass. He looked nothing like Damien-slick hair, a scar across his jaw, and eyes like ice.

"You're sure she made it to him?" he asked the man in front of him.

"Yes, sir. Castellano has her at the mansion. She's under surveillance."

The man smirked. "Perfect. Let the cousins tear each other apart. That girl... she's the matchstick. The rest will burn soon enough."

---

Back in the Castellano Mansion

That night, Damien watched Anastasiya on the surveillance camera as she stared out the window again, expression unreadable.

Mateo entered the study. "Boss, about the list of names you requested-the ones tied to the last shipment..."

Damien held up a hand. "Wait." He turned the monitor up.

Anastasiya had pulled out a small, hidden knife from under her mattress.

She stared at it.

Then, with calm precision, she carved something into the wall.

It was in Cyrillic.

Three words.

Mateo blinked. "What does it say?"

Damien translated softly, voice hardening.

"'Trust no one.'"