Chapter 3 Bloodlines and Bullet Holes

Damien rarely lost focus. It was a skill, a survival instinct. But something about her... about Anastasiya-the way she moved like a prisoner but thought like a threat-shook his rhythm.

Still, he was a Castellano.

Emotions had no place here.

Not when blood and betrayal ran deeper than money ever could.

"Mateo," Damien said that morning, watching the footage again. "Run her prints. Real name. Full record. If she's who I think she is..."

"You think she's Bratva?"

"I think she's a ghost."

---

Flashback – Two Years Ago, Saint Petersburg, Russia

A younger, bruised Anastasiya crouched in the snow, clutching a bloodied satchel to her chest. Screams echoed behind her-gunfire, sirens. She didn't look back.

Her father had whispered one thing before the bullet hit his chest:

> "Never trust the Americans... especially the ones in your blood."

---

Present – Castellano Estate

Anastasiya wandered the long corridor of the east wing. The mansion was too quiet. Too polished. Too... wrong.

She paused at a painting-two men. Brothers.

One looked eerily like Damien.

The other...

Her blood turned cold.

That man was in her childhood photos.

She knew that smirk. That scar.

Uncle Alexei.

But how?

He'd died.

He was shot at her father's funeral. She saw his body.

Suddenly the realization crashed into her like a freight train.

This wasn't just a mansion.

This was her mother's house.

Stripped. Rebuilt. Owned by the people who destroyed her family.

She stumbled back, rage and confusion boiling in her chest.

"Looking for answers?" Damien's voice echoed behind her.

She turned around sharply.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Who are you really?" she asked, voice tight.

Damien stared at her for a long beat. "You first."

Silence.

Then she said it.

"Anastasiya Mikhailovna Orlova. Daughter of Viktor Orlov."

The name slapped the air like a gunshot.

Damien's smirk dropped.

"You're Orlov's daughter?" he said, voice lower now, darker. "That explains the fire in your eyes."

"And you?" she asked. "Who are you to Alexei Orlov?"

He stepped closer, eyes burning. "I'm the nephew of the man who ordered your father's execution."

Boom.

The truth between them hit like an explosion.

The billionaire cousin.

The slave girl.

Enemies by blood.

---

Elsewhere – An Italian Villa

A woman in red silk lit a cigarette. Her voice was cool, accent thick.

"So Damien found the girl?" she asked over the phone.

"Yes, ma'am. She's under his watch. But things are... shifting."

The woman smiled coldly. "Let them bond. Let the cousin fall. The girl is the final key. Once she cracks-Damien crumbles."

She ended the call and turned to a map pinned on the wall.

A circle over Brooklyn.

A cross through Saint Petersburg.

And a red X over Damien Castellano's name.

---

Back at the Estate

Anastasiya stood frozen in the hallway, her body numb.

"So, this was all a trap?" she whispered.

Damien's expression softened-just slightly.

"No. You were sold. I bought you. I didn't know who you were... but now that I do, it changes everything."

She looked up. "Because you want revenge?"

"No," he said, eyes burning into hers. "Because you're leverage. And my enemies will come crawling when they find out I have you."

She laughed bitterly. "Then you're just like them."

He moved fast-too fast-and suddenly she was pressed against the wall, his hand beside her head.

"No," he growled. "I'm worse."

Their faces were inches apart. Her breath caught.

Hate. Tension. Heat.

She wanted to stab him.

She wanted to kiss him.

What the hell was wrong with her?

He leaned in closer, voice low and dangerous.

"But you're not walking away until I find out who's playing both of us."