Page 13 of Owned By the Russian

Ilya stepped closer to his sister. “And where is this condo?”

Irina folded her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Westside, near the marina,” she said. “Top floor. But don’t even think about showing up unannounced, Ilya.”

His brow arched, a smirk flashing on his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, though the glint in his eye said otherwise.

With a destination in mind, Ilya slipped out of the hall, the hum of the crowd fading behind him as he flipped his car keys in his hand. He still wasn’t sure what he would do or say when he saw Val, but one thing was clear—he needed to get to her first.

His car roared to life as he sped down the quiet streets, the city lights a blur against the windows. Heading west, just as Irina had told him, his mind raced fast with the wheels.

He thought of Valentina—of the hurt in her eyes when he lashed out, of the silence that followed, a bridge widening between them. He clenched the steering wheel tighter, the leather groaning under his grip. Never had he felt more like an idiot than he did tonight.

The glinting lights of the marina came into view as he crested the hill, the sleek silhouette of the condo cutting through the night. But as his car lumbered to a quiet pause, his focus sharpened and his stomach dropped.

Shadows moved outside the building—too many shadows. Men clustered near the entrance, their postures tense, their movements purposeful. His jaw tightened as he recognized a few of the faces, the same men that jumped him at the restaurant.

Ilya’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. His blood boiled at the thought of Valentina walking into an ambush. The memory of their last exchange stung, but it was nothing compared to the rage now surging through him.

They weren’t men of peace—the cut in his neck and the bruises scattered across his ribs proved it. And just the thought of them laying a finger on Val made his hands thirsty for their blood.

Ilya cut the engine, his car rolling to a silent stop at the edge of the street. His mind sharpened, calculating every move as he popped open the glove compartment and retrieved his gun—a sleek, black piece that felt heavy and cold in his grip.

Next came the silencer, which he screwed on with a familiarity he knew too well. He pulled out a spare magazine Irina had left in his car months ago and slid it into his pocket before chambering a round.

The metallic snap echoed through the car, finalizing his resolve.

With one last glance at the condo’s entrance, his jaw turned to stone. They had been lucky when they came at him at the restaurant, but their luck had run out now.

They wouldn’t see him coming—but they’d sure as hell feel it.

Chapter 5 - Valentina

Sometimes, Valentina wondered why she cared so much about what Ilya said to her, even though she pretended not to.

It was obvious he took a sick enjoyment from messing with her, and she couldn’t deny the fact that some part of her—however small—looked forward to their banter. It wasn’t like she liked the man—she didn’t. She despised him, in fact.

She hated how cocky he was, how effortlessly he got under her skin. Most of all, she hated the fact that she found him good-looking. Assholes like him didn’t deserve to look that good.

She’d grown used to his antics, brushing them off like water off a duck’s back. But tonight was different. His tone was different—sharper, colder, so belittling that it stripped her bare. The usual smugness in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a coldness that hit her like a whiplash.

His words haunted her, stirring deep in her guts long after they’d been said.

Isn’t this what you people do? Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, not minding your own fucking business?

Maybe he was right. Maybe she had crossed a line. She shouldn’t have cared so much about him in the first place, to the point of checking if he was okay. She shouldn’t have noticed the wound on his neck, hidden suspiciously beneath his shirt.

If only she’d kept her big mouth shut, nothing would have warranted such vile insults from that bastard.

You’re nothing but Daddy’s little pawn, Valentina. Just another piece on the Romano’s board. Don’t pretend like you’ve got a mind of your own. Everything you do, every bullshit you say, it’s all for him, isn’t it?

Those words hit harder than they should have because the moment they were said, she found herself behind that glass wall again—out of place, unwanted, clawing through the barrier just to belong in the Nikolai family. To feel like more than a leech.

By the time she walked away from him, her ears were burning, her insides twisting with a volatile mix of anger and something uncomfortably close to shame. The thought of spending another minute in the same room with him made her skin crawl. She bailed at the last minute, ignoring whatever obligations she had and heading to her condo for a breather.

Her condo was a haven her family knew nothing about—a small, secret retreat far from the Romano estate. She’d bought it with her own money, a rare act of independence in a life micromanaged by family obligations and her siblings’ insistence to treat her as the baby of the house.

It was where she went to breathe, to reclaim her sense of self when the pressure became too much.

Besides her, Rhi was the only one who knew about its existence. Until she told Irina about it a month ago.

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