Page 14 of Owned By the Russian

Val and Irina hadn’t known each other for very long, yet being friends with her felt as natural as breathing—like they’d always been a part of the same story.

Usually, her condo did the trick. But tonight, it didn’t. The walls felt too close, the silence too heavy. Being there alone only made it worse. Her thoughts grew louder,hiswords cutting deeper, replaying over and over like a cruel taunt she couldn’t escape.

She made a decision to leave, cutting her stay short. As much as she didn’t want to face her father, who would undoubtedly question her about the event (and she partly blamed him for this mess since he demanded she attend), the sight of her annoying siblings might help her take her mind off things.

At least they wouldn’t interrogate her; they’d just be there, a comforting presence amidst the chaos in her mind.

Standing in the dim light of her condo, she tightened the strap of her watch and grabbed her bag, muttering under her breath.

“That fucking Russian bastard.” Her face twisted in annoyance as the memory resurfaced, sharp as a knife. The initial mischievous smile on his perfect mouth as he approached her, the tiniest flutter in her chest when he looked her over with unabashed greed in his eyes, and how it ended in mere seconds—warmth shifting to cold, tongue doused in acid burning her skin.

She scoffed, her voice echoing in the silent living room. “Who the hell does he think he is, talking to me like that?”

Her nails bit into her palm as she clenched her fists, anger rising again. If, for a second, Ilya thought he’d get away with treating her like that, he was sorely mistaken.

He’d regret his words. She’d make sure of it.

She was finally ready to leave when the door to her living room slammed open.

Val spun around, adrenaline flaring, as a man stepped inside—a shadow in a tux, his dark eyes sharp and cold.

“Ilya?” she demanded, incredulous. Her voice wavered as her mind scrambled to process what was happening. The sight before her felt surreal—him, standing in hersecretcondo, the one place she thought no one could reach.

His gun hung heavy in his hand, the steel glinting under the dim light. Blood smeared across the pristine white of his shirt like grotesque brushstrokes, and she was certain it wasn’t his.

Eyes wide, nostrils flared, her heart raced as she fired off questions. “What the fuck is going on? How the hell are you here? Whose blood is that?”

“There’s no time for that,” he snapped, his tone clipped and impatient. Before she could step back, he closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, invading her personal space. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a force that made her wince. “You need to come with me. Now.”

“Excuse me?” Valentina yanked at her wrist, her eyes ablaze. Her bewilderment shifted to indignation as she planted her feet. “Have you completely lost your mind? What makes you think you can just barge into my condo, covered in—” she gestured wildly at the blood, “—thisand start barking orders like you own the place?”

Not even a single hair on Ilya’s body stood in response to her question. His gaze remained hard, focused, scanning the windows and the doors as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment.

“Valentina, I don’t have time to argue with you. Now shut the fuck up and come with me.”

Val scoffed, wrenching her wrist free and stepping away. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you sick fuck. I don’t know what kind of shitstorm you’ve gotten yourself into, but I’m not involved. So take your cryptic demands, shove them up your ass, and get the fuck out of—”

She didn’t get to finish.

The sound of glass shattering split the air, an explosion followed by bullets whizzing through the room. Her stomach dropped, and Ilya cursed under his breath, yanking her back toward him just as the door splintered open.

Shadows spilled into the room—men armed and moving with deadly precision. Valentina froze for a heartbeat, her mind a blank sheet as adrenaline surged.

But Ilya was already in motion. He shoved her behind him, his gun raised in a flash. His first shot rang out, followed by another, then another. Each blast jolted her to her core, but he moved with lethal efficiency, a calm and calculated look on his face as he took down the first wave of intruders before they could even react.

Val’s instinct kicked into full gear as more men flooded the room. Grabbing a decorative vintage vase, she hurled it at one of them, the crash just buying her enough time to dart toward the couch, where she usually hid a pistol just in case.

She slipped the knife from the strap on her thigh with practiced ease and aimed for the nearest man. It didn’t matter that he was twice her size—the blade was already airborne, slicing cleanly through the air before sinking right between his eyes. He crumpled to the floor, dead before he even hit the ground.

She spun toward the couch to grab her gun, but an arm as strong as iron clamped around her neck from behind, stealing her breath and draining her strength. His grip was tight, oxygen fleeing her lungs in volumes, as she struggled against the Herculean hold, readying herself for a scream and to drive her heel into his groin.

But she never got the chance.

Ilya was there in an instant, his fury palpable. He ripped the man off her with brutal force, his gun swinging down hard into the attacker’s temple. A guttural cry escaped the man as he sank to his knees, but Ilya wasn’t done.

With an almost feral snarl, Ilya twisted the man’s arm—the arm thattouchedher—until a sickening crack echoed through the room, the bone snapping like dry wood. The man screamed, but Ilya silenced him with a final, devastating blow to his skull. Blood pooled beneath the man’s face as he went limp, his body lifeless.

Valentina stumbled back, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her chest heaving as she clutched at her neck. She stared at Ilya, stunned—not just by his lethal precision but by the dark glint in his eyes as he looked at the man who had dared to touch her.

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