Chapter 4 - THE LION’S CAGEI backed away from the door, my hands trembling violently, my mind spinning into pure panic.
They were going to take Lila. A mother’s worst nightmare was happening right outside Damian Volkov’s bedroom, and I was trapped inside with a dying mob boss.
“Mara,” Damian’s voice commanded—not loud, but sharp enough to slice through my terror. “Look at me.”
I looked at him, my eyes wide, tears spilling over my lashes.
“They are not taking your daughter,” Damian said coldly. He slid his legs over the edge of the bed. For the first time in four months, Damian Volkov stood up on his own feet.
He swayed slightly, his face pale, his muscles weak from months of bedrest and poison, but he forced himself upright. He towered over six feet tall, a broad-shouldered mountain of a man whose presence filled the room like a heavy shadow.
He walked to the large oak wardrobe near the corner, pulled open a hidden panel behind his coats, and pressed a metallic button.
A section of the wall slid open with a quiet, pneumatic hiss, revealing a small, brightly lit armory—rifles, handguns, passports, and stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills.
He reached inside, pulled out a small black radio transceiver, and flipped a switch.
“Marco,” Damian said into the radio, his voice no longer weak, no longer dying.
A static-filled voice answered instantly: “Boss?! Is that you? Holy shit, Boss, we thought—”
“Listen to me carefully,” Damian cut in smoothly. “There is an uninvited guest at my bedroom door claiming to be from Child Protective Services. He is Viktor’s man. I want him removed from my house. Quietly. Now.”
“Consider it done, Boss.”
Damian snapped the radio shut, turned back to the wardrobe, and pulled out a heavy black leather jacket, sliding his arms into it. He reached into the rack, drew a sleek black SIG Sauer 9mm pistol, checked the magazine with a practiced click, and tucked it into his waistband behind his back.
I stared at him, my jaw open. “You... you have loyal men inside the house?”
“I built Grayhaven, Mara,” Damian said, walking back toward me, his stride growing firmer with every step as the adrenaline burned the remaining toxins from his system. “Viktor thinks he bought my guards. He bought some of them. But Marco and the perimeter team answer only to me.”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The heavy oak door rattled as someone slammed an axe or a crowbar against the lock.
“Break it down!” Viktor’s voice ordered from the hall. “She’s holding the doctor’s medicine hostage! She’s crazy!”
Damian stepped directly in front of the door. He reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled me behind his massive frame.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered quietly.
With a loud crack, the brass lock gave way, and the door burst open.
Viktor stepped into the room, holding a crowbar, flanked by Dr. Harrison and two armed guards in tactical vests. Behind them stood a tall man in a cheap suit holding a clipboard—the fake CPS officer.
“Mara, step away from—” Viktor started to shout, pushing his way into the room.
Then, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes went wide as saucers. The crowbar slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly onto the hardwood floor.
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Damian Volkov stood straight and tall in the center of the room, his jacket buttoned, his gray eyes burning with lethal, absolute authority. He looked like a king who had just risen from his tomb to judge the men who had buried him.
“Hello, Viktor,” Damian said softly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
