CHAPTER 5

ALINA

"I think you should leave before my father and his men see you and put a bullet through your head

His eyes flashed with amusement, the stormy grey depths glinting with a mixture of intrigue and contempt. He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down my spine as he took a step closer, his movements fluid and deliberate.

"Ah, Dove, you think that scares me?" he whispered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I've faced down men with guns and knives, and I'm still standing. Your father is nothing but a distant rumble of thunder on a summer's day - loud, but ultimately harmless."

Then the amusement vanished from his face in an instant, his eyes narrowing as the gun pressed harder into my cheek, the cold bite of metal forcing my head slightly to the side.

My heart stopped.

He was too close. I could see the scar slashing just above his brow, the faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. And those eyes—so unforgiving, so impossibly calm, like a predator deciding whether to kill or play.

"I don’t think you understand the position you’re in, dove," he said quietly, voice like a razor drawn slow and deliberate.

"You don’t get to test me. You don’t get to provoke me. And you sure as hell don’t get to challenge me."

The gun trailed down again, this time lower, grazing the curve of my ass, making my skin crawl with its icy touch.

"You have no idea what I’m capable of."

My breathing was ragged, my pulse thundering. But somewhere beneath the terror, the anger boiled hotter.

I did know.

I’d seen it. A month ago, when he’d shattered my father’s pride with a single blow and left him bloodied against his desk. I’d heard the rumours whispered in the halls, the maids speaking in hushed tones about the man who could make people disappear with a phone call.

I knew exactly what Alexander Dimitri was capable of.

But I wasn’t going to cower.

"You said he owes you money?" I ask, trying to mask the desperation in my voice.

"How much? Maybe we can work out a payment plan?" I know it’s a long shot—who am I fooling? We’re barely scraping by. I sold my car after the last mess Jack got into, giving him every last penny I had. But I had to try.

He snorts, the sound dripping with contempt, shaking his head as I narrow my eyes, watching him closely.

"Arthur Santini's already burned through all of his lifelines," he says, his tone flat but laced with something darker.

He steps closer, and I can feel the tension crackling in the air. His jaw tightens, the muscles in his face shift beneath the skin, and there’s an anger in his eyes that I can almost taste. It vibrates off him, filling the room like static, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I instinctively take a step back to shield Jack, and I can see the anger flare in his black eyes. He watches me like I’ve just crossed a line. His gaze hardens—disapproving, furious.

"He’s pissed off a lot of people, especially me," he continues, his voice low and venomous, the words cutting through the air like a blade. He adjusts his cufflink with a casual flick of his wrist, but there’s nothing casual about the fury burning behind his eyes. "And trust me, I'm not the forgiving type."

Arthur may be a terrible father, but he’s the only one I’ve got. Mum walked out on me before I even learned how to walk.

Arthur never had a clue how to raise a kid. I spent most of my life in grimy bars, nibbling on peanuts for dinner while watching him squander away the money he’d inherited on bets he was too sure to lose—only to end up empty-handed every time.

Now, whatever last bit of savings he had, he’s thrown into this lavish party—my so-called "birthday" celebration—just to try and marry me off to that creep. It’s infuriating. When will Arthur ever wise up and realize this isn’t the way? He’s willing to sell me off just to clear his debts as if I’m some commodity he can trade.

And now, here’s Alexander Dimitri, standing in front of me with a gun to my head, demanding money we don’t even have.

How many enemies has my father made with his reckless gambling? How many times has he pissed away every dime, betting on schemes that always crash and burn? If only he’d stop—if only he’d realize the danger he’s dragged me into with his stupid decisions. But no, here I am, caught in the mess he created, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it.

I press my hand to my chest, trying to ease the ache that seems to tighten around my heart. Tears threaten to spill, clinging to my lashes, but I force them back.

"Just give him time," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I shake my head, reaching out toward Alexander instinctively, before pulling my hand back, unsure of what I’m hoping for.

"Please... we’ll find a way to fix this..."

The tension between us stretched unbearably, thick as the silence pressed in from all sides.

Then—abruptly—he stepped back. The gun lifted, but his gaze never wavered.

"You want time? Fine. You’ve got twenty-four hours." His voice dropped, turning colder, more detached like he was issuing a death sentence.

"Deliver the message. Word for word," he said, his tone chilling. "And have the money ready, or—just like I warned you—I’ll take the one thing he holds most dear. And once it’s gone, there will be no coming back from it."

The threat was clear, the weight of it sinking into my chest like a heavy stone.

He turned to leave, the shadows seeming to gather around him, but before he reached the door, he paused.

Glanced back.

And smiled.

"I’ll be seeing you soon, dove."

And he was gone.

And I collapsed, knees buckling, hands shaking uncontrollably as the adrenaline crashed over me in violent waves.

I did not doubt in my mind.

Alexander Dimitri meant business.