Chapter Five – "Into the Lion’s Den"

Alina's pulse pounded in her ears as she stood frozen at the warehouse entrance. The man with the scarred face had stepped aside, waiting for her to enter. Everything inside her screamed "no." She wasn't stupid. She knew this was "wrong." And yet… Damon had sent her here. Did he know what kind of situation he was throwing her into? Or worse—had he "planned it?" Alina swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand her ground. 'I was only told to deliver the envelope," she said, keeping her voice firm. 'Nothing more." The man's smirk widened. 'And I'm telling you to step inside." Her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. This was a test. Hers? Or Damon's? She didn't know. What she did know was that she had "two choices." Walk away and risk whatever consequences came from defying Damon Cross. Or step inside and risk "something worse." She took a breath. Then, slowly—against every instinct screaming at her—"she stepped inside." The door closed behind her with a resounding "thud." Alina's throat went dry as she took in the dimly lit warehouse. Men sat around a long table, dressed in expensive suits that did nothing to hide the "lethal" energy they carried. Eyes like vipers turned toward her. Calculating. Assessing. A man at the head of the table leaned back in his chair, twirling a knife between his fingers. He was older, with silver-streaked hair and "a gaze that sent ice through her veins." She didn't need an introduction. She knew exactly who he was. "Victor Vasiliev." Russian. "Brutal." One of the most feared names in the underworld. Why the hell had Damon sent her to "him?" 'You're a pretty little thing," Victor mused, his voice thick with an accent. 'Damon's new pet?" Alina's jaw locked. 'I'm his assistant." Victor chuckled, and the men around him smirked. She hated the way they looked at her. Like she was "bait" in a room full of sharks. She forced herself to stay still as Victor picked up the envelope she had delivered. He opened it, pulling out a single sheet of paper. His smirk faded. The room "shifted." Tension thickened like smoke. Victor's cold eyes flickered back to her, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. 'Damon sent you personally for this?" Alina hesitated. 'Yes." A muscle ticked in his jaw. 'Interesting." He folded the paper slowly, setting it down. 'Tell me, Miss…?" 'Carter," she said quickly. 'Tell me, Miss Carter," Victor drawled. 'Do you have any idea what's in this letter?" Alina's stomach twisted. She already knew the answer. 'No." Victor's lips curled. 'Then you must trust Damon very much." The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't trust Damon. She barely "knew" him. And yet here she was, standing in a "den of wolves," because he had told her to. Victor leaned back in his chair. 'Damon is either very bold… or very foolish." Alina stayed silent. Victor's gaze sharpened. 'Do you know why I dislike being disrespected, Miss Carter?" She didn't answer. He continued anyway. 'Because I do not forgive it." Her heartbeat "skipped." Victor nodded toward one of his men. 'Bring him in." Alina stiffened as footsteps echoed in the warehouse. A moment later, two men "dragged" someone into the room. Her breath hitched. It was a man—bloodied, bruised, barely conscious. They "dropped" him onto the cold floor. Alina's stomach twisted at the sight. His face was swollen, his lip split. Victor exhaled. 'Do you know who this is?" She shook her head, bile rising in her throat. 'This man thought he could betray me." Victor tilted his head. 'Do you know what happens to people who betray me?" Alina didn't answer. Victor gestured lazily. And in the next second— A gunshot rang out. Alina "flinched" as the body slumped, lifeless. Her hands "trembled." She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from gasping. From reacting. Victor turned back to her, unconcerned. 'Now, Miss Carter. Tell me again—do you trust Damon Cross?" Her mouth was dry. Her pulse pounded in her skull. But she forced herself to meet his gaze. 'Yes," she lied. Victor studied her. Then, after a moment—"he smiled." 'Well, then," he murmured. 'Let's hope your trust is not misplaced." He gestured toward the door. 'You may leave now." Alina's legs were unsteady as she turned to go. But she didn't look back. Didn't dare. She walked out of that warehouse knowing "one thing." Damon had just sent her into the fire. And she wasn't sure if she'd come out "alive." By the time Alina returned to "Cross Enterprises", her hands were still shaking. She stormed into Damon's office without knocking. He was standing by the window, glass in hand, as if he'd been expecting her. Alina "slammed" her bag onto the desk. 'You sent me there on purpose." Damon took a slow sip of his drink. 'I did." Her fingers curled into fists. 'You sent me into a room with killers. With "Victor Vasiliev!" Damon's gaze was unreadable. 'And yet, you're still standing." She "gaped" at him. 'That's all you have to say?" He set his glass down, stepping closer. 'You handled yourself well." Alina's breath hitched. He was "too close." Too calm. She shoved his chest, but he barely moved. 'I could have died!" His jaw "ticked." Something flashed in his gaze—something dark. 'But you didn't." Alina swallowed. Damon reached out, his fingers brushing her chin—so gentle it sent a shiver down her spine. 'You're stronger than you think, Alina." His voice was low, almost "dangerous." 'And now… they know it too." She exhaled shakily. Because deep down… She knew this wasn't the "end." It was only the "beginning."