Emily's pov:

The Fight, The Fear, and The Tulip

The letter lay on the table, its words burned into my mind, seared into my soul.

You belong to Alexander.

I wanted to rip it apart. To set it on fire and watch the ashes scatter into nothing. But what was the point? No matter how much I fought, no matter how far I ran, my fate had been carved into existence long before I even knew how to fight against it.

Branded into my skin.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into the fabric of my sweater, pressing against the place where he had marked me. Just above my pelvis. The scar was there, a cruel, permanent reminder of what he had done. What he had taken.

But it wasn't just my body he had branded.

He had carved himself into my soul.

My hands trembled as I grabbed my coat and stepped outside. The air was cold, biting, but it wasn't enough to numb the ache inside me. My feet moved on their own, carrying me through the streets, past glowing streetlights and nameless faces. I had no destination.

Or maybe I did.

Because when I passed by a group of men murmuring in hushed voices, I caught a name that stopped me cold.

"Dayvol's fighting tonight. Some brute thinks he can take him down."

Dayvol.

The name clawed at my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Alexander.

I should have turned back. I should have forced myself to walk away.

But I didn't.

I followed the voices, my pulse thundering in my ears.

The underground fight smelled of sweat, blood, and adrenaline, but I barely noticed any of it. My gaze locked onto him the moment I stepped inside.

Alexander.

He moved like a storm-violent, unrelenting, devastating. His body was a weapon, honed to perfection. Every strike calculated, every hit designed to break, to destroy. The man he was fighting was big, stronger than most, but Alexander was faster. Crueler. He hit with deadly precision, knocking his opponent back with ease.

And then-he hesitated.

A flicker of something crossed his face. His body stilled, his piercing eyes lifted-

And met mine.

The world around us faded. The roaring crowd, the brutal fight-none of it existed. Just him. Just me.

And then-

A sickening crack.

The brute's fist connected with Alexander's jaw. Blood sprayed across the floor. He staggered back. Another punch landed. Then another.

He wasn't blocking. He wasn't fighting back.

He was getting hurt.

My breath caught, my chest tightening like a vice. The sight of blood on him-the sound of flesh hitting flesh-made bile rise in my throat. The crowd was screaming, the fight was turning against him, and I-

"Fight, Alex!"

The words left me before I could stop them, raw and desperate and full of something I didn't want to name.

And he heard me.

His body tensed, his head snapping up at the sound of my voice. Something dark flickered in his eyes. He wiped the blood from his mouth, and then-he moved.

The brute never stood a chance.

It was over in seconds. A final devastating punch sent the man crashing to the ground, unmoving. The crowd erupted in cheers, but I didn't hear it.

All I saw was Alexander, standing there, blood dripping down his chin, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

He was hurt.

And before I could think-before I could stop myself-I ran to him.

Tears blurred my vision as I pushed through the crowd. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. He had done so much to me. He had ruined me. He had branded me.

But right now, none of that mattered.

I needed to know he was okay.

I stopped just inches from him, my hands hovering near his bruised skin, my breath shaky. I didn't dare touch him.

He watched me with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"You shouldn't be here, kotenok," he murmured. His voice was rough, strained. But even as he said it, his fingers curled around my wrist, pulling me closer.

"I'm okay."

His voice was quieter this time, meant only for me. He was the one bleeding, but he was the one comforting me. And I hated how much it worked.

As he wiped the sweat and blood from his chest, I sucked in a sharp breath.

Because right over his heart, inked deep into his skin-

Was a tulip.

I blinked, my breath stuttering. My entire body went still.

A tulip. My favorite flower.

It was right over his heart.

Something inside me shattered.

I didn't know how long I stared. My mind raced, searching for an answer, an explanation, anything that could make sense of the reality in front of me.

This wasn't just a tattoo. This was me.

Alexander didn't just brand me with his name. He didn't just force me to carry a mark of his possession.

He had marked himself with me, too.

I felt my knees go weak.

Everyone had left me. My parents. The world. Even Salley, though she tried. No one had stayed. No one had ever made me feel like I mattered enough to be permanent.

But this man-the one who had broken me, the one who had stolen my freedom-

He had etched me into his skin.

His fingers brushed over the ink, his jaw tightening as his gaze flickered to mine.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand-

And pressed his thumb against his mark on me.

Right above my pelvis. Right over the brand he had burned into me.

A soft, almost reverent touch.

His mark on my body.

My mark on his.

Two brands. One forced. One chosen.

One promise that I would never escape him.

His fingers curled possessively, pressing slightly against the scar on my lower stomach.

"I told you, kotenok," he said, his voice low, rough, dangerous. "You've always belonged to me."

I sucked in a sharp breath.

And for the first time, I didn't know if I was running from him-

Or running to him.

A shaky breath left my lips, my vision blurring. My body trembled, overwhelmed by everything-the weight of his touch, the intensity in his gaze, the cruel tenderness in his words.

I sniffled, jerking my head back, my nose red from the cold and the emotion clawing at my chest. I hated him. I hated him so much.

So why did it hurt so much to pull away?

A rough hand caught my chin, tilting my face up. His knuckles brushed my cheek, his touch almost... gentle. But his eyes-his eyes-burned with something else entirely.

Possession.

Obsession.

Something he had never needed words to say.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.

And then, in a voice so soft, so low, it made my pulse stutter-

"Happy birthday, kotenok."

A gasp caught in my throat.

My birthday.

I had forgotten.

But he hadn't.

And that-that-terrified me more than anything else.

Author's Note:

Well, well, well... look who just got emotionally wrecked. It's you. (And me, honestly.)

Let's take a moment to process:

Alex got wrecked in the fight, but let's be real-he let it happen because Emily had him malfunctioning.

Emily, the queen of I-hate-you-but-also-maybe-not, RAN to him. (Denial is a river in Egypt, sweetheart.)

A tulip. Over his heart. If that's not peak "unhinged mafia king in love," I don't know what is.

And then he goes and whispers Happy Birthday like some dark, brooding, psychotic gift-wrapping service. Sir, what?!

At this point, Emily is basically fighting three battles:

The mafia.

Her feelings.

Her tendency to run directly toward the man she claims to despise.

Anyway, how are you guys feeling? Need a hug? A therapist? A contract to make Alex chill out for five minutes? (Good luck, because even I can't control him at this point.)

Drop a comment, scream into the void, or send Emily some virtual therapy sessions. Until next time! Mwah!