Raven's POV :
The cold always hit harder after a fight.
My knuckles ached beneath the worn wraps, stinging with each moment as I walked through the rusted gate of our house—if you could still call it that. It leaned to one side like it wanted to collapse, like even the walls were tired of pretending.
"Riot," I called as I shut the door behind me. No answer.
The hallway was dim, the bulb flickering overhead like it had forgotten how to stay alive. I kicked off my shoes and padded down the hall, still in my tank and bloodstained track pants, sweat drying on my back.
"Riot, you better not be—"
My voice stopped.
He was there.
On the couch.
Still.
Too still.
For a moment, I stood frozen. Then the dread poured in like ice water in my lungs. I rushed to him, grabbed his shoulders.
"Riot—Riot, wake up!"
Nothing.
I shook him harder, heart slamming against my ribs.
His skin was cold.
No...
"No—no, no, no—please, no!" My voice cracked as I dropped to my knees, clutching his lifeless body. His head lolled, dark eyes glassy, lips pale.
Tears blurred my vision. My chest cracked open. I screamed his name again, like maybe if I screamed loud enough, the universe would give him back.
But it didn't.
He was gone.
Just like that.
Gone.
And I was alone.
Again.
The sobs came without warning, full and ugly and raw. I'd fought tooth and nail in the ring just hours ago, felt invincible—but here I was now, a broken girl on a rotting floor, clutching the only family I had left.
Mom died first. Breast cancer. Dad followed a year later—motorcycle crash, too fast, too late. And now Riot...
I was cursed. There was no other explanation.
I don't know how long I sat there crying. Minutes? Hours?
Eventually, something fluttered to the floor.
A piece of paper.
I hadn't noticed it on the coffee table before. It had my name on it.
Raven.
I reached for it with shaking hands.
---
Raven,
If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I never meant to leave you like this.
I tried. God, I tried to fix it. But the debt was too deep. I thought I could handle it, I thought I could fight, but I was wrong. I was never strong like you.
His name is Kairus Vasiliev. You might hear it someday.
He owns everything. The blood, the streets, even death.
I owed him. Everything.
And now… you owe him too.
Please, Raven, don't hate me.
—Riot.
---
The page crumpled in my grip. My stomach turned. My head buzzed.
Kairus Vasiliev.
The name pulsed like a threat in the back of my mind. Russian. Mafia.
I knew who he was—or at least, I'd heard the whispers. Ruthless. Cold-blooded. Untouchable.
Riot owed him?
I stood up slowly, numbness crawling through my veins. My eyes burned, but the tears had run dry.
What the hell had my brother gotten himself into?
And what was I supposed to do now?
I walked to the window and stared at the moonlit street.
Everything was gone. My brother. My family. My future.
All I had left were bruised fists and the name of a man who ruled the underworld.
___
The cemetery was quiet—too quiet.
Riot's coffin had been lowered just minutes ago. The priest's murmurs still echoed faintly in my ears, but none of it stuck. I stood there long after everyone else left, arms crossed over my chest, fists clenched in the sleeves of my worn hoodie. The sky was gray, not a single bird in sight, like even God didn't want to look down on me today.
I didn't cry.
Not here.
Not now.
Tears were for before—for the floor where I found him. Now, I had only one thing left:
Silence.
And a name. A name that clung to my skin like poison.
Kairus Vasiliev.
I went home alone.
The wind howled through the broken windows, and I didn't bother turning on the lights. The house didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a mausoleum.
I sat on the old couch where Riot died, knees pulled to my chest, staring blankly at the empty space where he once laughed, cursed, and called me his little warrior.
The silence was deafening.
Until it wasn't.
I heard them before I saw them—engines. Multiple. Low, expensive growls of black cars rolling in like a funeral procession from hell.
I stood and walked to the window.
And froze.
Four. No....five black cars. All identical. Sleek. Tinted. Deadly.
Doors opened in sync. Men in suits spilled out. Expressionless. Armed. Shadows wrapped in wealth and violence.
Then I saw him.
The last to exit the center car.
Tall.
Sharp jaw.
White hair slicked back.
Black tailored suit. Leather gloves. Sunglasses even though the sun had long since disappeared.
Kairus Vasiliev.
I knew it was him before anyone said a word. His aura was colder than death, heavier than any grief I'd ever known. The others moved like soldiers.
He moved like a king.
There was no warning before he stepped into the house. No knock. No introduction.
Just presence.
The door creaked open like it feared him too.
He didn't glance around. Didn't look at the broken walls, the flickering bulb, the remnants of poverty we'd dressed up as life. He looked at me.
Behind those black lenses, I knew he was watching every breath I took.
He stopped a few feet away.
His voice, when he spoke, was as smooth as it was lethal.
"You're Raven. "
Not a question. A fact.
I said nothing.
He didn't wait.
"Your brother owed me." He pulled off his gloves slowly, as if time bent to his will. "He couldn't pay. So now you will."
I swallowed back the scream rising in my throat. "He's dead."
He smirked like that meant nothing.
"Dead men still leave shadows."
"What the hell do you want from me?" My voice cracked, but I kept my chin high.
His expression didn't change.
"Two million dollars." He said it like it was spare change. "In one week."
I laughed bitterly. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"
"No." He turned away slightly, gaze moving toward a framed photo of Adrian on the shelf. "But I don't mind watching you beg."
My blood boiled. "You're insane."
He looked back at me. "No, sweetheart. I'm patient. And I always collect what's mine."
He stepped closer. My breath caught.
There was no kindness in his face. No humanity.
Just ice and silence and power.
"You have seven days," he said softly. "After that… well. You'll find out what happens to those who don't pay me back."
Then, without another word, he turned and left—his soldiers following like shadows.
The moment the door slammed shut, it was like the air had been sucked from the house. Silence settled once more, but it wasn't the same as before.
This silence was loud.
It echoed.
Mocked.
Devoured.
I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, staring at the spot where he'd stood—where his words had slithered into my skin and made a home.
Two million.
One week.
Or else.
I dropped to the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. My legs couldn't hold me. My body felt hollow.
Two million dollars.
Seven days.
A bitter laugh escaped me, sharp and broken. "Is this some kind of goddamn movie?"
What job could I take that'd pay that much?
What organ could I sell?
What soul could I trade?
I buried my face in my hands, and this time, I didn't hold back the tears.
They came fast—hot, messy, full of the grief I hadn't had the luxury to feel at the funeral. I sobbed until my throat ached, until my lungs felt raw from holding in screams that never left.
"Why, Riot?" My whisper was barely audible over the storm of emotion crashing through me. "Why would you do this to me?"
He'd promised he was done with debt. Promised he was trying to change—for me.
And now he was gone, leaving me behind like some sacrifice to the wolves.
To him.
Kairus.
The man who walked in here like he owned the oxygen. The way he looked at me—unbothered, unmoved, unimpressed. Like I was just a payment plan in a hoodie.
Two million dollars.
I didn't even have two hundred in my account.
No relatives. No family. No one to call for help. The world had been cruel before. But this... this was cruelty with a suit and a name.
I stared at the cracked ceiling.
I had one week to either pay... or fall into the hands of a mafia king.
And something told me that if I fell into his hands, I wouldn't walk away whole.
But I didn't have a choice.
Not anymore.