Two days had passed since Psyke had branded Leonariz, leaving the Romanov family's mark seared into her flesh. The brand served as a warning—a clear indication of ownership, a deterrent to anyone who might dare to claim her.
The Romanovs were feared, the most powerful Mafia family in Russia. Next in power were the Bognadovs, notorious for their underground auctions and their bitter rivalry with the Romanovs. The Morosova family held the third position, these four families controlling the vast majority of Russia's business interests.
Their wealth was unparalleled, their power absolute. Even the government turned a blind eye to their illegal activities, fearing their wrath. The Bognadovs, infamous for human trafficking, were a prime example—the very system that had ensnared Leonariz.
"Ich denke, du bist mit deinem Haustier ein bisschen weit gegangen."
("I think you went a bit far with your pet,") Sebastian said, his German words cutting through the quiet hum of the private plane.
Psyke's attention shifted to Sebastian, who sat beside him. They were en route to England, on one of their routine 'visits'—a euphemism for eliminating those deemed expendable to the Romanov family. Psyke and Sebastian were the family's grim reapers, Psyke the cold heart, Sebastian the smiling demon.
Psyke swirled the expensive wine in his shot glass.
"No, I didn't. She's not that weak to die from those wounds. I bought her knowing she'd overcome worse," he explained, downing the wine in a single gulp.
"Whatever, don't sulk when she's dead when we get back. I'm warning you."
Psyke chuckled at Sebastian's words.
"You bet. She's not just some woman from the street, Sebastian. I'm certain she'll survive, even if I didn't feed her for a week," Psyke said, a smirk playing on his lips.
Sebastian laughed. "„/Du musst aus der Hölle kommen. Sogar Satan hätte Angst vor dir." ("You must be from hell. Even Satan would be afraid of you.")
"Oh, shut it, speak English or Russian," Psyke said, his voice sharp.
"Whatever, you psychotic freak boss of mine," Sebastian retorted, taking a swig of his own drink.
"I'm your brother, idiot," Psyke murmured, gazing out the plane window.
—
"Aaa! Eta suka prodolzhala deystvovat' mne na nervy!"
("Argh! This bitch kept getting on my nerves!") Shelly's furious yell filled the living room. She was clearly agitated, clutching a cardboard box and glaring at Leonariz, who was carrying a much heavier one.
Leonariz walked ahead, effortlessly carrying the box, despite Shelly's attempts to make it impossibly heavy. Shelly had resorted to gestures to direct Leonariz, frustrated by the Amazonian's inability to speak or understand Russian or English.
The rhythmic scrape of Leonariz's chains against the marble floor grated on Shelly's nerves. It was unnerving, a constant reminder of Leonariz's captivity.
"Stop! Argh! Not there, you bitch—what the fuck, Anastasia! Stop her!" Shelly's voice cracked with frustration as Leonariz headed toward the kitchen instead of the new storage room.
Anastasia smoothly tripped Leonariz, sending her sprawling and the box tumbling. Nails and other heavy objects are scattered across the floor.
"Ouch!" Anastasia yelped as a nail pierced her foot.
Leonariz's left hand bled where a nail had embedded itself in her palm.
She winced, the pain sharp and immediate. She fought back the tears, knowing this was nothing compared to the pain Psyke could inflict. She knew that if she couldn't endure this, she wouldn't last with Psyke. And she wouldn't find the man responsible for her sister's death.
Her hands trembling, Leonariz gathered the scattered nails and tools.
Shelly and Anastasia watched in disbelief. They could see how deeply the nail had pierced her palm—at least two inches, and if it had gone straight through, it would have exited her hand.
Leonariz finished, silently picking up the box again. She looked at Shelly, waiting for her to move so she could follow, understanding her mistake.
"Woah, look at her. Acting so high and mighty. Why don't you teach her a lesson, Shelly? Edna isn't here to stop us this time, and the boss isn't here either." Anastasia suggested, raising an eyebrow.
Shelly's temper flared. She dropped her box and kicked Leonariz hard in the stomach.
Leonariz fell, gasping as pain shot through her injured leg and the branded mark on her thigh. She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to scream at the two maids who were tormenting her. She couldn't risk jeopardizing the safety of those she cared about. She stared at the box she'd dropped, blood welling from the nail still embedded in her hand.
"Ty gryaznaya zhenshchina! Kak ty smeyesh' tak smotret' na menya, a? Ty dumayesh', chto ty vyshe tol'ko potomu, chto Psikh privel tebya syuda?! Ty chertov rasputnyy urod!"
("You filthy woman! How dare you look at me like that, huh? You think you're superior just because Psyke brought you here?! You damn slutty freak!") Shelly screamed, yanking Leonariz's hair.
The pain was intense, but Leonariz kept her gaze down, instinctively submitting. In the wild, if you didn't intend to fight, you looked away, a sign of surrender.
It seemed to work. Shelly roughly released her hair. Leonariz was about to pick up the box when Shelly's words cut through her restraint.
"Suka, tvoye plemya dolzhno prosto umeret', chtoby tebya ne bylo, v etom mire ostalis' nadoyedlivyye otbrosy."
("Bitch, you and your tribe should just die so there won't be any of you, annoying lowlifes, left in this world.")
Leonariz's control snapped. Her wild instincts took over. She spun, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to Shelly's ribs, sending her crashing into the refrigerator. The chain on Leonariz's ankle struck Shelly's head.
Leonariz's eyes were cold and emotionless as she advanced on the fallen maid.
"Fuck! You damn Amazona!" Anastasia screamed, lunging at Leonariz, but the sound of a gunshot echoed through the mansion.
Leonariz froze, and her attack halted. She felt a dark, heavy presence approaching, a presence she somehow felt connected to, even from a distance.
Slowly, she turned towards the kitchen door. Psyke stood there, his dark blue eyes fixed on her.
She was stunned, afraid, but still burning with fury.
"Vidish'?.. YA zhe govoril tebe, Sebast'yan. Moy tigr vyzhivet, no ya ne ozhidal, chto on vzbesitsya. Pokhozhe, mne nuzhno prepodat' yemu kakoy-to urok."
("See…? I told you, Sebastian. My tiger will survive, but I wasn't expecting it to go berserk. It seems like I need to teach it a lesson.")