My stomach fell when I stared at his chest. When I stared at his identity tattoo just like mine—221.

“You,” I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest, my hands gripping the arms of the chair. “You, 221, are Zaal Kostava? You are Zoya’s brother?”

Zaal nodded. It was obvious he couldn’t speak. Suddenly the reason for his hit made sense. “It was you that killed Jakhua. That’s why Mistress brought us to New York. That’s why she wants you dead. In revenge for you killing her lover.”

Zaal’s eyes closed and he breathed deep. The blond next to him stepped forward and removed his shirt. My head fell forward when I saw the tattoo on his chest—818.

I had found males like me.

Beasts like me.

I eventually met his eyes, and he said, “Alaskan gulag champion. Taken at fourteen.”

“Taken at twelve,” I said after a few silent seconds, my voice breaking. “Taken from my orphanage in the middle of the night. Along with my sister and about twenty others.”

Silence reigned until Kostava rasped, “Taken at eight. But made to watch my entire family killed first. Then grew lost to the serum until only months ago.”

I studied his face, and I could now see the young 221 in his expression. And I could see Zoya. He was dark skinned and dark featured like my kotyonok—but for his green eyes. “Where’s 362?” I asked.

Both men were silent, until Zaal simply said, “Dead.”

My eyes closed, and I whispered, “It will kill her to know that.”

“Who?” the blond pushed, his tone demanding.

“Zoya,” I replied.

That seemed to kick-start Zaal, and he moved before me. “Where is she?”

“Mistress has her and my sister. I was ordered to take you weeks ago, but I couldn’t get to you. You had too much protection. Mistress told me to take someone who knew you, if not you.” I paused, then said, “I saw Zoya watching you from across the street. I saw a photograph she had in her hand of you. I took her. I needed a way in, and judged she could provide it.”

Zaal flew forward and dug his fingers into my arms. “And what did you do to her? If you hurt her I’ll kill you.”

Shame ran through me, and I eventually said, “I fell in love with her, you Georgian prick. I fought the fucking serum that made me take her off the street, that made me obey anything that bitch Mistress wanted of me, and fell in love with the little Georgian.” My eyes briefly closed at the pain of what Mistress had done to her.

Trying to hold back my rage, I explained, “Mistress found out and came for us both. She has her held captive. Mistress will kill Zoya if I don’t come back with you. She wants you. This whole move to New York has been for you. You killed her lover—the man just as evil as her.”

Zaal searched my eyes, then stood up. “How many males does she have with her, protecting her?”

“She keeps ten men in her mansion, and three bigger better-trained Night Wraiths around her at all times. Zoya and Inessa, my sister, will also be in the house.”

“What are the Night Wraiths?” the blond asked.

Ice infused my blood. “The Wraiths are fucking made in hell. The Arzianis are not like other crime families. They’re like an army, with Master Arziani as their general. They all dress in black uniforms, the symbol of two daggers crossing marked on all of their lapels. They have no souls. All of them—dead inside. They come for kids at night, blending into the shadows, and throw them into hell—the Blood Pit is hell on Earth. We called them Night Wraiths in the orphanage, as the children believed they were evil ghosts that came to take you to hell—the reality wasn’t far off.”

I shook my head, trying to chase those memories from my head before I exploded. But I looked to Zaal and said, “If I don’t appear with you by the end of the day, Zoya and Inessa get shipped off to Georgia, to the Blood Pit. And they’ll be used—a lot. They’re both too beautiful to not gain Master’s attentions.”

Zaal was stone as I told him those words. His head fell slightly forward, and he whispered, “Zoya’s beautiful?” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed razors. My stomach clenched. I could see the protectiveness, the sibling love, he had for Zoya, the same as I had for Inessa.

Feeling warmth fill my body just thinking of my female, I replied in a hushed voice, “So fucking beautiful. Long black hair, dark eyes, olive skin—she’s stolen my dead heart.”

Zaal looked to the blond and growled, “We’re going in.”

The blond man nodded his head, agreeing there was no other option; then he looked to me. “What’s your name?”

My blood spiked with hope. I had hope for the first time in years that I’d free Inessa and I could save Zoya. “Valentin,” I rasped, “Valentin Belrov.”

The blond man signaled for someone to untie me. When the ties dropped away, I stood on shaking legs. I met the blond’s eyes and he said, “I’m Luka Tolstoi, the knyaz of the Volkov Bratva.”

My eyes widened and I instantly lowered my head. “I am the son of a crack whore, before I was this—the Arziani beast. But I am proud to fight beside you, Knyaz.”

Luka nodded his head, looking every inch the Bratva prince, then pointed to Zaal. “My brother, Zaal Kostava, is the Lideri to the Kostava Clan of Tbilisi. They were the most powerful clan in Georgia until Jakhua massacred them. He’s rebuilding his seat of power.”

My stomach dropped, and my lips parted in shock. “Zoya is a Georgian underground dis?” Zaal gave me a stern curt nod in response, his eyes narrowing. My head dropped. Zoya was Georgian crime family royalty. Her brother was a crime boss who was marrying into the Bratva.

She would never be with me. Daughters of crime families only ever married well. To the people of Georgia, she may as well be a crowned printsessa.

“You remember the way back to your Mistress’s house?” Zaal asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yes,” I replied, my body suddenly feeling drained, as I knew now that I could never be with Zoya when all of this was over. Knowing when the danger was no more, my kotyonok would realize the enormity of my sadistic acts—not all of them under the control of the serum.

“Good,” Zaal said. “We need a map, and we need to call in our men.” Luka moved forward and walked to another room. As I turned to go, Zaal’s rigid hand landed on my arm. I glanced down at his fingers wrapped round my biceps, and my nostrils flared. No fucker touched me; I didn’t care if he was the fucking king of the entire world.