SOLD TO THE DEVIL

Giana balanced the tray carefully on her palm as she moved between the tables, her steps quiet, practiced, invisible. Invisible was safe, Invisible meant survival. “Table twelve needs another bottle,” her manager whispered as he passed her. Giana nodded. “On it.” Her voice was calm and professional, no one here knew who she used to be. No one here knew the things she had done just to stay alive. To them, she was just Giana Russo. A Twenty four years old. Quiet, reliable, reserved. A waitress who never caused trouble and always took extra shifts. Exactly how she wanted it, exactly how she needed it, because normal meant safe. Her fingers tightened slightly around the tray as she reached the private dining section. The restaurant was one of the most expensive in the city with dim gold lighting, crystal glasses, soft classical music. The kind of place powerful men came to make dangerous deals while pretending they were just having dinner. She hated this section. Too many eyes. ‘Let's get this over with’ Giana thought to herself. She placed the wine bottle against her hip and stepped toward the large corner table where six men sat in serious conversation. And then she felt it. That feeling. The same one she had felt five years ago. The feeling that the air itself had become dangerous. Her stomach dropped before her brain caught up. Slowly, unwillingly, she lifted her eyes. And saw him. Ronan Volkov. Her entire body went cold. He sat at the head of the table like a king who didn’t need a crown. His presence alone controlled the space. The other men talked, but he didn’t. He simply watched, listened, decided. Predator stillness. More dangerous than shouting. More dangerous than threats. His dark hair was shorter now. A faint scar traced the edge of his jaw. His shoulders looked broader somehow, his posture even more controlled. Time hadn’t softened him. It had sharpened him. Giana forgot how to breathe. No, please no Five years, five years of running. Five years of hiding. Five years of building a life where he could never find her and now he was sitting ten feet away like fate was laughing at her. Don’t panic, don't run. Running gets attention and the last thing on my mind is to draw attention to myself or lose her job. She thought briefly of going back and asking another waitress to cover for her but she knew better, others have been fired for way less. Her hands started to tremble but she forced them steady as she approached the table. You’re just a waitress. Just pour the wine. Just leave. He hadn’t noticed her, he couldn’t have noticed her. She had changed her hair. Changed her style. Changed everything. She reached the table. One of the businessmen barely glanced at her. “Pour.” She nodded quietly. “Yes, sir.” Her hand remained steady as she reached for Ronan’s glass first. Big mistake. As she poured, she could feel his attention. it was like a blade slowly turning toward her. She kept her eyes lowered. Please don’t look at me. Please don’t remember me. Please don’t “Stop.” The single word froze her. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs. Slowly, she lifted her head. And met his eyes.Those blue eyes she saw when she touched herself, but this time they were cold. Sharp enough to cut truth from lies. Recognition didn’t come immediately. It came slowly. Like a storm building behind his gaze. His eyes moved over her face with quiet Searching Her pulse became painful. Not here. Not like this. Not when she had so much to lose. “Look at me,” he said quietly. It wasn’t aggressive. It was worse. It was a command becausehe was used to being obeyed. She forced herself to comply. Their eyes locked. And something dangerous flickered in his expression. Confusion? Memory? Interest? Her throat felt tight. He was trying to place her. Please don’t remember. Please don’t remember. Please Then his gaze dropped to her hand, the small pale scar near her thumb her blood turned to ice. That stupid scar, one tiny mistake from years ago when she had burned herself on a metal tray the night she met him. He had grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. “Careless,” he had said. He remembered, of course he remembered. His eyes returned to hers slowly. And this time recognition land d “Giana?” Her name sounded different in his voice. Like something he had kept. Like something he hadn’t forgotten. The tray suddenly felt too heavy. “You have the wrong person,” she said immediately. Lie. Lie fast. Lie confidently. His expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked intrigued a smirk playing across his lips “You disappeared,” he said. Her lungs froze. You disappeared, like she had been something worth noticing. She forced a small, polite smile. “I think you’re mistaken.” A long silence followed. He studied her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve. “You worked at a different restaurant,” he said slowly. Her stomach dropped. He remembered that too? “Five years ago.” Her fingers went numb. “I meet a lot of people, if I had met you I would know” she replied carefully. His eyebrow lifted slightly. “So would I” A pause. “I always remember the interesting ones.” Her heart stumbled. had she been interesting? Because she hadn’t cried? Because she hadn’t begged? Because she hadn’t broken? “Sir,” one of the businessmen interrupted awkwardly, “should we continue” Ronan lifted one finger slightly. The man immediately fell silent. Power without effort. Ronan’s attention never left her. “My name is not Giana” She lied her hand slightly trembling “Giana Russo” He said softly. As if testing it. As if he didn’t believe it. As if he already knew the truth. “Giana,” he said again, this time with conviction. Her pulse raced. She forced herself to step back. “Excuse me.” She turned and walked away as fast as she could without falling but she could feel his eyes on her back the entire time. Observing or deciding? she couldn't stick around to find out. She reached the kitchen and immediately grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her breathing broke. No No This couldn’t be happening. She had done everything right. Moved cities. Changed identities. Avoided attention. Built a quiet life. For them. Always for them. Her hand moved instinctively to her pocket where a small folded photo rested. Two small faces smiled up at her. Mikhail. Alina. Her entire world. Her entire reason for surviving. “I won’t let him find you,” she whispered. Her phone vibrated amessage from the babysitter: Misha asked if you’re coming home early today. Alina refuses to sleep without you. Her chest tightened painfully. “I’m coming,” she whispered. She would always come. No matter what. Behind her, the kitchen door opened quietly. She didn’t turn. She already knew. “Why are you running?” She turned slowly. Ronan stood there. Watching her. Waiting. Calculating. Dangerous understanding forming in his eyes. “I always find everything that belongs to me,” he said calmly. Her heart stopped. Belongs to him I do not belong to you she said mustering up all the courage she could trying to keep a stern voice and face “you do ,” he continued quietly, “and you belong to a past that never closed properly.” Fear wrapped around her spine. Because in that moment she understood something terrible: Ronan Volkov hadn’t just recognized her. He would start digging. And if he kept digging He would find her secret.