Chapter 7 - Anka
The thrill was gone.
She stood in the middle of Tiffany hell, it could probably buy the entire fucking store, and that was exactly the problem.
Where was the challenge in spending someone’s money when they didn’t seem to care?
Where was the rebellion when your target just shrugged and let you do whatever the hell you wanted?
For the past week, she had been testing the boundaries of Viktor’s patience, waiting for him to snap, to confront her, to give her the fight she was spoiling for.
Instead, he’d gone completely passive, letting her come and go as she pleased, not even questioning the astronomical charges appearing on his credit card statements.
It was infuriating.
“Are you interested in the bracelet, miss?” The sales associate hovered nearby, probably calculating her commission on a sale this size.
“No,” she said, setting it back in the velvet case with more force than necessary. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”
Nothing was what she was looking for anymore. Not when Viktor had apparently decided to ignore her existence entirely.
She’d expected rage when he discovered his missing card.
She’d prepared for another confrontation, another screaming match where they could both say the cruel things that had been eating at them for days.
Instead, he’d simply had his assistant increase the credit limit and gone about his business like she was some minor expense he couldn’t be bothered to track.
The indifference hurt more than his anger ever had.
She left Tiffany’s empty-handed and walked out into the late afternoon chaos of Fifth Avenue. The December air was sharp and cold, carrying the promise of snow, and she pulled her coat tighter around herself as she headed toward the subway station.
Maybe it was time to admit defeat. Maybe Viktor had won this round by refusing to play the game at all. Maybe she should just go home to his fortress and resign herself to being the ignored, irrelevant wife he apparently wanted her to be.
The thought made her sick.
She was so lost in her own bitter thoughts that she almost didn’t notice the men following her until it was too late.
There were three of them, moving with the kind of casual coordination that set off every alarm bell she’d been trained to recognize. They stayed just far enough back to seem coincidental, just close enough to close the distance quickly if needed.
A slow smile spread across her face. Finally. Viktor had sent his men after her again, probably planning some elaborate scare tactic to remind her who was in charge. Well, this time she was ready for them.
She led them down a side street, away from the main crowds, then turned around to face them with her hands on her hips.
“Seriously?” she called out, loud enough for any surveillance Viktor might have set up to pick up clearly. “This is the best you can do? Send your little errand boys to corner me in an alley like some two-bit gangster movie?”
The three men exchanged glances, and something about their expressions made her confidence waver slightly. They looked... confused. Not like men following orders, but like men who weren’t sure what she was talking about.
“Tell Viktor if he wants to intimidate me, he should have the balls to do it himself,” she continued, fighting off the growing unease in her gut. “I’m not scared of his hired muscle.”
That’s when the first man smiled, and her blood turned to ice. It wasn’t the professional, slightly apologetic smile she’d gotten used to from Viktor’s security team. This was something else entirely. Something hungry and predatory that made every instinct she had scream danger.
“Viktor?” The man laughed, and the sound made her skin crawl. “Lady, we don’t know any Viktor. But we know you’re worth a lot of money to some very interested parties.”
Oh, shit.
These weren’t Viktor’s men. This was a real kidnapping attempt, and she’d just led them away from any potential witnesses or help.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” she said, taking a step backward. “I’m nobody special.”
“Anka Volkov?” The second man pulled out a photograph, and her stomach dropped when she recognized her own face staring back at her. “Recently married to Viktor Nikolai? Yeah, sweetheart, you’re exactly who we’re looking for.”
She turned and ran.
Her heels weren’t made for sprinting, but she managed to make it halfway down the block before strong hands grabbed her from behind. She screamed and fought, driving her elbow backward into someone’s ribs, but there were too many of them, and they were too strong.
“Feisty little bitch,” one of them grunted as they dragged her toward a black van that had appeared at the mouth of the alley. “The boss is going to enjoy breaking you.”
“Let me go!” she twisted in their grip, panic flooding her system as they hauled her off her feet. “You don’t understand, my husband will kill you for this!”
“Your husband’s not here, is he?” The third man opened the van’s sliding door, and she could see zip ties and duct tape waiting inside. “Don’t worry, princess. We’ll take real good care of you.”
The casual cruelty in his voice, the way they manhandled her like she was nothing more than cargo, sent her into full fight-or-flight mode.
She managed to get one leg free and drove her knee up into the groin of the man holding her.
He doubled over with a howl of pain, and in the moment his grip loosened, she broke free.
She ran harder than she’d ever run in her life, her lungs burning as she tore through the maze of side streets and alleyways that surrounded the shopping district. Behind her, she could hear them shouting, their footsteps echoing off the buildings as they gave chase.
The sky had been threatening rain all day, and it chose that moment to open up in a torrential downpour that soaked her to the skin in seconds. The streets became slick and treacherous, and her heels provided no traction on the wet pavement.
She made it three more blocks before she went down hard, her ankle twisting as she slipped on the rain-slicked concrete. Pain shot up her leg like lightning, and she cried out as she hit the ground.
No. No, no, no. She couldn’t be caught like this, helpless and injured in some random alley while those animals closed in on her.
The rain was coming down so hard she could barely see two feet in front of her. Everything was shadows and distorted shapes, water running into her eyes and making the world blur around her. She tried to get up, but her ankle gave out immediately, sending another wave of agony through her body.
She was trapped. Hurt and alone and completely fucking helpless, just like...
Just like before.
The memory hit her like a punch, dragging her back to another rainy night, another moment of helplessness and terror. She could feel her chest tightening, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid as panic clawed its way up her throat.
Not then. She couldn’t fall apart now, not when those men were still out there looking for her.
But she could hear them getting closer, their voices carrying through the rain as they searched the surrounding streets. She pressed herself against a dumpster, trying to make herself as small as possible, trying to control the shaking that had nothing to do with the cold.
Through the curtain of rain, she saw shadows moving at the mouth of the alley. Three figures, methodical and determined, checking every hiding spot as they worked their way toward her.
This was it. They were going to find her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Then she heard the gunshots.
Three sharp cracks that cut through the rain like thunder, followed by the heavy sound of bodies hitting the pavement. The shadows at the end of the alley crumpled and went still.
She huddled against the dumpster, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst, waiting for whoever had just killed her pursuers to show themselves. Friend or enemy, savior or just another threat, she had no way of knowing.
Footsteps approached through the rain, steady and purposeful, and she held her breath as a familiar figure emerged from the gloom.
Viktor.
He was soaked to the skin, his dark hair plastered to his head, his expensive suit ruined by the rain and what looked like blood spatter. In his right hand, he held a smoking pistol, and his ice-blue eyes were scanning the alley with the cold efficiency of a predator.
When his gaze found her huddled against the dumpster, something shifted in his expression. The cold calculation was replaced by something raw and urgent that she couldn’t quite identify.
“Anka.” He holstered his weapon and moved toward her, his hands raised like he was approaching a wounded animal. “Are you hurt?”
She tried to answer, tried to tell him about her ankle and the men and how fucking terrified she’d been, but all that came out was a broken sob. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her shaking and hollow and completely fucking pathetic.
“Hey.” He crouched down in front of her, his voice gentler than she’d heard it since their wedding day. “You’re safe now. They’re dead. They can’t hurt you.”
“My ankle,” she managed to choke out. “I think it’s sprained.”
He looked down at where she was cradling her injured foot, then back at her face. “I’m going to carry you to the car, okay? Is that alright?”
The question surprised her. He was asking permission, as if he were afraid of making things worse, instead of just taking charge like he usually did.
“I’m too heavy,” she protested automatically, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
The look he gave her was so incredulous it might have been funny under different circumstances. “Anka, you’re not too heavy. And even if you were, I’d carry you anyway.”
Before she could argue further, he slipped one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her against his chest like she weighed nothing at all. She expected him to grunt or strain, expected him to make some comment about her size, but he just held her securely and started walking.
“Viktor,” she said, her voice small and uncertain. “How did you find me?”
“GPS tracker in your purse,” he said without apologizing for the invasion of privacy. “When I saw you’d been in the same location for too long, I got worried.”
Worried. Not angry, not annoyed that she’d inconvenienced him again. Worried.
“Who were they?” she asked, letting her head fall against his shoulder despite herself. He was warm and solid and real, and after the terror of the past hour, the comfort of being held was overwhelming.
“Freelance kidnappers, most likely. Your picture and description have been circulating in certain circles since our wedding was announced. They probably thought they could snatch you for ransom.”
His voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but she could feel the tension in his body, the barely controlled rage that radiated from him like heat.
“You killed them,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” There was no remorse in his voice, no hesitation. “And I’d do it again without thinking twice.”
The certainty in his statement, the absolute conviction that he would kill for her, should have been disturbing. Instead, it made something warm and grateful unfurl in her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She felt him glance down at her, but he didn’t say anything. He just held her tighter against his chest as he navigated the rain-soaked streets toward wherever he’d parked his car.
The panic that had been clawing at her chest was finally starting to subside, replaced by an exhaustion so complete she could barely keep her eyes open. The adrenaline crash was hitting her hard, and the steady rhythm of Viktor’s heartbeat against her ear was surprisingly soothing.
“Viktor?” she said as they reached his car.
“Yeah?”
“I wasn’t trying to run away from you. Today, I mean. I was just... shopping.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, as he carefully settled her into the passenger seat, he said, “I know.”
There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify, something that might have been regret or understanding or maybe just exhaustion. Whatever it was, it made her chest tight with emotions she wasn’t ready to examine.
As they drove through the rain-dark streets toward home, she found herself stealing glances at his profile. His jaw was tight with tension, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles were white.
He’d come for her. When she was in real danger, when she actually needed him, he’d appeared like some kind of avenging angel and eliminated the threat without hesitation.
Maybe there was more to her husband than cold revenge and calculated cruelty. Maybe, buried under all that anger and hurt, there was still something of the man she’d fallen in love with four years ago.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, as they pulled through the gates of the Nikolai compound, she felt something that might have been hope starting to bloom in her chest.