Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Viktor
T he sharp scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the room, mingling with the faint hum of the city outside. Viktor sat at the long mahogany table in Konstantin’s private office, his fingers resting lightly on the polished surface, a mask of indifference carefully crafted over his features. He wasn’t here for pleasantries; he had no time for idle chatter. But the man sitting across from him was a different story.
Konstantin Mikhailov, his father’s old associate, had called for this meeting. Viktor wasn’t surprised. The Mikhailovs had a way of finding trouble, and Viktor had been waiting for the day Konstantin would come asking for help. But what he hadn’t anticipated was the offer he’d walk away with.
Konstantin poured whisky into two glasses, his movements deliberate, almost ceremonial as he slid one across the desk to Viktor. “It’s a 1945 brew. Ten grand a bottle.”
Viktor eyed the glass, twirling it lazily in his hand as the amber liquid smeared the sides. It didn’t look quite as priceless as Konstantin claimed, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for the drinks.
Being in Konstantin’s office, surrounded by its heavy oak furniture and the faint scent of cigar smoke, felt strange. Uneasy. The older man leaned back in his leather chair, spinning tales of his glory days with a smirk that carried more pride than nostalgia. They weren’t friends—not by a long shot—but they weren’t exactly enemies either. Their relationship lived in the gray, somewhere between mutual benefit and mutual distrust. Konstantin was trouble, Viktor knew that much.
So why had he accepted the invitation to be here tonight?
The answer gnawed at the edges of his mind. He wanted to believe it had nothing to do with a certain dark-haired, gray-eyed woman he’d cornered the other night. That would be... irrational. Obsessive, even.
And yet, here he was.
He took a long sip of the whisky, letting the burn travel down his throat. It was sharp, unrefined, much like Konstantin himself. “Ten grand?” he muttered, unimpressed. “You sure it’s not moonshine you slapped a fancy label on?”
Konstantin chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Your palate’s wasted on this, I’m afraid. But tonight’s special.”
Viktor took a cautious sip, the burn sharp against his throat. “Yeah, real smooth,” he said with a grimace, setting the glass down. Acknowledging the jab but refusing to rise to it, his mind wasn’t on the whisky or Konstantin’s posturing. It was on her. The way her gaze had locked onto his, defiant and daring, daring him to push further. That brief encounter had taken root in his mind, growing into something he didn’t quite understand.
Did he hope she might appear tonight, that she might wander into this game of power and pretense they were playing? Perhaps.
Did he know why her memory lingered, stirring something raw and volatile in him? Not at all.
What he did know was that whatever came next wouldn’t be clean or simple. Sofia was a complication. Complications in their world often turned lethal.
But that didn’t stop him. It never had.
He leaned back in his chair, letting the tension build in the silence. Konstantin watched him, measuring his every move, his every breath. But Viktor’s thoughts remained his own, buried deep beneath the calm mask he wore.
Whatever this new acquaintanceship with Konstantin was meant to be, it teetered on the edge of civility, bound to snap under the weight of ambition and desire. And Viktor had never been one to avoid the breaking point.
“Let’s cut the pretense, Konstantin. You didn’t bring me here to swap drinks and nostalgia.”
“You’re right,” Konstantin admitted, swirling his own glass before downing its contents in one practiced motion. “I’m not much for small talk.”
Viktor raised a brow, his tone sharpening. “So? What is it this time? Another one of your men caught smuggling, or worse?”
“No. It’s... more complicated than that.” Konstantin hesitated, his fingers drumming against the mahogany desk. “Business hasn’t been great. Rivals are pushing hard, and the streets aren’t what they used to be.”
“They never are,” Viktor said dryly, pushing back his chair. “If this is another pity speech, I’m leaving.”
“Wait.” Konstantin stood abruptly, his voice cracking with urgency. “I need your help, Viktor.”
Viktor froze mid-motion, his expression unreadable. This was new. Konstantin didn’t beg. He barely asked. Still, Viktor didn’t sit down. “What kind of help?”
“Financial,” Konstantin said, his words heavy. “I’ve got debts—serious ones—and you’ve got resources. Money.”
Viktor let out a low laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Straight to the point. Typical of you. And what’s in it for me?”
Konstantin hesitated for a fraction too long before answering. “Sofia.”
Viktor’s smirk disappeared. His jaw tightened as his mind raced. Sofia. The name wasn’t just a word—it was a memory. The night at the club. Her fiery eyes meeting his, daring him to challenge her. The way she carried herself, unyielding, even under his scrutiny.
He clenched his fist, the tension in his body palpable. “Sofia? Your daughter?” His voice was low, almost dangerous.
Konstantin nodded, his expression carefully neutral. “I’ll give her to you. As collateral.”
The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening between them. Viktor’s mind screamed to walk away, to leave this madness behind. But then another thought crept in, darker and more possessive. The idea of Sofia—of her being handed off to someone else—made his chest tighten. He didn’t like the feeling. Not one bit.
“What makes you think I’d even consider this?” Viktor said finally, his voice as cold as the whisky in his glass. “I can have any woman I want. Why her?”
“She’s... unique,” Konstantin said, choosing his words carefully. “She’s strong, smart, capable. Not just any woman. I’m offering you something that will seal our partnership and clear my debts.”
Viktor’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Partnership? Is that what you’re calling this now? Because it sounds a lot like desperation.”
“And you’re not a desperate man? You wouldn’t be standing here if you weren’t.” Konstantin’s voice hardened, a flicker of his old pride breaking through.
Viktor leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “If I agree to this— if —don’t mistake my charity for weakness. This is business. Nothing more.”
Konstantin’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his face betrayed the relief he felt. “Of course. Business.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the conversation pressing down on both men. Viktor broke the tension first, standing to his full height and adjusting his jacket.
“Tell me about her,” he said, his tone even but with an edge that promised this wasn’t over.
Konstantin exhaled, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his expression. “She’s not a liability, Viktor. She’s a gift—a way for both of us to come out ahead.”
Viktor’s eyes darkened, his thoughts shifting. A gift? No. Sofia wasn’t something to be exchanged like a trinket. She was fire and steel, and if she ever found out about this arrangement, she’d burn them both to the ground.
Still, he couldn’t shake the thought of her—the woman who’d left a mark on him in a single night. He wasn’t in the habit of taking what wasn’t freely offered, but Sofia? She wasn’t an offer. She was a challenge.
And Viktor never backed down from a challenge.
Konstantin’s lips curled into a grim smile. “She’s not like the others, Viktor. She’s…different. Smart. Independent. Knows how to get under your skin, but loyal when it counts.”
Loyal. The word coiled in Viktor's chest like a snake. Loyalty wasn’t something he trusted. It was too easily bought and too often betrayed. He’d learned that lesson young, courtesy of his father’s ruthlessness. Loyalty was a currency, and Viktor hadn’t traded in it for years.
But there was something in Konstantin’s tone that held Viktor’s attention. The way he spoke about Sofia—not just as a bargaining chip, but as a force. The idea of a woman who wouldn’t crumble under his gaze, who could challenge him without breaking—it was...intriguing. Dangerous, even. And Viktor liked danger.
Viktor tilted his glass slightly, watching the liquid swirl. “She sounds like more trouble than she’s worth,” he said, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp.
Konstantin’s laugh was dry, a brittle sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She can be. But trouble keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”
Viktor smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes either. “Interesting isn’t always good.”
Konstantin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his expression serious now. “She has fire. She won’t just stand by and watch the world burn—she’ll make sure she controls the flames.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, Konstantin’s words hanging in the air like smoke. Viktor’s mind raced with possibilities. A woman like Sofia wasn’t just an asset; she was a risk. A risk that could either tip the scales in his favor or topple everything he’d built.
Sofia would be his to exert influence.
The mood between Viktor and Konstantin was thick, laden with the stiffness of a deal struck under duress, but Viktor felt none of it. He was always in charge—always.
“I’ll take her,” Viktor said with an edge to his tone, a finality to it that left no room for debate. His eyes locked onto Konstantin’s, challenging, daring him to offer any more resistance. Konstantin’s face flickered with something between relief and calculation. Viktor could sense that Konstantin was already thinking of how he would use this to his advantage, but that was a game Viktor was already playing, and he intended to win.
“Good,” Konstantin replied, his lips curling with a hint of satisfaction. “You’ll have her at your disposal within the week.”
Viktor regarded Andrei, who stood by the door for a flitting second. He wore a stoic expression, the one Viktor was used to by now from the many years they'd been together. The man was fiercely loyal and unreadable, but Viktor still held back. In his world, it was easy for anyone to betray you, even a family member. A friend like Andrei fell into that category a little too easily. Viktor’s gaze flicked back to Konstantin. “And one more thing. If she causes any problems... I deal with it.”
Konstantin’s smile faltered for the briefest second before he regained his composure. “Of course. She won’t be a problem.”
Viktor nodded sharply, but his mind wasn’t on Konstantin anymore. It was on Sofia. The image of her soft skin, her dark eyes, the way she had moved in that moment the night before—it haunted him. He could still feel the heat of her, the promise of submission in her every glance. But more than that, he could feel something else—something far more dangerous—a stirring of possessiveness that Viktor rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.
He’d been in control of everything for so long—his business, his empire, his life. But Sofia was different. He could already feel how she would slip under his skin, how every part of him would want to break her, mold her into something that bent to his will. But it wouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t be quick. And it would be far more... pleasurable than anything he had ever done before.
Andrei broke into his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “Don’t make a mistake with her, Viktor,” he said, his tone casual, almost too innocent.
Viktor’s eyes flashed to his. “What do you mean?”
Andrei’s lips curled into something that resembled a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. “You can’t order her around the way you think you can. She’s not like the others. Women like her—” he paused, leaning closer, reducing to a whisper, “they don’t bow to men like you.”
The words hit Viktor suddenly. Andrei’s implication was clear. Sofia would be more than a challenge. She would defy him, she would resist, and that, in itself, made her a prize Viktor couldn’t walk away from.
The words weren’t just a warning—they were a promise. A promise of power, of domination, of bending her to his will in ways that would consume her entirely. The idea of it—of making her his in every possible way—sent a thrill through Viktor’s veins that was almost too heightened to bear. He would crush her resistance and mold her to his desires. She would become just another pawn in his game.
Andrei didn’t speak, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sensed the change in Viktor. He had known Viktor long enough to understand when something was stirring beneath the surface. But Viktor wasn’t concerned with Andrei’s reaction. He was focused on Sofia—and how she would respond to him.
They made their way out of the house, but Viktor’s mind was elsewhere. His sister's face flashed in the dark, and so did her warnings.
“Don’t trust Konstantin.”
Kat. His confidante. His anchor. And, more importantly, his sister. The one woman in the world he trusted with everything—the one person who saw things without the emotional fog clouding her judgment. Her words were always blunt, always pointed. She had been right so many times before, but Viktor had ignored her warnings. He had to. There was too much at stake. Konstantin had been a part of his plans for too long to suddenly discard him.
But now, those warnings came flooding back, and Viktor felt a simmering irritation rise in his chest. How dare anyone challenge him? How dare Konstantin play his own game?
“You’re not the only one who knows how to make a move.”
She had sounded so urgent that night, as though she knew something Viktor hadn’t fully realized yet. The betrayal, the subterfuge, the way Konstantin had used Viktor all these years. Viktor’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he remembered her words. But he wouldn’t let it distract him now. He would play the game. And he would play it better than anyone else. On his terms.
As he drove away from the house, the weight of his decisions pressed down on Viktor’s shoulders. He didn’t care that Konstantin was playing a game of his own. He didn’t care about the alliances, the threats, or the looming betrayals. Sofia was his, and he would take her. He would break, bend, and twist her into whatever shape suited his needs.
And it wasn’t just about power. It was about something more profound. Something darker. The thrill of making her yield to him—the idea of her submission, of her crumbling beneath his touch—was something Viktor couldn’t shake. She would become a part of him, as much as his empire, as much as his wealth, as much as the power that flowed through his veins.
She would be his to mold, to break. The thought sent a surge of heat coursing through him. He would show her who was in charge. He would carve his mark on her, make her ache for him in ways she would never understand. And Sofia? She would be another piece in his perfectly ordered world. She would fit, just like everything else.
His mind was still racing with thoughts of Sofia—of her soft skin, of the way her body had responded to him, trembling beneath his touch.
Sofia would learn what it meant to be in Viktor Ivanov’s world.