Chapter 28
The rage starts the second Viktor Volkov’s name appears on my caller ID.
I’d been expecting something—some show of concern, some acknowledgment of what happened to Elena.
My wife. His daughter.
But no.
He didn’t ask how she was. Didn’t ask if she was healing. Didn’t even pretend to give a damn. He only asked for me.
A meeting. Alone.
Like Elena was nothing but an object on a chessboard they traded away.
I shut that down immediately. If he wanted to speak to me, he would do it with Elena at my side.
And if he didn’t like it, he could go to hell.
The rage simmered all the way through the drive, a slow, steady burn beneath my ribs.
But walking through that house—the house she grew up in, the house that shaped every fear she’s ever had—the fire spreads.
Because they don’t look at her. They don’t speak to her. They don’t even acknowledge her presence.
She stands at my side—my brave, brilliant girl—and her father walks right past her like she’s smoke.
My jaw aches from clenching.
By the time he speaks to her—finally—his first words are a sneer. A dismissal. A slap in the face.
He scoffs at her contribution to the conversation, like she’s too stupid to breathe without permission.
And that’s it.
Something in me snaps.
I lean forward, voice low but vibrating with fury. “I told myself I would be patient,” I say, staring Viktor down. “I told myself that maybe—somehow—you would respect your daughter now that she is my wife.” The room stills. “But I see now that will never happen.”
Viktor lifts his chin, unimpressed.
Elena goes still beside me—mask on, eyes empty—and that only fuels the inferno climbing through my chest.
So I keep going.
“We will honor the alliance,” I say, voice like steel. “Our families will stand together in business, in territory, in the eyes of every enemy we share.” I let the next words sharpen. “But you will never contact Elena again.”
Silence crashes over the room. Viktor’s brows twitch. My mother-in-law pales. Rocco shifts closer to Elena, ready for anything.
“She is the smartest, strongest, kindest woman I have ever known,” I say, locking eyes with the man who raised her to bow. “And if anyone in this house ever disrespects her again… I will not be polite about my response.”
Viktor’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me, Moretti?”
“No,” I say calmly. “I’m promising you.” He opens his mouth, but I’m already standing. “Come, Elena. We’re leaving.”
I reach for her hand—but Viktor lifts a hand sharply.
“I have information,” he says.
I stop. Barely. The fury in me says to walk away.
To take Elena and never look back.
But I can’t.
Because the way he says it—controlled, calculated, almost satisfied—He knows something.
I turn back slowly.
“What information?” I demand.
Viktor’s lips curl into something that isn’t a smile. “Sit, Mr. Moretti.”
Every instinct in me screams not to trust him.
But for Elena’s safety… and our vengeance?
I sit. For now. And my hand never leaves my wife’s.
Viktor leans back in his chair, studying me like he thinks he’s the most powerful man in the room.
He isn’t. Not anymore.
“There has been chatter among my lower ranks,” he begins, voice smooth, rehearsed. “A man… ambitious, reckless. Someone who believed working closely with Simon would bring him favor in my eyes.”
Simon’s name punches through my chest like a hot spike.
Elena’s hand tightens in mine. I squeeze back—steady, grounding, but murderous.
Viktor continues, utterly unfazed.
“This man did not know of the marriage arrangement,” he says. “When he heard of it—when he realized the alliance was secure without him—he acted out. Foolishly.”
My blood runs cold. Then hot. He attacked my wife because he wasn't able to move up faster?
I’m vibrating with fury, every muscle coiled tight, waiting—begging—for Viktor to say the damn name so I can get Elena out of this fucking mausoleum of a house.
“His mistake will cost him his life,” Viktor says casually. “Of course.”
“Two days ago,” Viktor adds lightly. “I confirmed he acted alone.”
Rocco stiffens beside us. The words hit like a blow.
And Rocco snaps. “You verified the name—two days ago?” he roars, stepping forward before I can stop him. “Two days after they attacked your daughter?”
The entire room goes still. Viktor’s eyes turn to ice. Deadly. Lethal.
Elena’s hand trembles in mine—just barely—but I feel every shiver.
“Rocco,” I say, voice low, sharp. “Enough.”
He grinds his jaw and takes a single step back, but the rage is still radiating off him in waves.
Viktor exhales as if we are an inconvenience.
“The name,” I bite out. “Now.”
He smirks like he’s finally won something.
“His name is Leonid Kuznetsov.”
My grip around Elena’s hand tightens so hard she squeezes back—reassuring me.
“Leonid was a desperate man,” Viktor continues. “A man with nothing left to lose. A man who made stupid choices for stupid reasons.”
Then he shrugs. “He has a daughter, you know. Teaches kindergarten. If you want your revenge to be… poetic.”
Elena gasps—small, soft, horrified.
My Dove.
Her mask cracks, shatters for an instant.
And I squeeze her hand once—A promise.
A vow.
We don’t hurt the innocent. But I don’t say it aloud. Because I need Viktor to think I'll do anything to anyone.
Instead, I stand. Slowly. Deliberately.
I reach out my free hand and shake Viktor’s, gripping him hard enough that he knows exactly how thin the thread holding me back is.
“Thank you for the information,” I say coldly. “If you need anything further from our family, direct your communication to Dante.”
Not me. Never again me. And never—ever—through Elena.
I shift subtly, positioning my body between Viktor and my wife, shielding her with my frame as I guide her toward the door.
She is shaking.
Rocco falls into place behind us.
And as we leave that gilded, rotten house, I make a silent vow:
No one in that family will ever lay a hand—or a word—on my wife again.