Chapter Two – Viktor
The club pulses with the low thrum of bass, a heartbeat that seems to vibrate through the floors. Smoke hangs thick in the air, swirling lazily under the dim lights, casting long, wavering shadows that dance along the walls. I keep to the edges, where the light barely reaches, a ghost among the living. My eyes lock onto her.
Alyssa Hall.
She sits in a shadowed corner, fingers moving quickly over a small notebook. The dim light catches her profile—sharp cheekbones, furrowed brows, lips pursed in thought. She’s lost in whatever she’s writing, completely unaware that I’ve been watching her for the past twenty minutes, from the moment she walked out of the lab and into the club. Anyone else in this place would miss the intensity in her eyes, the way she bites her lower lip when she’s thinking hard. But not me.
I know exactly why she’s here. She’s sniffing too close to things that should remain buried. For weeks, I’ve had my men keeping tabs on her, reports coming in at all hours. She’s getting closer—too close. And yet, here I am, watching her from the shadows instead of pulling the trigger.
Alyssa doesn’t even realize that she’s following a trail I carefully set for her. She had gotten a tip from someone who claimed they had answers to what she was working on, and the curiosity she can’t help but indulge pulled her straight into this club. What she doesn’t know is that the tip was a lie. I had my men plant it. A simple misdirection, a little bait. I wanted her here, in this moment, feeling like she was one step closer to something important, something that would pull her deeper into my world. I need her to feel like she’s in control, like she’s winning—because that’s the only way to keep her close.
I’ve done my homework on Alyssa. Her father, Frank Hall, was a cop, a good one, who died from cancer when she was sixteen. Her mother is an alcoholic, a shadow of the woman she could have been, living with Alyssa’s older sister, Kara, in some upscale neighborhood, attending rehab while her sister picks up the pieces. It’s her sister who funds most of Alyssa’s lab work, pouring money into research projects that no one but Alyssa seems to care about.
Five years ago, Alyssa was on the news—front and center—praised for detecting the viral disease, Colonvi 54, that would soon ravage the world. They called her a genius, a hero, but she didn’t want any of it. She loves keeping a low profile, avoiding the spotlight, staying in the shadows. And I like that about her. The quiet strength she has, the way she handles the chaos around her with a calm that always feels just a bit too controlled.
I watch her now, trying to memorize every detail. Her eyes are sharp, a deep brown, the kind that seem to see everything and nothing at the same time. Her nose is straight, delicate, but there’s a strength in her features that doesn’t match her small frame. Her face is oval, soft but with an edge to it, like she could break someone’s jaw with just a glance if she needed to. She’s not tall, but she carries herself with the kind of confidence that makes her seem larger than she really is.
Tonight, she’s dressed in black, as always. A fitted jacket with sharp, clean lines, paired with dark jeans that mold to her legs in a way that’s both practical and damn near perfect. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, but stray strands escape to frame her face, making her look like she just stepped out of some high-stakes situation. Her lips are pressed together in a way that makes me wonder if she’s always thinking, always calculating. She has this way of looking at things, of studying the world, that makes it feel like she’s already figured you out before you even open your mouth.
“Viktor.” Lev Garner’s voice is a quiet rumble behind me. He slides up, casual, like he’s just wandered in for a drink. But his eyes are sharp, following my gaze straight to her. “You’re still on this?”
“She's trouble,” I mutter, not looking at him. “She’s getting closer every day.”
Lev lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “She’s just another nosy investigator. You’ve dealt with worse.”
“Not like her,” I say. The words slip out before I can stop them.
The man raises an eyebrow, obviously questioning what I had just said. Lev’s eyes are sharp, cold blue, always calculating, and his jawline is squared like it’s been carved from stone. His black hair is cut short, neat, and he moves with the quiet confidence of someone who’s long since learned how to take control without saying a word.
He’s been by my side for years, my right hand, and now, with how far he’s climbed in our world, it’s like we’re standing on the same level, though I’ll never admit it out loud.
“If she’s a problem, we know how to fix problems.” His tone is light, almost bored, but his meaning is clear.
I finally turn to face him. “This one’s different,” I say, more to myself than to him. “She’s not going to scare off with a few threats.”
“Then make it final.” Lev’s eyes flicker with amusement. “You know what has to be done.”
A part of me knows he’s right. But as I watch her scribble something furiously in her notebook, the glow of the lamp turning her hair into a halo of gold, I feel a tug of something unexpected. I’ve seen plenty of people break under pressure, watched the light go out in their eyes when they realize they’ve crossed the wrong line. But her? She’s got that look—like she’d rather burn everything down than give up.
I push past Lev, my decision made. If I’m going to stop her, it needs to be tonight. There’s no room for hesitation in this world. You hesitate, you die.
As I make my way through the crowd, bodies pressing in on all sides, my mind races. She’s not leaving here without a warning, one she’ll never forget.
The closer I get, the clearer her features become—those determined eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. She doesn’t even look up as I approach, too engrossed in whatever she’s uncovered.
Good. Let her be surprised. Let her feel the cold reality of what she’s stepped into.
The moment I lower myself into the chair across from her, Alyssa looks up. She freezes, pen still in hand, eyes widening as she finally looks up to meet mine.
“Mr. Volkov,” she says, her voice smooth, like she’s welcoming an old friend. “I didn’t expect to see the Head of Bratva Organization in here.”
A lie. She knew exactly who would come knocking when she started digging. But I don’t call her out on it. Instead, I lean back, letting the silence stretch, letting her sweat. Only, she doesn’t. She’s too busy watching me, her eyes searching for something, anything, that might give her an edge.
“Didn’t you?” I say finally, keeping my tone casual, almost bored. “I would have thought my presence was... inevitable, considering your interest in certain cases.”
Alyssa doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m just doing my job,” she says, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Suspicious deaths fall under my jurisdiction.”
She’s playing it cool, but I can see the fire in her eyes, that stubborn glint that refuses to back down. For a moment, I almost admire it. Almost. But admiration doesn’t change the fact that she’s poking around in places that could get her killed.
“Suspicious deaths are one thing,” I say, leaning forward just enough for her to catch the edge in my voice. “But sniffing around where the Bratva operates? That’s suicide.”
Alyssa’s eyes narrow, her expression barely shifting, but I see her fingers tighten around that damn notebook. “I didn’t realize your organization was so interested in lab reports,” she replies, her voice calm, controlled. “Unless there’s something you don’t want me to find.”
There it is. That bite, that brazen defiance that makes my blood run hot. She’s not just unafraid—she’s daring me to make a move. A part of me wants to reach across the table, grab her by the collar, and drag her out of here before she does something stupid. But I don’t.
I force a cold smile instead. “I’m here to save you from yourself,” I say, my voice dropping to a near whisper, meant only for her. “You’ve stepped into a game where there are no second chances. Turn back now, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll walk away with your life.”
Alyssa leans back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. There’s a slight tilt to her head, like she’s studying a puzzle she’s determined to solve. “And if I don’t?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “What happens then, Mr. Volkov? Do you plan on silencing me yourself?”
Her words are calm, almost playful, but there’s no mistaking the steel behind them. I’ve stared down men who’ve slaughtered families, men who wouldn’t blink before cutting a throat. But none of them looked at me like she does now—like they’re the ones holding the cards.
My jaw tightens. “It’s a warning, Alyssa,” I say, my voice like ice. “Not a threat. Walk away before you find something you can’t unsee.”
She doesn’t flinch. If anything, her gaze sharpens, like she’s just found the missing piece to whatever she’s piecing together. “I appreciate your concern,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “but I’m not easily scared off. If you’re here to intimidate me, I suggest you save your breath.”
I stare at her, and for a moment, the club, the smoke, the pounding bass—all of it fades into a dull hum. It’s just the two of us, locked in a silent battle. The longer I look at her, the more I see it—the fire, the unrelenting drive. The same madness that’s driven me all these years. And God help me, I almost admire her for it.
But I can’t afford to. Not now.
I push back my chair, the screech of metal against tile cutting through the noise of the club. “This is your last warning,” I say, my voice barely above a growl. “Turn back before it’s too late.”
But she doesn’t respond. She just watches me, her eyes like daggers, her silence a challenge. I want to grab her by the shoulders, shake her until she understands the danger she’s in. But I don’t.
Instead, I turn and walk away, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, to leave her behind. The crowd swallows me up, but I can still feel her eyes burning into my back, daring me to stop her.
And deep down, I know this isn’t over.
Back in the lounge, Lev leans against the bar, a grin playing at the edges of his lips.
“Well?” He arches an eyebrow, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. “Did she get the message?”
I sink into the worn leather chair, grabbing the bottle of whiskey on the table. The burn of alcohol fills my throat, but it does nothing to stop the knot tightening in my chest. “She’s... relentless,” I mutter, pouring another drink. “Doesn’t scare easy.”
Lev’s grin widens. “Stubborn ones always think they’re untouchable,” he says with a soft chuckle. But there’s nothing light in his gaze. It’s sharp, cutting, like a blade searching for a weak spot. “But if that doesn’t work, there are... other ways to handle it.”
I don’t answer him right away. The taste of whiskey lingers on my tongue as I stare into the glass, watching the light catch on the amber liquid. But all I can see is Alyssa’s eyes—clear, defiant, as if she already knows how this game plays out and refuses to fold.
“She’s not just some investigator, Lev,” I say, my voice low. “There’s something... different about her.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I hate how they sound—like I’m making excuses.
Lev's smirk falters, his eyes narrowing. “Different? Viktor, she’s just a woman poking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” He pushes off the bar and steps closer, his tone softening, almost like he’s trying to reason with me. “If she’s getting under your skin, you need to remember what’s at stake. The Bratva won’t tolerate any loose ends.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Your dad won’t tolerate any loose ends.”
I stare at him, forcing my expression to stay cold, blank. But inside, it’s chaos. Alyssa isn’t like the others who’ve crossed my path. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t beg. She stares back with that maddening calm, like she’s holding a hand full of aces and dares me to call her bluff.
Lev’s words echo in my head, but it’s my father that haunts me. The old man had stepped back from running the Bratva years ago, handing things over to the Directors and making me the Overseer. But everyone knows we are just his puppets. He’s the real power, the one who calls the shots, even from the shadows. And if he finds out about her… about Alyssa… things will get ugly. He won’t care about the business. He’ll care about his legacy, and he’ll make sure she’s dealt with. No hesitation. No mercy.
I shove the thought aside, but it lingers, like a dark cloud I can’t outrun. If she’s getting too close, I’ll have to deal with her. But right now, the only thing that matters is making sure my father never finds out.
“She’s a problem,” I admit, setting the glass down with a hard thud. “But I’ll take care of it.”
Lev doesn’t look convinced. He tilts his head, his eyes never leaving mine, searching for a crack in the mask. “You’re hesitating,” he says quietly, almost like he’s disappointed. “Why? Because she’s got pretty eyes and a spine of steel?”
I swallow hard, a muscle ticking in my jaw. He’s too damn perceptive. But I can’t admit it. “She’s just another threat,” I say, the words coming out too fast, too forced. “One I’ll deal with, like all the rest.”
Lev holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods, the grin slipping back into place. But it’s colder now, more calculated. “See that you do, Viktor. Or I will report this to the Directors and your old man. And trust me, they won’t be as... gentle.”
He walks away, disappearing into the haze of the lounge, leaving me alone with the echoes of his words.
I lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding. Alyssa’s face flashes in my mind again—those eyes, the way she held her ground, refusing to be cowed. A lesser person would have backed off by now. Hell, most would’ve been running for their lives.
But not her.
The whiskey is cold against my lips as I take another drink, letting it burn its way down. But it doesn’t drown out the thought creeping into my mind: I’m not just trying to silence her. I’m trying to protect her. From myself. And I do know one thing: this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.