Chapter 2
NAOMI
The silence hits me first.
It’s not the kind of silence that exists in the city, where even the quiet hours are softened by distant sirens and the hum of traffic.
This silence is complete and unbroken, stretching across the air until it settles against my skin.
I open my eyes slowly, afraid of what I’ll see, and find myself staring at a ceiling of knotty pine.
The beams above me are rough, uneven, and soaked in shadows, as if the trees they came from had never belonged inside four walls.
My body is wrapped in a quilt that smells faintly of cedar and smoke.
It’s heavy, pinning me in place, and for a moment, I wonder if I’m still dreaming.
But then the memories return, crashing down with merciless clarity.
The alley. The gunfire. Viktor’s voice in the dark.
The force of his hand shoving me into the SUV.
I jolt upright, ignoring the way the room spins. The quilt slides off my shoulders, pooling in my lap. I need to get out of here. The thought propels me forward, though my legs feel like jelly. I make it three steps toward the window before the sound of footsteps makes my heart lurch.
Viktor appears in the doorway, and I'm struck by how normal he looks.
He's changed out of the suit he wore during the kidnapping into dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater.
His light brown hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.
He looks like he could be hosting a dinner party instead of holding someone captive.
“Good morning,” Viktor says, his voice warm and polished. It’s the same voice he used at Daniil’s estate when he charmed a room full of enemies while plotting their downfall. “You slept well, I trust?”
The casual normalcy of his greeting makes everything worse. I don't move. Can't move. My feet feel rooted to the floor, yet every muscle in my body is wound tight with the urge to run. But where would I go? We're clearly miles from anywhere.
“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the sofa like we're old friends meeting for coffee. “You shouldn't be standing so soon after... well, after everything.”
Viktor notices my hesitation, and his expression softens into something that might pass for concern if I didn't know better. “Naomi, I'm not going to hurt you. Please, sit. You must be disoriented.”
“Where am I?” The words tumble out, my voice pitched higher than usual, but at least it doesn’t shake.
“Somewhere safe.” He moves into the room, and I instinctively step back. “A little retreat I keep for special occasions. Far from the city, and prying eyes. Far from Daniil.”
The way he pronounces his cousin's name sets my teeth on edge. There's something poisonous in it, years of resentment distilled into those three syllables.
“What do you want?” I manage to ask.
Viktor's smile widens, and for the first time, I see a crack in his composed facade. His eyes glitter with manic intensity, making my stomach turn. “What do I want? That's a complicated question, Naomi. But for now, I want you to sit down and have some tea. You look pale.”
He disappears from the doorway, and I hear him moving around in what must be a kitchen.
The mundane sounds of cupboards opening, water running, and the clinking of porcelain feel surreal.
I stand there for several long moments, considering my options.
The front door is padlocked. The window is too small to climb through, and even if it weren’t, I can see nothing but forest in every direction.
Viktor returns with tea service on a wooden tray, complete with delicate china cups and a plate of cookies. He sets it down on a small table near the window and gestures for me to join him.
“Earl Grey,” he announces, as if we're sitting in his parlor instead of whatever this place is. “I wasn't sure what you preferred, but it seemed like a safe choice.”
I remain standing. “I want to go home.”
“Home.” He pours tea into both cups, steam rising between us. “And where exactly is home, Naomi? That little apartment you share with Charlotte? The museum where you work late into the night? Or perhaps you mean wherever Daniil is?”
The last question hits its mark, and he knows it. His smile turns feral.
“I'm not going to drink anything you give me,” I tell him.
“Smart girl.” He nods approvingly. “I wouldn't either, in your position. But you should know that if I wanted to drug you again, I have far more efficient methods than tea.” He takes a sip from his cup, then sets it down carefully. “How are you feeling? Any nausea? Fatigue?”
Something in his tone makes my body lock up.
“I'm fine.” The lie comes automatically.
Viktor tilts his head, studying me with those blue eyes. “Are you? Because pregnancy can be exhausting, especially in the early stages.”
Everything around me, the cabin, the trees outside, and the sound of Viktor's breathing, fades to white noise. I can't speak. I can't even breathe properly. My hands instinctively move to my stomach, still flat beneath my shirt, before I can stop them.
Viktor sees the motion, and his smile widens into something genuinely pleased. Nausea rolls through me, though I can't tell if it's from his words or what might be morning sickness. Either way, I fight it down. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
“You're insane if you think—”
“Think what?” He interrupts, setting down his cup with unhurried intent. “That this changes things? That a child makes everything more complicated? Oh, Naomi, it absolutely does. But perhaps not in the way you imagine.”
He moves to the window, gazing out at the endless trees. From this angle, I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. For all his calm composure, Viktor Zorin is barely holding it together.
“Do you know what it's like,” he begins, his voice still conversational, “to grow up in someone else's shadow?
To watch opportunity after opportunity pass you by because of an accident of birth?
Because your father wasn't quite important enough, or ruthless enough to claim what should have been yours?”
I don't answer. I don't want to encourage whatever this is.
“Daniil was handed everything. The Bratva, the territory, the respect. All because his mother was a better manipulator than my father. All because he was born twenty-three months before me.” Viktor turns back to face me, and I see raw desperation in his expression.
“But blood is blood, isn’t it Naomi? Zorin blood.
And that child you're carrying? That's my blood too.”
The implication barrels into me, knocking the air from my chest. “You're sick.”
“I'm practical.” His mask slips back into place, but I've seen what's underneath now. “Daniil thinks he can have it all. Power, control, love. But he's weak. Sentimental. He's let emotion cloud his judgment, and Chicago is slipping out of Zorin control because of it.”
“That's not true,” I snap back.
“Isn't it?” Viktor moves closer, and I press back against the wall. “When was the last time you felt safe, Naomi? When was the last time you could walk down the street without looking over your shoulder? Daniil's enemies know about you now. They know exactly how to hurt him.”
“By hurting me,” I murmur.
“By taking you away from him.” Viktor's voice drops to almost a whisper. “The way I have.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Outside, wind rustles through the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out. Normal sounds from a normal world that feels impossibly far away.
“What do you want?” I ask again, though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.
Viktor returns to his chair, settling back into his role as gracious host. “I want what's mine. What should have been mine from the beginning. Chicago. The Bratva. A legacy worthy of the Zorin name.”
“And me?”
“You're part of that legacy now.” His eyes drift to my stomach again. “That child will be raised as a Zorin should be. With power and purpose. Not hidden away like some shameful secret the way Daniil would do.”
The certainty in his voice makes me sick. He's talking about my unborn child, a pregnancy I didn't even know about until a few days ago, as if it's already decided. Like I'm just an incubator for his twisted ambitions.
“I won't let you touch my baby,” I hiss.
“Our baby,” Viktor corrects gently. “In every way that matters. Do you really think Daniil will be able to protect you? He couldn't protect Sasha.”
The name hits like a slap. Sasha Sokolova. The woman who died because of what Daniil is.
“That's different,” I whisper.
“Is it?” Viktor leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She was young, beautiful, innocent. Just like you. She loved him despite what he was, despite the danger. Just like you. And where is she now, Naomi?”
I don’t answer. I won't give him the satisfaction.
“Dead,” Viktor continues relentlessly. “Blown to pieces in a car bomb meant for him. Is that the future you want? Is that the future you want for this child?”
“Stop.” The word comes out stronger than I feel.
“I can offer you something better. Something stable. Rule beside me as my wife and help me rebuild what the Zorin family should be. Our child will want for nothing, fear nothing. They'll inherit an empire instead of hiding from one.”
The audacity of it takes my breath away. He's sitting there, calm as anything, proposing marriage while holding me prisoner. Talking about my child as if he has any right to it.
“You're completely insane if you think I would ever—”
“Consider it,” Viktor interrupts smoothly. “You don't have to decide right now. We have time. Time for you to see that I'm right about Daniil and the danger he represents. Time for you to understand what I'm offering.”
“Time?” I laugh, and it sounds hysterical even to my own ears. “How much time, exactly? Until I give birth? Until you get bored with playing house?”