Chapter 2 #2
“Until you come to your senses.” There’s a predator behind the polish now that makes me remember exactly who I'm dealing with. “I'm not an unreasonable man, Naomi. I don't want to hurt you. But I will do whatever it takes to protect what's mine. And that child is mine now.”
“No!” I shout, surprising myself. “This child is mine. Whatever games you and Daniil are playing, or whatever war you think you're fighting, this baby is innocent. I won't let you use it as a pawn.”
Viktor's expression doesn't change, but something changes in his eyes.
He rises with unhurried grace, closing the distance until the air between us disappears.
His finger drifts along the curve of my cheek, a fleeting touch that lingers like a threat, before his hand slides behind my neck, claiming the space as his own.
“Such fire. I can see why Daniil was drawn to you. But passion without power is just noise, Naomi. And right now, you have no power at all.”
The truth of it hits harder than any threat could.
I'm miles from anywhere I recognize, held captive by a man who sees my unborn child as his inheritance.
And Daniil doesn't even know where I am.
No one does. But I refuse to let Viktor see my despair.
Instead, I force myself to meet his gaze steadily. “We'll see about that.”
A hint of surprise flashes in his eyes. “Indeed, we will.” His mouth claims mine in a hard, possessive kiss, a warning as much as it is a promise. Then he releases me, turning back to the table as if nothing had happened, lifting his cup to sip his tea with quiet dominance.
The rest of that first day passes in a haze of careful observation and growing dread.
Viktor keeps up his performance as the perfect host, bringing me meals I barely touch and attempting conversation about art, literature, anything but the reality of my situation.
He never raises his voice or makes an overt threat.
He doesn't need to. The isolation does that for him.
I spend the time studying the cabin, memorizing every detail.
It's well-maintained but clearly remote.
No power lines are visible through the windows, and no sound of traffic or neighbors.
The kitchen has a gas stove and refrigerator that hums with the steady rhythm of a generator.
There's a landline phone, but when I manage to check it while Viktor is outside, the line is dead.
By the second day, Viktor’s mask begins to crack. I wake to find him sitting in the chair beside my bed, just watching me sleep. The sight makes my blood run cold, but I force myself to sit up calmly.
“Good morning,” he greets, as if this is perfectly normal behavior.
“How long are you planning to keep me here?” I ask without delay.
“As long as it takes.” He stands, smoothing down his sweater. “How are you feeling? Any morning sickness yet?”
The clinical interest in his voice makes my skin crawl. “I'm fine.”
“You should eat more. The baby needs nutrition.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “I've been thinking about names. For a boy, perhaps Alek, after my uncle. He would have approved of this union. For a girl... well, we have time to decide.”
The casual assumption that he has any input into my child's name makes rage flare in my chest. But I swallow it down, forcing my expression to remain blank. Getting angry won't help me escape. Getting smart might.
“Tell me about Chicago,” I request when he returns with breakfast. “You mentioned it was slipping out of Zorin control. What did you mean?”
Viktor's eyes light up with the fervor of a true believer.
“Daniil has let sentiment make him weak.
He's forgotten that fear is what keeps order, that respect must be earned through strength.
The other families sense it. They're testing boundaries, pushing into territory that has belonged to us for decades.”
“And you think you can do better?”
“I know I can.” He leans back in his chair, staring out the window at the endless trees. “I've been watching, waiting. Building alliances that Daniil doesn't even know exist. When the time comes, and it's coming soon, I'll be ready.”
There's something manic in his expression now, a glittering intensity that wasn't there yesterday. He's starting to unravel, and somehow that frightens me more than his earlier composure.
“What about the other families? They'll never accept you.”
“They'll accept strength. They'll accept results.” Viktor turns that unsettling gaze back to me. “And they'll accept legitimacy. Marriage to you and a child to secure the bloodline shows stability. It shows I'm thinking beyond just personal revenge.”
“But that's what this is, isn't it? Personal revenge against Daniil.”
For a moment, his mask slips completely. I see raw hatred there, years of resentment and jealousy that have been festering like an infected wound.
“He took everything from me,” Viktor whispers. “Everything that should have been mine by right. The respect, the power, the fear. Even women throw themselves at him while I...” He stops himself, jaw clenching.
“While you what?”
“Nothing.” The mask slides back into place, but not perfectly. There are cracks now, fault lines I might be able to exploit. “The point is, I'm taking it back. All of it. Starting with you.”
I let silence fill the space between us, studying his face. Yesterday, Viktor seemed calculating and cold, dangerous in his control. Today, he looks desperate. Desperate men make mistakes.
“Why me?” I ask finally. “If this is about power and legitimacy, there must be other options. Women from Bratva families who understand this world.”
“Because you matter to him,” he says harshly. “Because taking you breaks him in a way that killing him never could. Because every day you spend here with me is another day he's failing to protect what he loves.”
And there it is. The truth beneath all his talk of bloodlines and legitimacy.
This isn't about love or even desire. It's about inflicting the maximum possible pain on his cousin.
I'm not a potential partner in his eyes.
I'm a weapon. The realization should terrify me.
Instead, it fills me with cold determination.
If I'm a weapon, then I need to make sure I'm pointed in the right direction when the time comes.
That afternoon, while Viktor disappears outside to make phone calls, I begin my search of the cabin. I've been looking for obvious escapes, keys, phones, and weapons, but now I’m expanding my search. I need to know everything about this place if I'm going to survive.
The main room contains little of interest beyond comfortable furniture and a bookshelf full of classics that look like they've never been opened.
The kitchen yields nothing more dangerous than steak knives, and those are all accounted for.
But in a drawer beneath old dish towels, I find something interesting: a property tax bill with an address.
Kenosha County, Wisconsin. We're not in Illinois at all, but across the state line. The cabin is listed under a shell company name I don't recognize, but it gives me something, a location, a starting point.
I memorize the address and return the bill to exactly where I found it, then continue my search.
In Viktor's bedroom, I find clothes that span several seasons and a collection of burner phones in various states of charge.
None of them are active, but their presence tells me this place has been used for covert activities before.
Most disturbing is what I find in the single dresser. Women's clothing in my size, still in their original packaging. As if he's been planning to keep me here for a while. The thought makes my stomach shake, but I force myself to keep searching.
By the time Viktor returns, I'm back in the main room, sitting calmly with one of his unread classics open in my lap.
“Tolstoy?” He seems pleased. “An excellent choice. Though perhaps a bit heavy for your condition.”
“I'm pregnant, not brain-damaged,” I reply evenly.
Viktor's laugh sounds genuinely delighted. “There's that fire again. Daniil always did prefer women with spirit.”
“Did he?” I close the book and look at him directly. “You seem to know a lot about his preferences.”
“I've made it my business to know.” Viktor settles into the chair across from me, and I notice he looks more relaxed than he has since I woke up here. The phone calls must have gone well. “Tell me, Naomi, what did he tell you about Sasha?”
The sudden change of subject catches me off guard. “Not much.”
“But you know what happened to her.”
It's not a question, so I don't answer.
“She was beautiful,” Viktor continues, as if I had. “Dark hair, green eyes. Artistic. She painted these elaborate scenes and portraits.” His voice drops to something almost fond. “So naive. She actually thought love could protect her from this world.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand that I'm not the monster in this story, Naomi. Daniil is. He's the one who brought danger into your life. He's the one who put that child at risk by claiming you as his.”
“And what does that make you?”
Viktor considers this seriously. “The solution. The man strong enough to clean up his mess and build something better from the ashes.”
He genuinely believes he's doing the right thing, which makes him infinitely more dangerous than if he were simply evil.
He kneels before me, his hand pressing against my stomach.
“And you’ll be by my side.” The words are a vow, thick with possession.
He lifts my shirt and brushes a kiss against my skin, the false tenderness making me cringe.
Every muscle in my body screams to shove him back, to smash his face with the book clutched in my lap.
Instead, I remain frozen, unsure what kind of violence he would unleash if I resisted.
His hand slides upward, cupping my breast, and panic lodges in my chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, tugging the fabric aside before sealing his mouth over my nipple.
His tongue is hot, greedy, and the violation makes me want to vomit.
I force myself to stillness, every nerve screaming, and fighting the instinct to recoil.
One wrong move could trigger his fury, and I can’t afford to provoke him.
His hands explore me like I belong to him, and icy terror seizes me.
I force myself into boldness. Slipping my hand beneath his jaw, I guide his face up until his gaze collides with mine. “I’ll consider it,” I murmur, softening my voice with a sweetness I don’t feel.
His eyes spark with twisted satisfaction.
Fingers threading into my hair, he crushes his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding past my lips to claim what isn’t his.
His kiss is brutal, drowning me in the taste of his control.
I endure it, pretending to yield, while my fingers work to adjust my bra and tug my shirt back down.
When he finally pulls back, I summon a gentle smile, masking the hurricane inside me. “I would love some tea, if it’s not too much trouble,” I whisper.
For a heartbeat, he studies me in silence, then rises and leaves the room. The instant he’s gone, I exhale a ragged breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My hands tremble so violently that I press them beneath me, pinning them down, desperate to still the shaking.
That night, I lay in the narrow bed and listen to him moving around the cabin.
He doesn't sleep much, I've noticed. He’s too wound up or focused on whatever plans are spinning through his mind.
I hear him on the phone again, speaking in rapid Russian that I can't understand.
But I catch one word that makes my heart sink. Daniil.
Whatever Viktor is planning, it's accelerating. And I'm running out of time to save myself and my child.