Chapter 3
DANIIL
The message comes through encrypted channels I set up years ago, a system meant only for high-level negotiations. For it to arrive now, from Viktor, makes my blood run hot with suspicion.
I stare at the glowing screen in my office, the blue light bleeding like icy streaks over the papers on my desk.
Lex is beside me, arms folded, his eyes scanning the text with silent scrutiny.
His presence is steady and reliable, but I can feel the tension radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
Viktor: Truce. Face to face. Neutral ground.
It’s followed by coordinates and time. I clench my jaw, reading it again as though repetition will change the meaning.
Each word burns itself deeper into my memory, every letter a fresh insult.
A truce? After abducting Naomi and daring to touch what is mine, he now decides to play diplomat?
The hypocrisy coats my tongue like venom.
My fingers drum against the marble surface of my desk, a rhythmic tattoo that matches the pulse hammering in my temples. Every muscle in my body draws taut, every nerve ending alive with the need for violence.
Lex breaks the silence. “It smells like a trap.”
“Of course it does,” I snarl. “But I can’t ignore it. He has Naomi.”
The admission feels like swallowing poison. Viktor never does anything without multiple layers of deception woven into his plans. But beneath the cold logic that has kept me alive all these years is fear, not for myself, but for Naomi.
Lex's gaze sharpens, reading the conflict written across my face. “You think he'll hand her over willingly? He's not looking for peace. He's testing you. He wants to see how far you'll bend before you break.”
I know he's right. Still, I can’t afford hesitation.
Every hour Naomi is in his hands, the risk grows exponentially.
Viktor may enjoy playing with his food, but he is not above killing when it serves his purposes.
And Lucien is out there too, circling like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when both Viktor and I are weakened by our war.
Between the two of them, Naomi's life hangs in the balance.
The thought claws at my insides with razor-sharp talons, shredding any pretense of calm I might have maintained.
I lean back in the leather chair, scrubbing a hand down my face.
The stubble rasps against my palm. Dark circles ring my eyes, exhaustion pulling at my bones, but rest remains impossible.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face.
Every moment of stillness brings fresh waves of scenarios, each more horrific than the last.
I snarl a string of Russian curses under my breath. “Prepare the men. If Viktor wants a performance, I'll give him one.”
Lex doesn't move, just watches me with those eyes that miss nothing. “And if the truce is nothing but bait?”
I know what he really means. What if this is Viktor's endgame?
What if he has no intention of negotiating, finding middle ground, or honoring any agreement we might reach?
What if this meeting is designed solely to eliminate me and remove the last obstacle standing between him and complete control of the Zorin Bratva and its territory?
“Then we bite down harder than he expects and rip his fucking head off.”
His lips twitch in the faintest ghost of a smile before he nods and leaves to relay the orders. Lex may counsel caution, but he understands violence just as intimately as I do.
The office is silent again, the only sound the faint tick of the clock and the distant hum of activity as my men mobilize.
I stand, my body restless with seething anger I can't release.
Energy courses through my limbs like lightning, demanding action, movement, and the chance to unleash the violence building in my chest. But there is nowhere to direct it.
No immediate target upon which to focus the storm inside me.
The meeting point is an abandoned freight terminal just outside Joliet, chosen for its impartial ground.
The location tells me everything I need to know about Viktor's mindset.
He wants visibility and to demonstrate that he fears no ambush or surprise attack.
But he also wants escape routes and the option to disappear into urban decay if the meeting goes poorly.
I arrive with Lex at my side, Timur and Roman fanning out behind us. Every sense is heightened, and every nerve ending is alive with awareness. The crunch of gravel beneath our boots echoes in the cavernous space, creating an odd percussion against the industrial silence.
Maksim lingers farther back, twitching with anticipation like the wild dog he is, eager for violence.
His eyes sweep constantly across the shadows, searching for targets and excuses to unleash the beast that lives just beneath his skin.
Of all my men, Maksim is the most unpredictable and the most likely to turn a tense negotiation into a bloodbath.
But his loyalty is absolute, and his skills are undeniable.
Two SUVs idle at the perimeter, engines humming low, my men inside ready to move at the slightest signal.
The terminal reeks of rust and old oil, the ghosts of industry clinging to the corroded beams and cracked cement floors.
Across the wide-open floor, Viktor waits.
Even here, in this abandoned wasteland, he maintains the facade of respectability that has served him so well in legitimate business circles.
He smiles when he sees me, a grin that doesn't reach his eyes.
The expression is carefully crafted, intended to project confidence while concealing whatever emotions might be churning beneath the surface.
But I can read the subtle signs. The tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers rest just a little too close to his jacket, where a weapon is concealed.
Beside him, Ivan stands with arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.
Ivan is Viktor's second-in-command and dangerous in the way that only career soldiers can be.
The rest of his men linger in the shadows, weapons visible but not raised.
A careful balance between readiness and provocation.
Viktor has always been skilled at walking such tightropes.
Lex mutters under his breath, “Smug bastard.”
The assessment is accurate. Viktor radiates self-satisfaction and the supreme confidence of a man who believes he holds all the cards. But confidence can be a weakness when it becomes arrogance and blinds a person to possibilities they haven't considered.
“Let him smile,” I reply quietly. “Teeth are easier to break when they're bared.”
Viktor opens his arms in mock welcome, the gesture theatrical and entirely insincere. Everything about his posture screams performance.
“Cousin,” he greets, his voice carrying with effortless charm. The word drips with false warmth, with the pretense of family bonds that have been strained past any hope of repair. “At last, we meet as men should. Without games.”
The hypocrisy is staggering. Viktor has built his entire strategy around games, manipulation, and misdirection. For him to call this meeting honest is like a snake claiming to have lost its fangs.
I stop several feet from him, keeping enough distance to react if he makes a move. “You abduct my woman and claim it’s ‘without games’?”
The accusation is a challenge thrown down at the feet of a rival. Viktor's smile doesn't waver, but I see the slight tightening around his eyes and the microscopic adjustment in his posture that suggests the barb has found its mark.
His grin widens, darkening into a predatory smile. “I see you're still dramatic.” He glances at Lex, then back at me, including him in his dismissive assessment. “Relax. Naomi is safe. She's untouched. I'm not a monster.”
The casual way he uses her name sends fresh waves of rage coursing through my veins.
As though she is a business asset rather than a living person, and her well-being is merely another negotiating chip to be played when convenient.
The possessive pronoun in my accusation hasn't escaped his notice either, and I can see the vein pulsing on his temple.
My fists tighten at my sides, my knuckles cracking audibly in the silence. “Where is she?”
“Wisconsin.” He delivers the information easily, as though discussing the weather rather than revealing the location where he holds an innocent woman captive. “A cabin I own in the woods. Quiet, secluded. Perfect for reflection. She's... resting.”
The pause before the final word sets alarm bells ringing in my mind.
Viktor chooses his language too carefully for the hesitation to be accidental.
Whatever Naomi's current condition, “resting” is not an accurate description.
The image of Naomi locked away in some backwoods cabin is enough for me to put a bullet in his head right now, regardless of whether Viktor is telling the complete truth.
Wisconsin. Hundreds of miles from Chicago with no hope of immediate rescue. It is isolated enough that screams would go unheard, and violence would leave no witnesses. The strategic implications make my stomach clench with dread.
“You'll take me there,” I state, my voice like iron.
The words are not a request. They are an absolute command, and the expectation that Viktor will comply or face immediate consequences.
But even as I make the demand, I know he will refuse.
This entire meeting is theater, designed to achieve goals that have nothing to do with Naomi's immediate release.
He chuckles, shaking his head with regret. “Always so direct. But perhaps that's why she intrigues you. She's spirited, Daniil. Such fire.”
My control snaps tight as a garrote, every ounce of discipline I possess focused on maintaining this sickening facade of negotiation when what I really want is to tear his throat out with my bare hands.
“If you laid a hand on her—”