Chapter Eight
Viktor's POV.
The war room was never quiet. Even though no one spoke, the air buzzed with the weight of men who carried secrets, blood, and power on their shoulders.
Maps, files, and half-empty glasses of vodka lay strewn across the long oak table.
My brothers sat in their places; each one was a storm in his own way.
And in the midst of it all was Emilia, sitting in the corner, small and soft against steel and fire. She didn't belong here. She knew it, and my brothers knew it, too. Hell, every man in this room knew it. But I had dragged her in here anyway because she’s mine, and what’s mine doesn’t stay hidden.
"Reports say the Vipers are moving shipments through Jersey. They're testing how far they can push." I said, leaning back in my chair, cigarette burning between my fingers.
Mikhail slammed his fist against the table, rattling the glasses
"Let 'em test us, I'll light their boss on fire and leave his body hanging at the docks. That'll send a message."
Roman, leaning forward, exhaled slowly and assumed the role of ‘peacemaker.’
"You burn their ships, you start a war in broad daylight. Politicians will sniff, cops will sniff harder. We don't need the noise right now. All we need is control."
"Control?" Mikhail barked out, his laugh carrying more rage than humor. "You talk like control keeps us alive. Fear and blood keep us alive."
Roman's jaw tightened, his green eyes narrowed.
"And how many bodies do you want this time? Ten? Fifty? You must want another headline? 'Russian Mafia Floods the Street with Blood'? We don't survive on chaos, Mikhail. We survive because I keep those politicians in my pocket clean while you swing your axe."
The air in the room shifted, and my brothers began to circle each other; old arguments rose like storm clouds. I let it play out, watching quietly as smoke curled from my lips.
Konstantin hadn't spoken yet. He stood cloaked in shadow at the far end of the room, his leather jacket draped over his chair. His blue eyes were fixed on the table, but his silence was louder than all their noise. He didn't need to speak because when he moved, people died, and everyone knew it.
Emilia's eyes darted between them. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, clutching the hem of her cardigan. She was trying to shrink, to disappear into the corner.
I didn't like it. I slammed my palm flat on the table. The sound sliced through the tension like a whip. Everyone stilled as my gaze went straight to her.
"Emilia."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide.
"Yes?" She answered.
"Come here."
She froze, and for a second, I thought she'd refuse.
She had that stubborn streak and a fire that always tempted me to break her.
But then, slowly, she stood and walked across the room.
Every step she took looked like it cost her.
She stopped at my side, close enough that I could smell the soft vanilla of her shampoo under the sharp stench of smoke and vodka.
Mikhail's mouth twisted. "What's she doing here, Viktor? This isn't a tea party."
"She stays," I said. My tone was sharp, and final. "She sees what we are, and she knows what we face."
Roman shook his head. "She's a child in this. She doesn't need to hear about the cartels and blood wars."
Emilia found her voice then; it was quiet but steady.
"I'm not a child."
The room turned, and my brothers stared, surprised she'd dare to speak. My lips curved, just slightly. She didn't even realize she had defended herself, not me.
Mikhail laughed darkly. "Not a child, she says. You think you understand what sits at this table, little one? You think you know what we decide here? Men's lives. Do you want their blood on your soft little hands?"
Her chin lifted. "Their blood is already on your hands, isn't it? It doesn't matter if I sit here or not."
The silence after she spoke lay heavy in the room. Even Konstantin's gaze flicked up, curiosity sparked for once.
I reached for her wrist and pulled her closer until she stood between me and the table, her back against my chest. My arm locked around her waist. I wanted them all to see. She wasn't apart from me. She was mine, even here, especially here.
"She learns," I said. "She sees, and she understands what it means to belong to me, to us."
Roman's eyes softened for a second, pitying her while Mikhail scoffed. Konstantin stayed unreadable, but none of them argued further.
I lowered my mouth to Emilia's ear, my words just for her, though everyone heard.
"You wanted out of the shadows. Now, you stand in the fire. Be sure not to flinch."
She trembled softly, but she didn't look away. Her gaze locked with Roman's across the table, and it was steady and defiant in a quiet way.
I felt a small surge of pride. I then tapped ash into the tray and looked back at my brothers.