Chapter Ten
Viktor's POV.
The office was full of men at the long table, papers spread out, maps marked with red ink. Dimitri stood by the window, giving his usual rundown. My mind was on numbers, shipments, and routes until the door burst open.
Every head turned to look at the person who’d barged in like that. But it was Emilia. She walked in, my wife, holding a folder like it was a knife.
The room went suddenly silent. I didn't move; I just leaned back in my chair, with my fingers drumming against the table. "You're interrupting," I said, flatly.
But her chin lifted. "We need to talk."
I watched her, with fire in her eyes, fearless and foolish. The men exchanged looks, but nobody dared say anything.
"I'm in the middle of a meeting," I told her, with a sharp voice. "Wait outside."
But she didn't blink; instead, she turned and looked at Dimitri, my Guards, and my lieutenants. "Leave," she said. "I need to talk to my husband."
That word husband cut through the air like a blade. My men froze, glancing at me for orders.
I let it hang for a second, then my lips curved, a ghost of a smile. "Out," I ordered.
Chairs scraped, boots hit the floor, and no one asked questions. Dimitri lingered, gave me a look, then walked out last and closed the door.
Now, it was just me and her. And she didn't hesitate.
She walked right up to the table and dropped the folder in front of me.
Papers spilled out, with black and white photographs, some in color.
Her face was in the pictures. She was at the cafés.
She was walking home. She was laughing with her friends.
And those were taken months before she ever stepped into my world.
I knew the file before I even touched it. Her voice shook, but her eyes were steady. "I found it in your suite, and in the cupboard."
I stayed still while my hand brushed one of the photos. Her hair caught in the sunlight. A candid smile, but she never knew I was watching.
Her words then came hard and fast. "How long, Viktor? How long were you following me?"
I didn't answer right away, but silence was power. I let her anger echo off the walls. My gaze lifted to her face, and I knew she wanted the truth. But she didn't understand what truth meant in my world.
"You really picked the worst time to make an entrance," I said slowly.
She glared. "Don't play games, you had me watched, spied on, like I was... property."
My jaw flexed; she wasn't wrong after all. She wasn't right either.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, with my eyes locked on hers. "Property?" I echoed. "No, leverage."
Her breath caught, and the word hung heavy in the air. She shook her head, stepping back. "So that's what I was to you, a debt, a pawn on your chessboard."
Her voice cracked, but it was anger, not weakness. "Don't twist it," I said, with a calm tone. "I needed to make your father pay, and you were the way."
Her laugh was bitter. "So you admit it. You had me watched, followed, and hunted like prey. And then you took me, you didn't even try to deny it."
I studied her; she expected lies... she expected me to hide behind excuses, but instead, I told her the one thing that would upset her footing.
"Yes," I said. "I watched you."
Her lips parted, no sound coming out. I pushed the folder closer to her, the pictures sliding across the table.
"I saw you before you knew my name. I watched the way you smiled at strangers.
The way you moved when you thought no one was looking.
" My voice dropped lower. "I knew you before you ever walked into my house. "
She trembled, fury and something else mixed behind her eyes. "Why?" She whispered.
My fingers tapped the table once. "Because you were leveraged, and leverage is power, Emilia."
Her shoulders stiffened, and her hand curled into a fist. She wanted to scream, to fight, to throw those pictures in my face. But I didn't let her. I instead leaned closer, and my voice cut through her silence.
"And I don't regret it." The room tightened with the weight of it, and her chest rose and fell fast, her lips pressing tight like she might break.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "You don't regret watching me like an animal? Following me? Using me?"
My eyes locked on hers, cold and unyielding. "No, because leverage brought you here. To me."
The silence between us burned, and she looked down at the photos again, her fingers brushing over one where she was laughing, sunlight in her hair, and she swallowed hard.
I let her have the moment, let her feel the truth sink in. Then, I said it, slow and deliberate. "Yes, I watched you. You were leverage."
The words struck, and she froze. Her breath caught like a blade to get ribs. And I didn't look away.
*************
Minutes after, her voice was still echoing in the room. "You were leverage."
She said it like a curse, like the word itself poisoned her tongue. So, I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tapping the table once, calm and controlled. I had learned long ago that truth, when dropped sharp enough, could cut deeper than any blade.
"Yes," I said. "You were leverage."
Her eyes widened, furious and hurt. Confusion was written all over her face. She then gripped the edge of the table like it was the only thing holding her steady.
"You used me," she whispered.
"Of course," I answered, with no shame and no apology.
She shook her head, taking a step back. "You admit it? Just like that?"
I studied her, and she thought I would deny it. She thought I'd try to dress it up as something softer. But softness has no place in my world.
"I need a way to make your father bleed," I said. "He owed me, he ran from me, and you were his weak point. That's what men like him always have, a weakness."
Her lips parted again, trembling this time. "So you followed me, stalked me."
"Yes," I said again. My voice was steady, and my stare was fixed on her. "I had men with you for months, and I watched you. Your routines, your friends, every place you went... I knew everything before you even knew my name."
Her face paled. "Like prey," she muttered.
"Like leverage," I corrected. "Prey dies quickly, leverage keeps the game going."
Her laugh was sharp and broken. "And you're proud of that?"
I leaned forward, and my elbows pressed into the table. "No, not proud, just honest."
Her breathing was quick now, her chest rising fast. "You disgust me."
I let that sink in, let her feel. Then, I said the words that mattered. The words that shifted everything.
"But it changed."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
I didn't flinch, didn't soften. "It changed; leverage turned into need."
She blinked at me, with confusion clouding her rage.
"I don't know the moment it happened," I said. "Maybe the way you laughed when you thought no one was watching. Maybe the way you cursed under your breath, walking home. But I stopped seeing you as a leverage. I saw you, and once I did–" My voice dropped lower, like a rasp. "I couldn't let go."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "That's not... That's not love. That's an obsession."
"Call it whatever you want," I said. "Need, obsession, possession. It doesn't change the truth. I will never let you go."
Her eyes shone, not just with anger now, but with something else.
.. fear tangled with the pull she hated to admit.
She turned from me, pacing and running her hands through her hair.
"God, Viktor. Do you even hear yourself?
You're saying I was a debt one moment and your addiction the next. Do you know how insane that sounds?"
I rose from my chair, slowly and deliberately. "I know exactly how it sounds, and I don't care."
She spun to face me, with her chest heaving. "You don't care about me–"
The door burst open, and Dimitri stepped inside, carrying a sense of urgency I rarely saw.
"Boss," he said, his voice clipped. "We have a problem."
Emilia froze, with her eyes darting between us. I didn't look away from her. "Speak."
"They're leaking dossiers," Dimitri said, dropping a folder on the table over her scattered photos. "Names, numbers, operations. Not random. Organized. Surgical. Someone wants us exposed."
My jaw tightened. "Romano ?" I asked.
Dimitri nodded once. "It matches his style, but it's bigger. This isn't just revenge. They're tying you to everything... smuggling, hits, contracts. It's out there now. Headlines by morning."
Emilia's breath hitched. Dimitri added, "This isn't a sniper in the dark. This is war in the daylight, and someone inside fed them. We definitely have a mole."
I turned then, finally pulling my eyes away from Emilia to the folder. Flipping it open, I saw documents, files, and even worse, my signature orders were clean, too clean on them. Whoever leaked this wanted it seen.
My blood ran cold, then hot. "He was already dead the moment he touched her," I said, my voice low and lethal.
Emilia flinched at the weight in it, but I didn't care. Dimitri then waited, but I gave him nothing more. Not yet. He left, shutting the door with a quiet finality.
The silence after was heavy, and Emilia stared at me, her lips trembling. "So this is what my life is now. Snipers, leaks, lies, and you standing here telling me I was leverage and then..." Her voice broke.
I walked to her, slowly. She backed up until her spine met the wall. I caged her there, one hand braced above her head, the other catching her chin, and forcing her to look at me. My voice was a whisper, but it cut like steel.
"If he thinks this gets you back... he's wrong."
Her eyes shone with tears. She shook her head. "Viktor, I don't–"
"Don't cry," I snapped. "You don't cry for them. Not for your father, not for Romano. Not for anyone who touched this war, you hear me?"
Her chest trembled, but her voice was steady. "And for you? Do I cry for you?"
I stared at her, the fire in her gaze, and the way she stood even while breaking. My throat tightened for the first time in years.
"No," I said roughly. "You don't cry for me either, but you don't leave me, ever."
Her breath shook, and then she whispered the one thing that tore through every wall I had.
"You have me."
The words landed like a brand, and I lowered my head close to her skin.
"Good, because I’ll never let go."
************
The office changed in minutes after, and Dimitri's folder was still open, papers bleeding across the table like an open wound, but I didn't waste time staring at them.
My men flooded back in at my signal, faces hard, guns visible under their jackets.
The room was no longer a meeting room; it was a war room.
"Lock everything down," I ordered, my voice low, cutting through the air. "Secure the channels, rotate the guards. Every asset, every safe house, nothing without my word."
Then, phones came out, boots shifted, and orders moved like electricity. This was my element, chaos turning into command.
Emilia stood by the wall, her arms crossed, and the folder still clenched in her hands. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned. She was no bystander, not anymore.
I walked to the head of the table, scanning the maps and lists spread out, but my attention dragged back to her like a chain pulling tight.
"Trace the leak," I snapped at Dimitri. "I want the source, I want the name, I want their blood."
"Yes, boss."
I looked back at her. "You shouldn't be here," I said.
But she lifted her chin. "Maybe not, but I'm already in this, aren't I? You made sure of that."
The room hushed for a beat. My men didn't look at her, but I felt the shift... somehow respect, confusion, or maybe fear. No one ever spoke to me like that.
I strode toward her, closing the space in two steps. "You think I dragged you into this?"
"You admit it!" She fired back. "You said I was leverage. That means you pulled me into this from the start. You made me a target."
Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away. I caged her against the wall again, my palm landing flat beside her head. "I made you mine," I said, each word carved in stone.
Her eyes glistened. "If my father paid you back, if he begged you, would you have let me go?"
The room stilled, and men pretended to work, but every ear tilted out.
I didn't blink, but instead I said, "No, even if he paid ten times, I'd never give you back."
Her breath caught, a sound between a sob and a laugh. She shook her head. "You're not even pretending. You just say it, like stealing me is... natural to you."
"It is," I said. "I never meant to lie. I never meant to let you go."
Her lips parted, trembling, and I saw it, the fracture inside her. Disgust, grief, and something darker curling into it. She wanted to hate me, but she couldn't. Not completely.
Dimitri returned to my side with a phone in his hand, and his voice was low. "We traced part of it, but it's not enough. They're using layered servers. But boss–"
"What?" I demanded.
He held the device, and headlines screamed across the screen. Syndicate names, photos of men, bank accounts, my signature. Every secret dragged into daylight. Social feeds are exploding, the files mirrored across networks faster than anyone could kill them.
Emilia's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."
I crushed the phone in my palm until the glass cracked. "Romano thinks hallucination is a weapon." My voice was ice. "He's wrong. It's a death warrant."
I turned to my men. "Every channel burned, every trace followed. Find the mole, and when you do... bring me his head."
"Yes, boss," came the chorus.
The room spun back into motion, and phones rang, maps shifting, the hum of war.
But all I saw was her, Emilia. She was standing there shaking, but refusing to back down.
I went to her again, catching her chin between my fingers and forcing her to see me. "Don't cry for them," I said.
Her voice was a whisper. "You want me to be stone."
"I want you to be mine," I growled. "That means no tears for them. They don't deserve it."
Her chest rose fast. "And what if I can't do that? What if I can't be what you want?"
"You already are."
Her breath hitched. "You're insane."
"Maybe," I admitted. "Buy you're still in my arms, Emilia. And you will be until I decide otherwise."
The room pulsed around us, men moving like shadows. But between us, there was only silence. Her eyes closed, and a tear slipped free despite my command. And yet, her voice was steady when she whispered, "I'm still here."