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14

Viktor

The door swings open, and I almost stop in my tracks. It’s her—Electra, a silhouette of trepidation huddled in the metal chair. My chest tightens at the sight, a mixture of shock and anger bubbling within me. Could she have known who I was that night and purposely followed me? Why else would she give her virginity away in a fucking carpark?

"You!" she gasps, scrambling to her feet. Her voice is a tremor that betrays her fear as her eyes meet mine.

"Sit," I command. My voice is more rigid than ice, but inside, a fire rages—a war between vengeance for my father and the unsettling feelings she stirs deep within me.

Lev nudges her gently, guiding her to sit back down. Zasha watches from the shadows, an unspoken vow to act if needed.

“But you know where I worked?”

“Worked?”

“I no longer work there.”

“And why is that? Did you cash out or something?”

“You know damn well why I worked there and why I no longer have to.” I glare at him, forgetting briefly that I am at his mercy.

“Whose informant are you?”

“No one.”

“I can see we got acquainted on the wrong foot. You do not want to mess with the Russian mob.”

The fear that enters her eyes is very satisfactory.

"So Electra," I begin again.

"Umm … yes?" she replies with a tremor in her voice.

I can't let her see how she affects me.

"Let's start over," I say, placing my hands on the cold surface. I lean forward slightly, asserting my dominance over the space. It's imperative that I maintain control—not just of the situation but of myself.

"Tell me about your work at the club," I command, my voice even and devoid of personal attachment.

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she steels herself. "I dance," she says flatly. "That's all. I'm just a stripper."

Her reply hangs in the room, and I scrutinize her face, searching for any flicker of deceit. There’s none. Just the same nervous energy that makes her seem smaller in the chair.

"And Igor Makarov? What was your involvement with him?" My inquiry slices through the tension, sharp and precise.

"Who?" Genuine and clear confusion clouds her features. She's lost, completely unaware of the name that carries weight like a lead in the crime underworld.

My instincts scream at her innocence in this matter, but my role demands skepticism.

“Let me reintroduce myself. I am Viktor Makarov, son of Igor Makarov.” I say, watching her like a hawk. But still, there is no flicker of recognition in her vivid green eyes.

Maybe a different approach will jolt her memory.

"When was the last time you worked at the club?" I press, my tone is flat, clinical even.

"Over two months ago," Electra murmurs, her eyes dropping to her hands, now fidgeting in her lap. "I ... I couldn't do it anymore. I didn’t have to do it anymore."

Relief seeps through her words and softens her face. She's undoubtedly glad to be out of that life, and her liberation is tangible in the sterile room. I feel it as I watch her. What I see doesn't fit the narrative I've been sold. This person sitting before me has no connection to the world I belong to.

"Is that so?" I probe, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me.

"Yes," she insists, meeting my gaze once more. Her eyes are pools of honesty in a sea of lies. "I'm telling you the truth, Mr Makarov."

So it’s Mr Makarov now?

"Interesting," is all I say.

Her unease is palpable, yet she holds my gaze unflinchingly. It's as if she knows her sincerity is her only shield against me.

"Alright," I start again, leaning against the cold metal desk. "Tell me about the money under your bed."

Her lips part in surprise, and a silent plea is written across her face. She swallows hard, her gaze darting around the room, seeking an escape where there is none.

"I found it in my locker at the club," she whispers, her words quivering like leaves in a storm. "I don't know—I can't ..."

"Can't what?" I press, my tone calm yet laced with an edge sharp enough to cut through her defenses. "Tell me the truth?"

If the money Lev and Zasha brought back is part of what I left in her locker all those weeks ago, then she lied about having financial issues.

Her eyes lock onto mine, wide with terror. Suddenly, she bends forward, retching violently onto the floor. Fear squeezes her until she empties her stomach's contents, which is evidently nothing.

"Get her some water," I order without breaking my stare. Lev moves swiftly, returning with a glass, but she's too shaken to take it.

"Look at me, Electra," I demand, waiting for her trembling hands to still, for her breathing to steady. "We will continue this until I have my answers."

She nods, a feeble attempt at composure as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The interrogation isn't over. Far from it. This is just the beginning.

She huddles in her chair, small and defeated, yet I cannot afford the luxury of pity. She may be the link in a chain that binds me to the past, to the blood-stained throne I’ve now inherited.

“What is your real name?”

“Scarlett. Scarlett Wood.” She replies, shaking.

She is terrified to see this side of me, and I hate it.

"Scarlett," I say after a few seconds. Her name on my lips almost makes me go instantly hard, but lust has no place here. You will tell me everything."

She nods, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. A part of me recoils at her vulnerability, but I push it away, hardening my heart against the onslaught of unwelcome emotions.

"Good, your cooperation is wise. The alternative is far less ... pleasant."

“But I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Which is nothing.”

“That is because I don’t know what you are talking about, " she says, sobbing fully.

Unable to stand her tears, I stand to leave, hoping to return to her when she is more composed. But as I reach the door, her next words halt me as if an unseen force has chained me to the spot.

“I am pregnant with your child.” She blurts in a tear-soaked voice.

The room tilts, and my breath gets stuck in my throat. The world narrows to her trembling figure and the weight of her confession: she is pregnant. My mind races, trying to reconcile the chaos inside me: shock and a strange, unfamiliar tenderness takes root in my heart.

"Pregnant?" My voice is low, laced with disbelief.

She nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. "It’s yours."

For a moment, I can’t speak. My thoughts spiral—memories of that night in the car, her innocence, the way she lost herself to me with reckless abandon. And now it’s resulted in a child. My child.

The room feels smaller, the air heavier. She watches me, her fear palpable, but I can’t comfort her. Not now. Not when my entire world has just shifted.

Back in my office, my mind tries to rationalize the situation.

Someone in DanceCheck knows about my father’s death. That someone, I am very sure, is not Scarlett Wood. But then, Scarlett is carrying my heir, and she is somehow tied to this equation.

Fucking complicated.

One thing is clear: she will stay with me until she puts to bed. This will give me the time to investigate her. With her close to me, I can easily monitor her movements and calls.

Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

The door to my office opens, and Zasha walks in. “Anna has her settled in.”

“Good.”

“She seems innocent.” Lev chimes in from where he is reclining on a sofa.

So, they, too, have sensed it. It's good to know I’m not acting on emotions.

“Too early to tell,” I respond dismissively.

“But how did she get over seventy thousand dollars?” Zasha asks, looking puzzled. “Something is not adding up. I doubt strippers make that much.”

“Or maybe you can take up stripping; let’s see how much you can make.” Lev snickers. “Bet with that face of yours, you won’t be making a single dollar.”

I shake my head at Lev. His sense of humor does not match the brutal beast in him.

Zasha speaks up after a while.

“Do you think the child in her belly is yours?”

“There is no doubt about it,” I nod my head.

“When did you sneak around with blondie behind our backs?” Lev asks.

“Didn’t know my sex life is any of your business.”

“We did not know you had one at all.”

“Now you know.”

“She must be protected at all costs,” Lev says, smiling. “I’m going to be one hell of an uncle.”

“I’m glad my fruitfulness meets your approval.”

Lev gives his usual rich laugh that always leaves me shaking my head. The contrast between his personality and actions never ceases to amaze me. While he is a jolly good fellow, he would never hesitate to put a bullet between an adversary's eyes or pull out an enemy's teeth one by one during interrogation.

“There is one problem, though,” The ever-sober and practical Zasha says. “Your sisters are asking questions already. They want to know who the strange girl in the safe house is.”

“I’ll fill them in myself.” I’ve already decided to tell them the truth. After all, they are going to be some child’s aunt.

As my two trusted men leave the office, I lean back in my leather chair and wonder what life now has in store for me. I have never given fatherhood a thought.

I stare at the darkened window, my reflection staring back, a man caught between vengeance and the fragile beginnings of something else. One thing is clear—Scarlett and the child will be protected. At all costs.