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16

Viktor

One week later

The morning sun filters through the tall windows of the breakfast room, casting pale light on the polished wood table. I sit at the head, nursing my coffee, its bitterness a welcome distraction. The silence is heavy but not unwelcome. For a brief moment, I’m alone with my thoughts—until Alina and Yelena stride in.

Their faces and movements are identical. But this morning, Alina is wearing a frown accompanied by an expression that spells trouble. Her brows knit together in barely restrained frustration, while Yelena’s gaze seems nonchalant.

Alina wastes no time. “Viktor,” she says sharply, sitting across from me, “what exactly are you doing about Scarlett?”

I glance at her over the rim of my coffee mug, the familiar bitterness on my tongue now mirrored in my mood. “Good morning to you too, Alina,” I say dryly, setting the cup down with deliberate calm.

“Don’t deflect,” she snaps, her voice cutting through the quiet. “She’s pregnant. She’s vulnerable. And you’ve done nothing to make her feel safe or cared for.”

Yelena exhales, leaning back in her chair. “Alina, I told you this isn’t the time—”

“This is exactly the time,” Alina cuts her off, turning to face her twin with a disbelieving look. “She’s carrying Viktor’s child, and you’re acting like she’s just another stranger we can lock away and forget about!”

I let the argument unfold, the tension crackling between them like a live wire. Alina’s frustration is palpable, her voice rising with every word, while Yelena remains stoic, her tone clipped and pragmatic.

Yelena’s lips press into a thin line as she listens to Alina’s tirade. When she finally speaks, her voice is calm but firm. “Scarlett is safe here. That’s more than she would be anywhere else.”

Alina glares at her, incredulous. “Safe? Is that all you care about? Safety? What about how she feels? What about the fact that she’s alone, terrified, and carrying Viktor’s child?”

Yelena shrugs, unbothered by Alina’s indignation. “Feelings don’t matter if you’re dead, Alina. She’s here because of the baby. That child is family, and this is the safest place for them both.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Alina hisses, throwing her hands up. “You’re so focused on strategy and survival that you’ve forgotten what it means to be human.”

Yelena’s eyes narrow, her voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “And you’ve forgotten that our father is dead. Or does Scarlett matter more to you than avenging him?”

The room grows tense, the weight of their argument pressing against me. I remain silent, watching as Alina’s anger grows, her frustration now directed at me.

Alina turns her piercing gaze on me, her voice trembling with fury. “And you,” she snaps, her finger pointing accusingly at me. “ Starashiy brat , are her baby’s father. Your duty to Scarlett goes beyond locking her up in this house like a prisoner.”

I say nothing, though her words sting more than I’d like to admit. The truth is, I have stayed away from Scarlett because coming close to her means losing control over myself.

“She’s suffering,” Alina continues, her voice softer now but no less insistent. “Do you even know how much she’s struggling with morning sickness? Do you know how scared she is? She doesn’t even have her own clothes, Viktor. I’ve been giving her mine, but how do you think she feels about being at the mercy of strangers for something as basic as dignity?”

I grip the edge of the table, my jaw tightening. Alina’s words cut deep, each one a reminder of my failure.

“She’s not just some pawn in your game of vengeance,” Alina says, her tone laced with disappointment. “She’s a person. And she’s carrying another person who happens to be your child. My niece or nephew.”

I remain silent, my eyes fixed on the coffee mug in front of me. Alina’s words replay in my mind, each one a blow to the armor I’ve built around myself.

She’s right. I’ve avoided Scarlett and pushed her into the background of my priorities because facing her means confronting things I’m not ready for. The weight of my father’s murder investigation, the unrelenting need for revenge—it all feels easier to bear than the vulnerability Scarlett brings out in me.

But as Alina speaks, I feel the cracks forming. Guilt gnaws at me, its sharp edges cutting through the layers of denial I’ve clung to. I can’t ignore the truth any longer. I’ve failed her.

Alina’s voice fades, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. I finally lift my gaze, meeting hers. “You’re right,” I say, my voice low but steady.

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by my admission.

“I’ve been so focused on avenging our father that I haven’t stopped to think about what Scarlett needs,” I continue. “That ends now.”

The resolve in my voice surprises even me. I’ve spent a whole week avoiding Scarlett, avoiding the pull she has over me, but no more. It’s time to face the consequences of my actions, to take responsibility for the life growing inside her.

“Good,” Alina says, her voice softening. “It’s about time.”

Scarlett

The knock on the door is sharp and sudden, shattering the uneasy quiet of the room. My heart jumps, the sound pulling me out of a restless haze. For a moment, I freeze, unsure whether to answer or pretend I’m not here. It’s not like I have anywhere to go, but ignoring it feels like the only shred of control I have left.

"Umm, Scarlett?" a deep voice calls, muffled by the door. The sound is unfamiliar and commanding, and it sends a chill down my spine.

I swallow hard and approach the door cautiously, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle. When I open it, I’m met with the imposing figure of a man who looks like he was carved from stone. His broad shoulders block the light from the hallway, and his eyes are dark, and unreadable.

“Moy Pakhan requests your presence for breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Requests?" I repeat, my tone laced with sarcasm despite the flutter of nerves in my chest. "I didn’t realize I was at his beck and call."

The man doesn’t react, his expression is as rigid as his frame. "Be downstairs in ten minutes."

Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the doorway, a mixture of curiosity and frustration bubbling inside me. Viktor wants to see me. Finally. The man who uprooted my life, who locked me away in this gilded cage, has decided I’m worthy of his time.

"Fine," I mutter to myself, closing the door. "Let’s see what he has to say."

I step into the small adjoining bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to shake off the grogginess. As I dry my face, my eyes drift to the mirror. The reflection staring back at me is almost unrecognizable—dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, and a weariness that feels etched into my very bones.

I grab the plain black dress Alina lent me from the chair by the bed, pulling it on with deliberate movements. My thoughts drift to the man who summoned me, his presence a storm cloud hovering over my life. Viktor Makarov. The name alone sends a shiver through me, equal parts fear and fury.

Then there are his men. The one who just left looked like he could break someone in half without breaking a sweat. There’s an unsettling allure to their ruggedness, the kind that makes you wary but unable to look away. It’s a dangerous kind of charm, one that reminds me of the world I’ve been thrust into.

As I brush my hair, my resolve hardens. I won’t let Viktor intimidate me. If he wants to play the part of a mafia kingpin, fine. But I won’t be his pawn.

Well, I know he is not playing a role. He is a Mafia Kingpin, but that doesn’t mean I have to be his pawn.

The dining room is brighter and bigger than I expected, the morning sun streaming through large windows and casting long shadows across the table. The room is imposing, just like the man seated at its head. Viktor. His broad shoulders and sharp features make him look like he belongs on a throne, and the air around him feels charged, as if the very room bends to his will.

Seated on either side of him are two identical women, their striking beauty offset by an air of confidence that’s almost intimidating. My steps falter as I take them in, but then my gaze lands on one of them—Alina.

"Good morning, Alina," I say, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. I look directly at Alina, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You knew it was me? How?"

"I can tell you apart," I reply. "You have a softer edge. It’s not hard to tell."

Alina laughs, a sound full of warmth and amusement. "Most people can’t. Impressive."

The other twin—Yelena, I presume from all Alina has told me—arches a brow, her expression unreadable. Viktor remains silent, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk watching its prey.

I turn my attention to him, and my anger rises to the surface like lava bubbling to the edge of a volcano. "It’s nice of you to finally send for me, Your Highness," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor’s jaw tightens, his gaze darkening. "Sit down," he says gruffly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But I’m not in the mood to be commanded. "On which of the seats?" I ask, batting my lashes at him with exaggerated sweetness.

"Can you please cut the drama?" Viktor growls, his irritation evident.

"You call this drama?" I snap, my voice rising. "You kidnapped me on the day I buried my mother, locked me up in this mansion—sorry, prison—and you’re calling me dramatic?"

"Please sit down," he repeats, his voice firm but quieter this time.

"I want to go home," I counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You can’t go home. It’s not safe."

"Why not?" I demand, my voice shaking with a mixture of anger and frustration.

"Because I’m in the middle of an investigation," Viktor replies, his tone clipped. "And until I find my answers, you’re a walking target because you’re carrying my child."

His words land like a punch to the gut, their weight settling heavily in the room. I glance at Alina, searching her face for confirmation. She gives a small nod, her expression grim.

The enormity of my situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. I sink into the nearest chair, my legs unable to hold me up any longer. Tears blur my vision, and I swipe at them angrily, hating the vulnerability that’s overtaking me in front of these people.

"Chalk it up to pregnancy hormones," I mutter to no one in particular, my voice cracking. But the truth is, it’s more than that. It’s the grief, the fear, the anger—all of it boiling over and spilling out.

For the first time since I buried my Mom, I let myself cry, the sound filling the room like a storm breaking after too much pressure. And for a moment, no one speaks, the weight of my tears saying everything I can’t.

Through the blur of my tears, I see Yelena lean toward Alina and whisper, “She got kidnapped the same day she buried her mom? Men, she’s got guts to still be standing.”

It’s subtle, but her voice carries a note of approval that surprises me. I glance up, catching the faint smirk playing on her lips. Alina nudges her twin with a look that seems to say, Now’s not the time.

Their quiet exchange pulls me out of my downward spiral for a moment. These women—powerful, confident, and unapologetically themselves—are watching me with something that feels uncomfortable. It’s as if they’re testing me, waiting to see how I’ll handle myself in their world.

I swipe at my tears, straightening in my chair. If they think I’m weak, they’re wrong. I’ve survived too much to crumble now.

Viktor leans back in his chair, his massive frame casting a shadow across the room. His piercing gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment I swear the air around us shifts.

"This isn’t about keeping you here for the sake of control. It’s about keeping you alive."

"Alive?" I echo, incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself? You kidnapped me. You’ve locked me in this house with no explanation, and now you’re telling me it’s for my safety?"

His jaw tightens, and I can see the tension rippling through his shoulders. "Yes," he says simply. "Because the people who killed my father won’t hesitate to come after you. You and the child you’re carrying are a threat to them."

The weight of his words presses down on me, suffocating and undeniable. But I refuse to let him see how much it shakes me. "And whose fault is that?" I ask, my voice trembling with anger. "You dragged me into your world, Viktor. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"No, you didn’t," he admits, his tone softer but no less intense. "But now you’re here, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whether you like it or not."

I turn to Alina, desperate for some kind of validation. "Is he serious?" I ask, my voice cracking. "Am I really in that much danger?"

Alina’s expression softens, and she nods. "He’s telling the truth, “She says gently. "It’s not just about you anymore, Scarlett. It’s about the baby too."

Yelena adds, "This isn’t just Viktor being overbearing. If he says you’re a target, you are. Our enemies will exploit any weakness, and right now, they see you as one."

"I didn’t ask for this," I say, my voice muffled by my hands. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

The room falls silent, the weight of my breakdown settling over us all. I feel raw, exposed, and utterly drained. But as the storm of my emotions subsides, a strange clarity begins to emerge.

I think about my mother, her strength, and her love. She always told me to fight for what mattered and to never let life’s hardships define me. And now, even in this impossible situation, I can feel her presence, urging me to stand tall.

I lift my head, meeting Viktor’s gaze. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of guilt, maybe even regret.

Alina reaches out, placing a comforting hand on mine. "You’re not alone in this, Scarlett," she says, her voice filled with quiet determination. "We’re family now, whether you like it or not. And we take care of our own."

Her words are a balm to my frayed nerves, and for the first time I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can survive this.

As my thoughts begin to clear, I’m left with my thoughts. My gaze drifts to Viktor, who remains seated, his eyes still locked on me. There’s so much I want to say to him, so much I need to understand.

But for now, I let the silence envelope us. The future is uncertain, but one thing is clear—I’m not giving up. Not on myself, and not on the life growing inside me.