Page 34

33

Viktor

"Security footage shows a grocery delivery van, no plates, just... vanished. But we're combing through everything, Pakhan —" Anton breaks off, his fear tangible even through the digital connection.

“I need you to go back and look at everyone who entered that bathroom after Scarlett was taken and follow them through the security camera.”

The voice begins to tremble with fear, and I cut him off. “Someone’s on his way, he would know what to do.”

There's no room for sentiment. Not when Scarlett's and my children’s lives are hanging in the balance.

I end the call, mind racing, plotting, planning. They've taken Scarlett, but they've also ignited a war they cannot hope to win. For her, for our unborn child, I will rain down hell itself.

I'm coming, Scarlett. Hold on.

Rage ignites in my veins, a scalding torrent that obliterates reason. My hand crushes the phone, the metal creaking under the force of my grip. I can hear the demon within me stir, its presence like a shadow across my consciousness, amplifying my fury, sharpening it into a weapon.

I'm moving before he finishes, my body an instrument of destruction fine-tuned by years of ruthless control. Now, that control is shattering, leaving only the need to destroy, to protect, and to reclaim what's mine.

"Get the car." The command is for anyone, everyone. My men materialize, sensing the shift in the air, the impending storm.

"Viktor—" Yelena starts, but I'm already beyond reach, my mind a labyrinth of dark corridors, each twist and turn leading to Scarlett.

"Track them. Every camera, every witness, every godforsaken rat in the city." The orders pour from me, cold and unforgiving as the Russian winter.

"Understood," comes the chorus of replies, my network of shadows already spreading through the city's veins.

Each second is a countdown, a ticking bomb in my chest. They have her. Do they think they can keep taking what's mine? A laugh, bitter and sharp, echoes in the empty room. Fools.

"Boss, we will find her," Lev's voice reaches me, a lifeline thrown into the abyss. But I'm not falling. I'm rising like the leviathan from the depths, ready to devour those in my path.

"Make sure of it," I snarl. "Because if they harm a single hair on her head, there will be no place on this earth where they can hide from me."

And with that promise hanging in the air, heavy as a gravestone, I become the storm, the embodiment of the retribution they've dared to invoke.

"Use every person we have in authority to lock down the city," I command, my voice a blade cutting through the silence. The men before me snap to attention, their eyes reflecting the urgency that's taken hold of my every fiber. "Delay as many flights as you can, ask our men in aviation to comb through manifestos, and cancel as many flights as you can."

I pace like a caged animal, each step a drumbeat to war. My heart hammers against my ribs, not just with rage but with something far more corrosive—fear.

"Viktor, what about—" One of my lieutenants begins, but I cut him off.

"Find her!" I roar. The words are a whip, spurring them into action. They know better than to ask questions when my world is on the line.

"Double the men at every checkpoint. Triple them." My mind races, images of Scarlett, sweet but feisty with her barely noticeable baby bump flood my vision. And a new firestorm ignites within my brain.

"Check the hospitals, the morgues." My voice cracks like ice. "Everywhere."

"Understood," they respond, their movements swift and precise. A machine set into motion by my will alone.

"Bring her back to me." It's a plea wrapped in steel. The thought of Scarlett, alone and afraid, slices through me. And our children ... A growl rumbles in my throat. They've stirred a beast, one whose wrath knows no bounds.

"Whatever it takes," I add, my tone leaving no room for failure. This isn't just a mission; it's a crusade. For Scarlett and for the tiny lives she carries.

"Gear up!" I bark. Kevlar vests and weapons are distributed with a sense of grim determination. My men understand—the stakes have never been higher.

"Move out!" I command, watching as they scatter like shadows in the night. Each one is a part of the storm I've become. The calm is gone, replaced by a hurricane of violence soon to be unleashed.

As they leave, I'm alone with my fear—that gnawing terror of losing everything I never knew I wanted until Scarlett walked into my life. But I push it down, bury it beneath layers of resolve. Fear will not rule me. Not now. Not when Scarlett needs me most.

"Stay safe, moy angel ," I whisper into the void, a prayer to a silent god. "I'm coming for you."

It’s been five hours since she was taken. I pace the room, a predator caged by necessity. My mind, once a calm sea, now churns with tempestuous waves of strategy. I look at the maps on the walls, points connected by red lines like blood trails. Each mark a place Scarlett might be, each line a path to her.

"Satellite images," I command, and screens flicker to life, showing bird's-eye views of warehouses, docks, and secluded estates. "Check them all."

"Street cams," I continue, turning to face one of my top fieldmen, Anton, whose eyes meet mine with grim resolve. He nods, fingers already flying over a keyboard.

"Ransom demands?" he asks, his voice steady despite the storm we're in.

"None," I spit out the word like venom. That means this isn't about money. It's personal like I suspected. A message meant to cut deep. They don't know who they're dealing with.

"Bank accounts, known associates, recent communications. Pull up everything about Vovka Sidorov." My orders are clipped, each one a bullet in the chamber.

Anton's response is a silent nod before he turns away, setting his team into motion. Every resource at our disposal is now a weapon, every bit of information is a possible key to unlock Scarlett's location.

"Track their last moves," I say, thinking of the enemies that dare cross me. "Find a pattern."

"Working on it, boss," comes the reply from Sergei, our intel specialist, as his gaze doesn't leave the triple monitors in front of him.

"Time is bleeding away," I murmur under my breath, my fists clenching. Scarlett's image burns behind my eyelids—her strength, her fire. She's more than they bargained for. But she's not invulnerable. Not with our children at stake.

My heart feels like granite in my chest, but there's no room for softness now. No room for the love that has been slowly reshaping the iron of my soul. Now, there is only the cold resolve of the man I was before her.

"Keep me updated. Every fifteen minutes." The room acknowledges with a chorus of 'Yes, boss'. My voice is a weapon too, cold, hard, leaving no doubt. I'm the eye of the storm, the epicenter of the coming destruction.

"Prep the chopper," I order, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. We'll strike fast, from above if needed. Escape is not an option for them.

"Boss—" Anton begins, but I cut him off.

"Expect casualties," I state flatly. This isn't a warning; it's a fact. I will bring hellfire upon those who took her. For Scarlett, I will become death itself if I must.

"Let's move!" The words are sharp, slicing the air. I stride towards the door, my steps are measured, and purposeful. Each footfall is the drumbeat of war, a rhythm that promises retribution.

"Stay alive, Scarlett," I whisper to myself as I step out into the night, the darkness embracing me like an old friend. "Hold on."

The fury within me burns brighter and hotter, guiding me through the chaos. And when I find her, the world will know the true cost of taking what belongs to me.

I stand at the helm, the map before me a web of routes, safe houses, and potential ambush points. My men circle like eager wolves, their eyes reflecting the same icy resolve that's settled deep in my bones.

"Positions," I command, my voice devoid of emotion. The room springs into action, a clockwork of deadly precision. I stare at the glowing screens, data streaming across them faster than most can process. But I'm not most people.

"East quadrant," I bark, pointing to an area highlighted in red. "Sweep it."

Anton nods, his hand already moving across his tablet, dispatching teams with swift taps.

"Boss, I’ve had my men sweep across that area," Ivan reports, never lifting his gaze from the screen. "No word yet."

"Keep looking," I reply, my fingers clenching into fists. They won't escape my reach.

"Communications?" I ask, turning to another one of my trusted.

"Encrypted channels are open. No interference," he assures me. “We can Zero in on conversations involving her name.”

"Good." I don't thank him; gratitude has no place here. Not now.

"Boss, we'll bring her back," Anton says, mistaking my silence for doubt. He doesn't understand. It's not doubt that gnaws at me—it's the raw, seething anticipation of the violence I'm about to unleash.

"Bring me everyone you come across who is involved," I say, the words slicing through the hum of activity. I lock eyes with each man in turn. "Alive."

"Understood, boss." They echo.

"Five minutes out, boss," someone calls. The chopper's ready.

"Time to hunt," I murmur, stepping away from the map. The control panel blinks at me, but I see only Scarlett's face—the fear, the strength, the love.

"Scarlett," I whisper her name like a prayer, or maybe a curse. She's at the heart of this, my reason for the tempest I'm about to summon.

"Viktor," Anton says, breaking through my thoughts. "We're set."

"Then let’s begin," I reply, the finality in my voice like the toll of a bell.

I stride toward the door, each step heavy with intent. My men fall in behind me, a shadow army ready to reclaim what's been stolen.

"Move out!" I command as we spill into the night, where the darkness awaits us—an ally in our righteous crusade.

"Stay alive, Scarlett," I think again, the mantra fueling every cell of my body. "I'm coming."