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Viktor

I scrub my hand across my face in rough motions, attempting to wipe away the weariness that's taken residence in my bones. The disarray of my once immaculate hair, the stubble grazing my jaw—every inch of me screams of exhaustion, yet rage fuels me.

"Damn it," I mutter through gritted teeth, turning sharply on my heel to face the men who hover at the door. They have just returned from scouting around with no further information. Their incompetence is grating on my already frayed nerves, and my hands are itching to shoot someone.

"Is this the best you can do?" I snap, my voice echoing off the walls. "This is supposed to be our turf, your playground, and yet you cannot get a fucking single word off the street?"

They cringe, not knowing what to expect from this unhinged version of me. I punch the guy closest to me and even though I hear a bone crack, he does well to swallow his pain and remain stiff.

"Get back to the mall," I order, pointing an accusatory finger toward the exit. "Comb through every inch, review every camera feed. I want answers, not excuses. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," one of them replies, a note of determination sharpening his words. They hurry out, leaving me alone with the stifling silence and the weight of my commands. Zasha is combing through private jets departing the JFK but has not seen any sign of her.

Lev is out there trying to get a hold of Marina. I am sure all these are connected to her. Meanwhile, I have contacted my men back in Russia, and Nikolai has put her mother under surveillance. Not only is she being watched, but her phone line is also being tapped.

I turn back to the window, the city sprawling below, oblivious to the turmoil brewing. Scarlett and my babies are out there, and I will move heaven and earth to bring her home. Now, more than ever, I understand the stakes are higher than just the family business. It's personal, and I won't rest until she's safe.

The last of my men closes the door behind him, their footsteps fading down the corridor. Silence claws at the space they leave behind, wrapping its cold fingers around my office like a vice. I'm still, finally, after hours of pacing and barking orders, yet restlessness bubbles beneath my skin.

The door creaks open again, barely audible. Yelena steps in, her presence like a whisper compared to the storm of my men. She moves towards me with the weariness of shared burdens etched into her every step. Her eyes, so like mine, are dulled from sleepless concern, but she's here, standing resilient despite it all.

" Starashiy brat ," she says softly, extending a hand holding a steaming mug. Her voice is a gentle nudge against the fortress of my resolve.

"Thank you, Yelena." The words feel clumsy on my tongue “But I do not want a drink.” She nods and withdraws the offer biting her lips and blinking back tears.

“Where is Alina?”

“Finally cried herself to sleep.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“No fucking way.”

Her blue eyes lock with mine, a mirror of our familial bond and unspoken promises. We're Makarovs; we protect our own. And right now, our own needs us more than ever. The silence stretches out, a bridge between our thoughts, conveying more than any conversation could.

"Let's find them," she breathes out, breaking the quiet. “We must find them.” She vows.

"We will," I reply, the certainty in my voice a reflection of the trust we place in each other. We've weathered storms before, but none like this. None with such high stakes.

Yelena nods, a silent sentinel ready for what comes next. And I know, whatever it takes, I'll bring Scarlett back.

After a few seconds, her voice shatters the stillness, a whisper laden with guilt. "It's my fault, Viktor. If I hadn't insisted on shopping ..."

I turn to her sharply, the frustration in me wanting to rage at the world, but not at her. Never at her. "No, Yelena. I will not let you bear this cross."

She looks away, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. This isn't her burden. It's mine – all mine.

"Listen to me," I command gently, stepping closer. " I should have given her better protection, and I swear on my life, I'll bring her home. I will bring them home."

Yelena's shoulders slump, the fight seeping out of her. She's crumbling under the weight of self-blame and exhaustion.

" Malen'kiy ," I murmur, stroking her hair back from her face, my fingers lingering on the soft strands. "You need rest."

"Viktor, I can't—"

"Trust me," I interrupt, my tone leaving no room for argument. Authority comes easy; it's etched into my very bones.

"Go," I say firmly. "Sleep now. When you wake, we'll be closer to bringing her back."

She nods, acquiescing in the way only family can compel her to. As she turns to leave, I know deep down, despite all her bravado, Yelena is one sweet kid.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence roars in my ears. I can't afford to waste any more time. My jaw sets as I reach for the phone, each digit I press a declaration of war against those who dare take what is mine. The line rings once, twice, and then Thiago's gruff voice answers.

"Thiago," I say, my voice like ice shards. "I'm on my way."

"Viktor?" Surprise laces his tone, but I cut through any pleasantries.

"I need to see you," I tell him clipped. There's no room for discussion.

The scent of old leather and cigar smoke assaults me as I enter Thiago's office. It's dimly lit, every shadow holding whispered threats. Thiago sits behind his mahogany desk, his expression unreadable. His eyes flick to me, cold and calculating.

"Viktor," he begins, a slow smile not reaching his eyes. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"You know why I'm here. You have ears stuck on every wall of this city."

"Ah, yes, the little matter of your missing sweetheart." He leans back, and I sense the steel trap of his mind working. "Remind me again why I should help you, especially after you so eloquently declined my offer regarding my daughter."

I clench my fists, feeling the burn of his gaze. I stand motionless, a predator waiting to strike. "This isn't about past offers," I grind out. "It's about now. And you owe me."

"Owe you?" Thiago chuckles, a sound devoid of humor. "That's a dangerous word between men like us."

“You damn well know that Men like me know how to collect our debts.”

“And do I owe you?”

“Don’t you?” I look at him pointedly. “For the past fifteen years, I secured this cartel for you by taking out any and every threat.”

“But yet you refused to solidify our relationship.”

“Are we now enemies?” I ask pointedly.

Let me fucking know how to treat you.

He mumbles something under his breath and watches me like a lion assessing another. The tension crackles, a tangible force in this confined space of his lair. But I don't waver. I never do. Especially not now.

"This is bigger than any grievance or grudge you have against me," I say with a calm facade over the churning fury inside. "The lady in question is carrying my children. The future of my Bratva." The words hang heavy in the air, a tether to the humanity that binds even the most hardened of us.

Thiago's dark eyes narrow, searching mine for deceit. But he finds only the raw truth, the undeniable force driving me. For a moment, the room falls silent but for the distant hum of the city outside.

"Children?" His voice is softer now, understanding dawning on him. It's a card I play without shame—our shared understanding of legacy and blood.

" Da , twins." I keep my gaze steady on him, seeing the shift. His stubborn determination to punish me for rejecting his daughter is melting away. "They will be Makarovs, Thiago. You understand what that means. Your friend, my father will have his legacy carried on."

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, the skepticism in his eyes ebbing like the tide. A deep breath fills his chest, then he slowly exhales. "You always did have a way with words, Viktor."

"Only when necessary," I concede, allowing a flicker of amity to show.

"Fine," Thiago finally murmurs, almost to himself. We both know the stakes now; they're higher, personal. He uncrosses his arms, a sign of yielding. "I'll help you—but remember this favor."

"Understood," I nod, sealing the unspoken pact between us. There's no joy in this alliance, only necessity. But for Scarlett, for our unborn children, I'd broker a thousand truces with the devil himself.

"Let's get to work, then," Thiago says.

He pulls out a file from under the mahogany desk and slides it to me. Information came to me that there is a new Russian family acquiring properties, and as you know, I always make it my business to know what is happening in this city.

“Let me guess, you had him investigated.”

Thiago nods, "Vovka's got a new place I think he will be holding your lady," he says, and I lean forward. It's a lifeline thrown across the ocean of my desperation.

"Where?"

"Near the port of New York. A warehouse, heavily guarded, off the books." His eyes narrow. "I trust you understand the significance."

"Of course." My heart pounds—a lead, solid and promising. " Spasibo, Thiago." Gratitude is a rare taste on my tongue, but it's there, and it’s genuine for once.

As I stand to go, Thiago hands me an offer that is completely out of character for him. “Some of my men will come with you.”

“What! Why?”

“Because this is a dangerous operation, and the more men you have with you the better the chances of you coming out alive.”

“And?” Something about his show of kindness sounds off.

“And, I’d rather have an ally running the strongest Russian Bratva than an enemy.”

Ah, so it is personal interest then.

“Alright,” I accept. After all, I trained most of the top guys in Thiago’s service.

"Remember the debt."

"Always."

Port of New York, here I come.

As the skyline blurs past, I think of Scarlett, her sweet defiance, the fire in her eyes. My twins snuggling in her womb, and I know I'll tear down empires for them, starting with Vovka's stronghold.

"Get ready, Vovka Sidorov," I whisper like a predator scenting blood. "I'm coming."

The salty air bites at my face as I step into the dock, scanning the shadowy expanse ahead. Lev and Zasha have received my message and are waiting for me, flanked by some of their most loyal men, their expressions grim. Lev nods in greeting, his usual smirk absent.

“We’ve scouted the area,” Lev begins, his voice low but firm. “Vovka’s warehouse is up ahead and it is well guarded. However, there’s a back entry that is less guarded. We can easily take out the men there without anyone noticing.”

I glance toward the hulking structure in the distance, its silhouette looming against the faint glow of the moon. “We stick to the plan,” I say, my voice cold with resolve. “You”—I nod toward Thiago’s men—“Stay low and keep watch. Make sure to follow Zasha’s instructions. Lev, you’re with me.”

Lev falls in step beside me as we move toward the warehouse, two of his men in tow. The gravel crunches softly beneath our boots, the only sound in the tense quiet. We make our way toward the back door, but two men ask us to stop or they’ll shoot. We stop and raise our hands so that they can see that we are unarmed.

Their foolish mistake.

As soon as they reach us, we unarm and wring their necks. The satisfying sound of their snapping neck does nothing to cool my bloodlust. When we reach the back entry, the iron door comes into view, its rusted surface glinting faintly under a distant floodlight. I tug at the handle, testing its weight. It doesn’t budge. Bolted from the inside.

“Subtlety is not working tonight,” I mutter. I knock on the door, keeping my hand steady, my voice calm as I call out in Russian, “I’m here for the documents Vovka requested.”

There’s a pause, then the muffled scrape of movement inside. A voice answers, gruff and suspicious. “What fucking documents?”

“The ones for the shipment,” I reply vaguely, my tone clipped. After a moment of hesitation, I hear the bolt slide.

As soon as the door cracks open, I shove it hard. The burly man behind it stumbles back, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

“Intruders!” he shouts, scrambling to get up. Footsteps echo from deeper inside, pounding toward us.

“Where is she?” I ask him, my voice like steel.

“Fuck you,” he spits, his hand darting toward his pocket.

“Wrong answer.” I stomp on his wrist with enough force to make him howl. The crunch of bone is satisfying, but I’m already focused on the footsteps rushing closer. Two men appear, their faces twisted in anger, but Lev steps forward, moving with lethal precision. Within seconds, they’re down, groaning on the floor.

I grab the man I knocked down, dragging him deeper into the warehouse and dumping him onto a splintered chair. Blood drips from his nose, but his smirk is intact. “Where is she?” I demand again, my patience hanging by a thread.

“Swimming with the fishes,” he sneers, his teeth stained red.

The rage that ignites in me is instant. My fist connects with his jaw in a single, savage motion. His head snaps to the side, and the sickening crunch of bone breaking fills the air. Blood and teeth spray across the floor as his body goes limp, slumping forward.

I turn to the next man, already being dragged toward me by Lev’s two men. His eyes are wide with terror, and he starts talking before I can even speak. “Wait! Please! Vovka said—he said to put her on the cargo ship! She’s supposed to be thrown overboard once they’re far enough from the shore!”

“What is the name of the ship?

“Russian Roulette.” He says already wetting himself. “And the ship should have set to sea about ten minutes ago.”

The words hit me like a blow. My chest tightens, and for a moment, all I can hear is the blood roaring in my ears. Scarlett. My Scarlett. My unborn children. On that ship. My fist slams into the table beside me, leaving a dent in the metal. I take a deep breath, swallowing the grief that threatens to consume me. I can’t afford to break now.

Turning back to the room, my eyes land on a man with a tattoo snaking up his neck. Recognition dawns—this is the man from the CCTV footage. The one who took her. I stride toward him, grabbing his collar and hauling him to his feet.

“You kidnapped her,” I state, my voice deathly calm.

“I was instructed to!” he stammers, his hands raised in surrender. “I had no choice—”

I extend my hand. Lev places a knife in my palm without hesitation. I bury the blade in his heart, and leave the man to crumble to the floor, lifeless.

“Get me a speed boat,” I scream already running out. “I am going after that ship.”

Lev who is running beside me pulls out his phone and starts making arrangements.