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Viktor

Blood stains my knuckles. It drips from the broken body at my feet and pools across the cracked dock ground like spilled ink, dark and permanent. I don’t hear the man’s shallow groans anymore, though he’s still alive—for now. My chest rises and falls steadily as I pull my gaze from him and turn to Scarlett.

She’s fragile in the dim light, like glass that could shatter with a single touch. Her tear-streaked face looks up at me, and for a second, the world stops. She’s here. Alive. Shaking, but breathing. Relief sears through me, tightening every muscle in my body. I failed her once, and I’ll never let it happen again.

I move toward her, wanting nothing more than to hold her and feel her safe against me. She runs into my arms, and I bite back a groan from how perfectly she fits. Her disheveled state and swollen face have me seeing red and I grind my teeth in a bid to control my murderous rage. Instead, I apologize for letting her down. I know that the tears streaming down her face are from relief, but it pains me because she shouldn’t be here in the first place.

The gratitude in her voice has me flinching with guilt. Unable to hold her gaze anymore, I pull her back into my embrace. But even that does not stop her from talking, and I smile. I cradle her stomach and feel another wave of relief that the tiny bump is still present. She asks how I found her, but a noise stops me from answering.

The sound slices through the air. It’s a slow, deliberate, and mocking clap. My instincts flare. I spin on my heel, already stepping between Scarlett and the voice as it comes from the shadows.

“Well, well, well,” Vovka Sidorov drawls as he emerges, his figure illuminated by the glow of the dock’s flickering lights. The bastard is tall, broad-shouldered, and immaculately dressed, as if he’s here for a goddamn business meeting and not orchestrating my woman’s death. He steps forward, slow and sure, his confidence grating. A black pistol gleams in his hand, the barrel shifting slightly as he points it toward me before flicking it toward Scarlett. My blood runs cold.

Vovka’s lips curl into a snarl as his gaze pins me in place. “So it’s true,” he says, his voice laced with venom. “The rumors I’ve heard. Viktor Makarov is alive and well. And you do look well, all things considered.”

My jaw ticks, but I keep my expression neutral, the ghost of a smirk tugging at my mouth. “As you can see,” I reply smoothly, spreading my hands slightly. “Very much alive and very well.”

He doesn’t like my tone. Good. The gun trembles slightly, probably from rage but his focus is sharp. He’s assessing me, trying to decide whether to shoot me now or gloat first. “Hiding for twenty goddamn years,” Vovka spits, his face twisting with disgust. “Why? Why hide like a coward?”

I meet his gaze dead-on, my smirk widening. “Because, Vovka, I was waiting. Biding my time. Watching while my enemies revealed themselves—like you’ve done now.”

His nostrils flare, his rage swelling like a storm cloud, and I know my words cut deep. He’s a man who thrives on power, dominance, and the illusion of control. I’ve taken a hammer to all of it.

“You arrogant—” Vovka’s words cut off, his fury darkening his composure. The barrel of the gun swings toward Scarlett again, and I hear her sharp intake of breath behind me. My pulse surges with white-hot fury, but I force my body to remain still.

Vovka’s eyes gleam with malicious triumph as he sneers. “You may have escaped my men two decades ago, Viktor, but you won’t escape me today. Just like I saw to the death of Igor—” He pauses, and grins when he sees the flash of anger in my eyes. “—I’ll see to it that you, your whore, and whatever pathetic lineage you think you’ll build are wiped from this world.”

My fingers curl into fists, the bones in my knuckles cracking with the pressure. Igor. My father. The man whose murder I’ve carried like a stone in my chest for months. The man Vovka is now confirming he killed, and not just my father but my mother too.

“So, you motherfucking Sidorovs have been behind the killings in my family.”

“Not the Sidorovs, just me.” He gloats. “My idiot father was too weak to pull it off. I had to kill the fool myself. He kept us on the bottom of the Bratva chain. But that is all about to change.”

I take a step forward, my voice low and deadly. “You’re a dead man, Sidorov.”

The gun doesn’t waver. If anything, Vovka’s smile deepens, sick and satisfied. “Not before she is.”

And then I see it—the subtle shift in his hand, his finger beginning to tighten on the trigger. My body tenses, ready to lunge, ready to take the bullet if I have to. Anything to keep Scarlett safe.

But before I can move, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Drop it, Vovka!”

The sound of scuffling footsteps precedes two figures entering the scene, dragging a third between them. Lev and Zasha. They appear like wolves from the darkness, their hands locked tightly around the arms of their captive—Marina.

I smirk at my men’s move. Bringing Marina here is a ground leveler. She too is disheveled, her blonde hair tangled and falling around her face, her icy expression marred by a faint glimmer of unease. Her sharp blue eyes flick from me to Scarlett and finally to Vovka, who freezes completely, his gun still raised but wavering slightly.

The tension in the air shifts, thickening like molasses. For the first time, Vovka looks uncertain. He glares at Lev and Zasha, his eyes narrowing on Marina, and I see his mind working, assessing what this now means for him.

“Marina,” Vovka says slowly, his voice still laced with anger. “What is this?”

Marina’s lips press into a thin line, but she says nothing. Lev’s grip on her tightens, and Zasha smirks coldly. “Thought you’d like to see her,” Zasha says. “Since she’s been so loyal to you.”

Vovka’s gaze whips back to me, and I see uncertainty bleeding into his expression. He knows I’ve outplayed him, at least for the moment. Whatever leverage Marina has—or doesn’t have—it’s thrown him off balance.

I take the opening, stepping forward slowly, deliberately. “You’re losing control, Vovka,” I say, my voice calm but laced with steel. “And you know it.”

He sneers, but the confidence behind it wavers. “You think having her changes anything? You think this ends with you alive?” He raises the gun slightly again, but there’s a tremor in his grip.

I smile—cold and deadly. “No, I think it buys me time. Time to take everything from you, just like you took from me.”

Scarlett shifts behind me, and I glance back to see her staring at Marina, anger, disappointment, and wariness flickering across her face. I feel terrible for her because her friend’s involvement—her betrayal—must be very hard for her to process.

Lev steps forward, his grip firm on Marina’s arm as he passes her to me. “Your move, Sidorov,” he says. His voice is steady, but there’s a fire in his gaze. Lev is ready to kill, just like I am.

For a long moment, no one moves. The only sounds are the cargo ship's distant creaks and the water's lapping against the dock. Vovka’s eyes dart from me to Marina to Lev, his mind whirring as he calculates his options. I can see it—the slow realization that his grip on this situation is slipping.

Marina shifts slightly, her gaze flickering to him. “Vovka,” she says softly, almost pleading. For a brief second, he seems to look at her, and then, the mad glint returns to his eyes.

Vovka’s mouth twists into a snarl, his teeth bared. “You fool,” he spits at her. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“Isn’t she?” I interject smoothly, watching him carefully. “Or are you losing track of who’s loyal to you? Don’t you want her to witness the moment you finally destroy my empire?”

His gaze snaps back to me, and for a moment, I see the full force of his rage. He wants to kill me. He wants to kill Scarlett. He wants to rip apart everything I care about, just like he did twenty years ago. But he can’t—not yet.

Not with Marina in my grip. Not with his power slipping through his fingers like sand.

Scarlett

Viktor holds Marina tightly in front of him, her arms pinned to her sides as he uses her as a human shield. His gun is steady, and the barrel is pointed at Vovka.

“Drop your weapon,” Viktor commands, his voice low and deadly calm.

Vovka smirks, unfazed by the scene in front of him. “Drop my weapon? You’re amusing, Makarov,” he says, waving his gun slightly as if to taunt Viktor. “Do you think I’d give up my advantage for her?”

Marina’s breathing is ragged, her face pale and streaked with sweat. “Vovka,” she whispers, her voice shaky, “you wouldn’t ... you wouldn’t do this to me.”

Vovka’s laughter echoes through the room, sharp and chilling. “You think you’re special?” he sneers, his eyes narrowing. “No one stands in the way of my success, Marina. Especially not a dumb fucking girlfriend who can be replaced.”

The words hit Marina like a slap, her eyes widening in disbelief. She turns her head slightly toward him searching for any sign that he doesn’t mean it.

He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he raises his gun and fires.

The sound of the shot rips through the air, and I jump, my hands flying instinctively to my stomach. Marina’s scream cuts off as she crumples to the ground, clutching her bleeding leg.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. All I can do is watch as pain and shock register on her face. Her hands tremble as she presses them against the wound, her voice shaky and weak. “What ... what are you doing?”

Vovka steps closer, his expression cold and indifferent. “Getting rid of liabilities,” he says flatly. “You couldn’t even follow a simple instruction. I told you to stay back while I handled things. But no, you had to come here and ruin everything.”

Marina’s lips quiver as tears spill down her cheeks. “I—”

“Do you think you’re irreplaceable?” Vovka cuts her off. He leans down slightly, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “I killed my father for standing in my way. Don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’re more special than him.”

Vovka stands there, his arm steady as he lowers the gun. There isn’t a trace of regret on his face, only a twisted satisfaction.

“You see, Viktor?” he says, his tone light, as if this is all some game. “You don’t control the board. I do.”

I glance at Viktor, my heart racing. His expression doesn’t change—his face is a mask of control, his body still, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Vovka takes another step closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You think you’ve won because you’ve survived this long? Let me show you how wrong you are.”

He points the gun at Marina again, his finger resting on the trigger.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. This isn’t just a ruthless man—it’s a deranged monster with enough power and wealth to do whatever he wants. My heart pounds wildly, and fear tightens its grip on me. I clutch my bump protectively, my fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.

Before I can even begin to process what’s happening, Vovka raises his gun again and fires a second shot.

Marina lets out a strangled cry, her body jerking before collapsing into stillness. Blood pools beneath her, soaking into the ground.

I bite back a scream, my chest heaving as panic surges through me. The air feels thick, suffocating, as Vovka casually tosses his gun to the side.

“I am unarmed now, Viktor Makarov,” he announces, a sick glint in his eyes. “I challenge you to a fistfight. No interference. Winner takes both Bratva.”

My knees threaten to give out beneath me. This can’t be happening. My heart thunders as I silently beg Viktor to refuse, to find another way.

But Viktor doesn’t hesitate. His voice is calm and firm as he says, “I accept.”

“Oh, and not only does the winner get to keep both Bratva, they also get to keep the whore.” Vovka says leering at me. “I find myself in need of a new one seeing as my old one does not know how to follow instructions.” He frowns at Marina’s body.

“No,” I whisper, the word barely audible.

Vovka stretches out his hand, and one of his men steps forward, placing two gleaming jackknives into his palm. The sight of the blades sends a chill down my spine.

“This fight is unbalanced.” I scream. “You are not fighting fair.”

“My fight my rules,” Vovka grins wickedly.

He twirls the knives effortlessly, the sharp edges catching the light. “Let’s see if you’re as strong as I heard,” Vovka says, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

I can’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Fear clenches my heart like a vise, squeezing tighter with every passing second. I know Viktor is strong, that he’s survived things most people couldn’t imagine. But there’s something unhinged about Vovka—something unpredictable and dangerous.

I clasp my hands together, resting them against my bump as I murmur a prayer. Please, let him come out of this alive. Please.

The air between them grows heavy, charged with tension and malice. Vovka takes a step forward, the blades gleaming in his hands. Viktor remains steady, his face unreadable as he prepares for the fight.

I force myself to take a shaky breath. No matter what happens, I have to believe in him. I have to believe that he’ll find a way to survive this madness. For the sake of his Bratva, his sisters, myself, our children, and himself.