Page 47 of Between Power and Passion

I pull out the thumb and unwrap it slowly, letting him see it again. His face pales further at the sight.

"You don't have to do anything," I reply calmly. "I'll do it for you."

I press the severed thumb against the ink pad on the table, then use it to stamp each paper one by one.

"You see," I say as I work through the stack, "a man who has something to lose will fight till his last breath for what he has." I lift my gaze to meet his. "But you? You've already lost everything."

Mikhail's eyes blaze with defiance even as he winces in pain. "You're no different from me," he growls. "You think you're better because you have some misguided sense of justice? You're just another thug."

I finish with the last paper and place them all neatly back on the table. Leaning close to him, I lower my voice so only he can hear.

"No," I whisper. "I'm a man with a family to protect. That makes all the difference."

I take a step back, savoring the moment as Mikhail's chest heaves with exertion and anger. The room feels colder somehow, like all warmth has been drained from it. I turn to the door and call out, "Bring it in."

The door opens, and two men walk in, carrying a large cage. They set it down in the center of the room and step back. Mikhail's eyes widen with fear as he takes in the sight of the cage.

"What is this?" he demands, his voice shaking. "What the fuck are you planning now?"

I walk over to the cage and unlock it with deliberate slowness. "I have a friend who's very hungry," I say calmly. "And I think you'll make an excellent meal."

Mikhail's face pales further as he watches me open the cage door. "You're a sicker bastard than I am," he spits out, his voice laced with desperation.

I laugh, a cold sound that echoes off the sterile walls. "You think you know me, Mikhail? You have no idea."

I reach into the cage and gently stroke the head of my snake, Jonny Boy. He's a massive creature now, his scales glistening in the harsh light of the room. I remember when I first got him as a baby snake—so small, so fragile. But I've fed him well over the years, and he's grown strong and loyal.

"Jonny Boy here," I say, turning to face Mikhail, "he doesn't bite his master because I feed him well. He's learned to trust me."

Mikhail's eyes are wide with terror as he watches Jonny Boy slither out of the cage and onto the floor. The snake moves with a slow, torturous pace toward Mikhail, its tongue flicking out to smell the air.

"No," Mikhail whispers, his voice breaking. "Please, no."

I step back and watch as Jonny Boy inches closer to his prey. Mikhail's screams fill the room—desperate, primal sounds that cut through the air like knives.

"Eat your fill," I say softly to Jonny Boy. "You've earned it."

Mikhail's pleas turn into incoherent babbling as he tries to scoot away from the approaching snake. But there's nowhere for him to go—no escape from what's coming.

I turn and walk toward the door, carrying the stack of papers under my arm. Mikhail's screams are muffled as I close the door behind me.

I nod to the men standing guard outside. "Let Jonny Boy enjoy himself," I instruct them. "Call Alexei to pick him up in two hours."

They nod in understanding as I walk away from the room. The sound of Mikhail's screams fades into nothingness behind me, replaced by a heavy silence that seems to follow me wherever I go.

I'm coming for you, Sergei. You can run, but you can't hide from me.

Epilogue – Valentina

I stand at the counter, my hands busy chopping vegetables for breakfast. The baby inside me shifts, and I pause, placing a hand on my swollen belly. Eight months along, and every movement is a reminder of the life growing within me. The kitchen is quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board.

Dmitri enters, his footsteps barely audible over the chopping. He stops at the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with those intense eyes. “Valentina,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle. “You should let the staff handle this.”

I sigh, setting the knife down and turning to face him. “Dmitri, you won’t let me do anything. I need to feel useful.” My words come out sharper than intended, but the frustration has been building.

He steps closer, his expression softening slightly. “You need to rest,” he insists. “Stop being so stubborn.”

“I’m pregnant, not disabled,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.

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