Page 2 of His Grip

He chuckled a low, gravelly sound that made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t entirely hate.

There was also something else—a hint of an accent, faint but unmistakable. He was trying to bury it, she could tell. But it still lingered, weaving through his words like a thread of silk. And damn, she liked it. The way it softened and broke his syllables, rich and smooth, like a fine wine that left you craving more.

Her mind betrayed her with a reckless thought:I could listen to him talk all day.

He was staring, and not in a casual way. No, this was different. His gaze felt like it was peeling back layers she didn’t want anyone to see.

Sofia straightened, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to mask the erratic rhythm of her heart. But there was no hiding the flutter deep in her stomach. None at all.

His eyes flicked over her, not lecherously, but analytically, like he was assessing her. “This isn’t a safe place for someone like you.”

Sofia couldn’t help but wonder if he was always that way—If he always had a reason to assert dominance over others. From the way he regarded her, she already got her answer.

Sofia raised an eyebrow, the edge of a laugh escaping before she could stop it. “The balcony isn’t safe, but being in there with people who stare at you like you’re a three-course meal is?”

He stayed silent for so long that Sofia almost considered breaking the quiet herself—maybe with a sharp word or even a well-placed jab, just to see if he’d react. But then he smiled, and the shift was so sudden, so unexpected, that it caught her completely off guard.

Something inside her tightened, an instinctive warning as if her heart wanted to retreat to safety but couldn’t figure out how. That smile wasn’t just disarming; it was dangerous, like it knew things she didn’t.

“At least in there, you get a fair chance,” he finally said, his smirk returning sharper this time.

Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Are you one of them? Are you giving me a fair chance?”

He tilted his head, looking her over with an intensity that made her feel like he was reading her every thought. “Depends on the mood, darling.”

Her breath hitched, but she refused to back down. “Who are you?”

"Viktor Ivanov.” He said the name like it wasn’t his—distant and cold—he said it flatly, like the name didn’t matter. But something in the pause after he spoke made her heart lurch.

Viktor Ivanov.

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. That name. It wasn’t just familiar—it was infamous. The King of the Bratva. A man her father had warned her about more than once. Ruthless. Untrustworthy. Dangerous.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to let him see the unease crawling up her spine.

“And you must be Sofia Mikhailov.” His voice was smooth, measured—too measured. Her pulse spiked.

“You seem to know me, yet I know nothing of you,” she said, lifting her chin and shaking off the strange energy that prickled her skin.

He shrugged, casual but with an edge that hinted at danger. “Your father can hardly hold a conversation without your name springing up once or twice.”

Sofia opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a finger, cutting her off. “Don’t get me wrong, darling. I think he was right to bring up your name…”

Her cheeks warmed inexplicably, but she held her ground. Why did he make her feel so unsteady? Their conversation wasn’t even flirty—yet something about him set her on edge.

“My father wouldn’t talk to you about me, Viktor. He does business with you, but that’s it,” she said, her tone sharp.

Viktor nodded curtly, but his gaze didn’t stay still. It traveled over her with a deliberate slowness that made her breath hitch. His eyes brushed her cheek, lingered on her collarbone, dipped to her exposed cleavage in the skimpy dress, then roamed down to her hips and back up to her lips.

Heat flared in her chest, a mix of indignation and something far more unsettling. She hated it. She liked it.

She crossed her arms, holding his stare. “I don’t need his approval. Or yours.”

For a moment, she thought he’d snap back, but instead, he stayed quiet, leaning against the railing beside her. His gaze shifted to the skyline, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. He smelled like mint, cigar smoke, and something else—coffee, maybe. His presence felt warm and solid. Too solid.

The silence stretched, and Sofia wondered how long she could stay out here without drawing attention. She couldn’t be seen with him—not after the warnings.

“So…” Viktor broke the quiet, his tone laced with amusement. “Wanna tell me why you’re really out here? You’ve got, what, five minutes tops before someone realizes you’re missing.”

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