Page 49 of Obsessive Vows

"I look forward to the introduction," I respond, voice steady despite internal turbulence.

The conversation shifts to safer territories—legitimate business ventures, political connections, the upcoming economic forum in St. Petersburg. By the time we depart the Metropol two hours later, my mind has processed dozens of possible scenarios, categorized potential threats, and constructed preliminary response strategies—all while maintaining perfect social performance without a single misstep.

In the back of my father's armored Mercedes, Moscow's nighttime landscape slides past the bulletproof windows—familiar yet strangely foreign after months in Switzerland's mountainous terrain. The city's harsh winter has given way to early spring, though nothing about Russia's capital ever truly softens.

I press my palm against the glass, feeling the cold seep through despite the vehicle's climate control. In Switzerland now, the mountain air would be crisp, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. Sofia would be sleeping in her temperature-controlled nursery, monitored by state-of-the-art systems and Anna's watchful care.

The distance aches like physical pain.

"The Sokolov organization offers interesting partnership possibilities," my father says suddenly, breaking the silence. "Nikolai has demonstrated unexpected pragmatism regarding territorial divisions. More reasonable than his predecessors."

I turn from the window, studying my father's profile. "The Sokolovs were once considered rivals."

"Circumstances evolve. Smart leaders adapt." He doesn't look at me, gaze fixed on the passing cityscape. "Their Eastern networks complement our Western expansion. Properly aligned, such a partnership offers mutual advantages."

"And the new captain—Baranov—plays what role in this alignment?" I keep my tone casually curious despite the thundering of my heart.

Now he turns, cold eyes assessing my reaction. "Baranov provides critical security oversight for the transition. His background offers unique qualifications for managing potential... resistance to these new arrangements."

"You trust him with such sensitive operations?" I phrase the question carefully, seeking information without revealing my interest.

"He's proven himself repeatedly over recent months. Absolutely loyal. Ruthlessly efficient." My father's expression suggests grudging respect—a rare concession from a man who views most associates as tools rather than equals. "You'll work closely with him on the European initiatives. Your diplomatic skills paired with his tactical capabilities create valuable synergy."

Work closely. The implication sends conflicting waves of anxiety and anticipation through me. If this is my Viktor—Sofia's father—the proximity creates unimaginable complications. If it's not, the coincidence seems beyond cruel.

"I understand," I respond, neither agreeing nor objecting—the practiced neutrality of the perfect Bratva daughter.

The car pulls through the gates of the Markov compound, security protocols activating automatically around us. As we approach the main house, I gather my evening wrap closer, the spring night still carrying Moscow's characteristic chill.

"There will be a formal introduction tomorrow," my father says as the car stops. "Baranov will outline the security plans for your involvement in the European operations. I expect your full cooperation."

"Of course, Father." The words emerge automatically, years of conditioning providing the expected response while my mind races with implications.

Inside the house, my father pauses at the entrance to his study, where light spills beneath the closed door. "I have matters to finalize with Leonid. We'll discuss the details of the Sokolov arrangement in the morning."

I nod, turning toward the staircase leading to my private suite. As I reach the first landing, voices drift from the partially open study door—my father and someone else, unaware of my lingering presence.

"The Sokolov meeting went better than expected," Leonid's voice, slightly muffled by distance.

"Nikolai understands mutual benefit," my father replies. "And with Baranov overseeing security integration, potential complications will be... managed effectively."

"Do you trust him completely?" Leonid asks, something like caution in his tone.

My father's response sends ice through my veins: "Trust is irrelevant. His skills serve our purposes. The Baranov alliance will secure our position against rivals permanently."

Their voices fade as the door closes completely. I continue upward, each step measured and controlled despite the chaos in my mind.

Viktor Baranov.

Once that name set my very soul on fire. What a night. What a man. What to do now. So much has changed. He once gave me butterflies, but now he awakens fear. Fear for my secret.

But I have to know. Is it the same Viktor Baranov?

In my suite, I move directly to the bathroom, running the water in the shower to mask sounds before activating the signal jammer concealed in my cosmetics case. Only then do I extract the secure phone, fingers moving through authentication protocols.

Tonight's revelation introduces dangerous variables into an already precarious equation. If Viktor Baranov is now positioned within my father's inner circle—responsible for my security, no less—I need intelligence. Comprehensive, verified, immediate.

I type instructions to my private investigator, encrypting the message through three separate protocols before transmission: Full background on Viktor Baranov. Photographs. Personal and professional history. Known associates. Everything.

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