Page 55 of Obsessive Vows

I cut the memory off ruthlessly, but not before heat rushes to my cheeks and down my neck. I reach for my water glass to hide the momentary lapse, but the slight tremor in my hand betrays me. Viktor notices—I see it in the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes, the ghost of satisfaction that flickers across his features.

"Anastasia's education represents significant investment," my father interjects, his proprietary tone making clear that both my education and I myself are assets to be deployed for Bratva advantage. "Her diplomatic connections will complement your security expertise in our western expansions."

"A fortuitous combination." Viktor's gaze meets mine across crystal and silver. "Different approaches to the same ultimate objectives."

The double meaning hangs in the air between us, detectable only to those who understand the code. My father watches our interaction with predatory assessment, measuring chemistry, compatibility, the potential effectiveness of his strategic pairing.

When Viktor reaches for the salt, his fingers brush mine deliberately. The contact lasts less than a second yet leaves scorched nerve endings in its wake. An intentional move in whatever game he's playing—a game whose rules and objectives remain dangerously unclear.

"Your background includes military training?" I ask, maintaining the pretense of getting acquainted while wrestling my body's responses under control. "Father mentioned specialized tactical experience."

As if on cue, Dmitri approaches with a message, bending to whisper in Viktor's ear. The change is subtle but unmistakable—Viktor's posture shifts almost imperceptibly, an edge of lethal readiness sliding beneath the polished exterior. Dmitri stands with his head slightly bowed, massive frame somehow diminished in Viktor's presence despite their difference in size.

"Handle it," Viktor murmurs, not even looking up from his plate. The command, delivered with quiet certainty of obedience, sends an involuntary shiver down my spine—a glimpse of the power he wields in my father's organization.

"Among other qualifications." Viktor's attention returns to me, his smile not reaching his eyes. "My family history provided certain... educational opportunities."

"Viktor's family connections once held significant position in the old structures," my father elaborates, studying both our reactions. "Before unfortunate circumstances reduced their influence."

Something flickers across Viktor's features—so brief an untrained observer would miss it entirely. A momentary fracture in the perfect performance. Pain? Rage? His hand tightens around his knife, knuckles whitening before he consciously relaxes his grip.

Whatever emotion escaped his control, it vanishes instantly behind the composed mask of Bratva lieutenant. But I've seen it—a glimpse beneath the surface, a flash of something raw and genuine in this elaborate performance.

"History provides valuable lessons for building stronger futures," Viktor responds smoothly. His free hand drops below the table, and seconds later I feel his fingertips brush against my knee—a whisper of contact through silk, gone before I can react. "The Markov-Baranov alliance creates advantages neither family could achieve independently."

My father nods approval at the diplomatic answer. "Precisely why this union makes sense. Complementary strengths, shared objectives."

Union. The clinical term for the transaction being negotiated across fine china and crystal.

When a server appears at his elbow, Viktor shifts slightly, and I glimpse the outline of a weapon holstered beneath his jacket. The visible reminder of his lethality sends conflicting waves of fear and unwelcome heat through me. This man is dangerous—to my father's enemies, potentially to me, certainly to the secret I protect at all costs.

Sofia. My heart constricts at the thought of her, miles away and safe. What would he do if he knew about our daughter? The possibility of his reaction makes my chest tight with fear.

"The western expansion presents unique security challenges," Viktor continues seamlessly, directing the conversation away from my momentary lapse. "Territorial establishments require both diplomatic finesse and tactical oversight."

"Anastasia's Geneva connections will prove valuable in this regard," my father agrees. "Her work with the banking authorities established useful precedents."

The conversation flows through details, territorial considerations, organizational hierarchies—the business of Bratva empire building disguised as dinner conversation. Throughout, Viktor maintains perfect professional demeanor, revealing nothing beyond carefully crafted responses appropriate for his position.

Yet twice—when my father's attention momentarily shifts to give instructions to staff—Viktor's gaze changes. For fractions of seconds, something else emerges in those silver eyes. Something that sends heat coursing through me despite all rational defenses.

"The expansion timeline accelerates next quarter," my father explains, tapping his signet ring against the table for emphasis.

Viktor nods, then catches my eye across the table. "Patience followed by decisive action," he says, the words an exact echo of what he whispered against my skin in Paris as his hands pinned my wrists above my head. "Timing is everything."

Recognition. Confirmation. He knows exactly who I am. The realization both terrifies and enrages me. He remembers Paris. Remembers everything. Yet chooses to perform this elaborate charade of first meeting, revealing nothing to my father about our shared history.

When dessert arrives—delicate pastries I have no appetite for—my father delivers the final component of the evening.

"The formal announcement will occur next week at the Sokolov reception." He taps his signet ring against fine crystal, the distinctive sound drawing both our attention. "Until then, you'll begin working together on the European security protocols. Establishing your professional dynamic before the alliance becomes public."

"Working together?" I cannot prevent the slight elevation in my tone, quickly modulated back to composed inquiry. "Before the formal announcement?"

"The integration requires immediate attention," my father explains, watching my reaction with uncomfortable intensity. "Baranov's security team needs comprehensive briefing on your diplomatic connections. Your styles must align before deployment."

"Of course." I recover smoothly, though my heart thuds painfully against my ribs. "Efficiency takes priority."

"You'll meet tomorrow at the Tverskaya office," he continues. "Private facilities have been arranged for your collaboration. Dmitri will coordinate security plans."

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