Page 64 of Obsessive Vows

"Who were you calling this morning? Three minutes, seventeen seconds. Encrypted channel through Swiss proxy servers."

Ice floods my veins, momentarily stopping my heart before it resumes hammering against my ribs. He knows about the call. He has been monitoring my communications, my movements. How much does he know? How close has he come to discovering Sofia? The question steals my breath, makes the world spin momentarily around me.

I maintain perfect composure despite internal panic, years of Bratva training preventing visible reaction. "Diplomatic contacts require secure communication," I respond, matching his intimate tone while keeping my expression appropriately affectionate for watching eyes. My nails dig into my palm, pain grounding me in the moment. "Standard protocol."

"Diplomatic contacts." His arm tightens around my waist, a gesture that appears loving while communicating clear warning. The pressure of his fingers against my ribs feels like a vise. "Requiring triple-encrypted channels and seventeen-step authentication protocols? Interesting diplomatic standards."

He knows the exact security procedures. He’s been monitoring far more closely than I anticipated. Panic claws at my throat, contained only through years of discipline. His closeness becomes suffocating, his body pressed against mine a threat rather than an intimacy.

"Security concerns surrounding my calls are my business, not yours," I counter, forcing a smile as the photographer repositions us beside a classical fountain. Water splashes behind us, the sound a counterpoint to the rushing blood in my ears. "As my father's lieutenant, surely you understand precaution."

"I understand secrets," he responds, voice dropping lower as his hand splays possessively across my lower back. "And you, Anastasia Markova, are keeping many."

The photographer instructs us to look toward the fountain, capturing our profile against sunlight glinting off water. Viktor uses the repositioning to pull me closer against him, his body hard and warm against mine. The contrast between his gentle public handling and the threatening tension in his muscles sends confused signals through my nervous system—danger and desire inextricably tangled.

"Perhaps we share that tendency," I suggest, fighting both fear and unwelcome heat spreading through me at his proximity. "The capacity for secrets."

Something shifts in his expression—satisfaction, perhaps, at engaging me in this dangerous exchange. "Then we're well-matched, after all," he murmurs. "A marriage of equals in deception."

The photo session continues for another excruciating hour—Viktor finding every legitimate excuse to touch me, each contact sending dual waves of alarm and treacherous response through my body. By the time the photographer declares himself satisfied with the results, my nerves feel flayed raw, every sense heightened to painful awareness.

"I'll have preliminary selections ready tomorrow," the photographer promises, packing his equipment quickly. "Mr. Markov requested expedited processing for the announcement."

"Thank you." Viktor's hand remains at my waist as the photographer departs, maintaining our loving couple facade until security personnel indicate the area is clear of potential observers.

Only then does his expression change, mask of affection dropping to reveal calculating assessment. The transformation is jarring—tender lover to cold predator in the space of a heartbeat. "We should discuss wedding preparations more privately," he suggests, guiding me toward a secluded garden path. "Certain details require... personal attention."

I allow the direction while maintaining proper distance between us, aware that while the photographer has left, my father's security remains at discreet perimeter positions. "I have another appointment this afternoon," I deflect smoothly, though my stomach tightens with anxiety. "Perhaps tomorrow during the scheduled meeting."

"Another secure call, perhaps?" His question lands with the weight of the world attached to it. "Your Swiss connections seem to require frequent consultation."

Before I can formulate response, voices approach from a neighboring path—Dmitri and another of my father's security captains, discussing rotation schedules. Viktor shifts seamlessly back into devoted fiancé role, though his eyes never lose their predatory focus.

"—monitoring pattern established," Dmitri's voice carries clearly as they pass nearby, unaware of our presence around a hedge corner. "Subject maintains consistent schedule. Surveillance continues as instructed."

"Baranov wants daily reports?" the second man asks, voice lower but still audible.

"Direct to him only," Dmitri confirms. "Separate from standard Markov protocols."

Their voices fade as they continue down the path, leaving devastating confirmation in their wake. Viktor has established his own surveillance network specifically targeting me, separate from my father's security systems. Monitoring my movements, my communications, potentially threatening everything I've built to protect Sofia.

The realization hits me with physical force, a blow to the solar plexus that nearly doubles me over. Only years of training keep me upright, keep my face composed while inside I scream.

"Your security team is thorough," I observe, keeping my tone light despite the fear constricting my chest. "Separate reporting channels. Impressive organizational structure."

Viktor studies me with unnerving intensity, searching for reaction beyond my controlled response. "Protection of valuable assets requires comprehensive measures," he responds finally. "Particularly those with... independent tendencies."

The threat hangs between us, clear despite diplomatic phrasing. I've been categorized as security risk requiring specialized monitoring. How close has he come to discovering Sofia? How much time remains before his surveillance network traces my communications to Switzerland?

"Perhaps I should ask my father to return the favor,” I say coolly, pleased by the flicker of confusion that passes through his eyes. “Any potential asset to my father’s name deserves the correct scrutiny.”

I turn and add quickly, “My car is waiting." I extract myself from his proximity with practiced grace. "Wedding preparations, as you noted, require attention."

"Of course." He releases me without resistance, though his eyes communicate the clear message that this conversation is merely postponed, not concluded. "Until tomorrow, Anastasia."

I maintain perfect composure until safely inside my car, privacy glass raised between myself and my father's trusted driver. Only then do I allow trembling hands to extract my secondary secure phone—the emergency line established for critical security breaches.

My fingers can barely operate the device, cold sweat breaking across my skin as I initiate the emergency protocol. The weight of what I'm about to do settles heavy across my shoulders—uprooting Sofia from her stable environment, risking movement when stillness has been our primary defense.

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