Page 81 of Obsessive Vows

"Anna." The name emerges softly, trust extended despite years of protective secrecy. "Former pediatric nurse from Belarus. Escaped an abusive Bratva husband who believed he'd killed her." I swallow hard. "New identity, new life, loyalty based on shared understanding of the world we're trying to protect Sofia from."

Viktor absorbs this information with the focused intensity that makes him so effective within my father's organization. I can almost see his mind working, processing each data point, analyzing security, identifying potential vulnerabilities in the framework I've established around Sofia's protection.

"The secure calls. All of them," he confirms out loud, the silver of his eyes brightening with relief. "Not communication with a lover or separate alliance. All were updates on Sofia. Confirmation of security. Visual verification of wellbeing."

"Yes." Relief washes through me as he assembles the correct picture from fragmented intelligence his surveillance collected. My fingers rise to the delicate chain at my neck. "The locket I wear contains strands of her hair. The only physical connection I could maintain without compromising her secret existence."

His eyes drop to my throat where the chain disappears beneath my blouse, the gesture somehow more intimate than our confrontation. Before I can process the shift in his attention, he steps closer, hand rising as if to touch the chain before dropping back to his side.

Our bodies stand mere inches apart now, close enough that I can see the faint scar along his jawline, can smell the familiar scent of his skin that brings unbidden memories of Paris.

For a moment, we're just two tacticians discussing security protocols—a familiar, safer territory than the emotional minefield surrounding our shared child.

The momentary calm breaks as he returns his attention to the tablet still displaying Sofia's image. His finger traces the outline of her face, the gesture unconscious and revealing vulnerability he permits no one else to witness. The tenderness in the movement catches me off guard, creating an ache beneath my breastbone I can't fully identify.

"I want to see her," He says again, softer this time. The declaration brooks no argument, carrying the weight of absolute command that has made lieutenant in my father's organization. Yet beneath the authority, I hear something else—something raw and desperate and human.

My chest tightens, conflicting instincts warring within me. The essential question that has haunted me since Viktor reappeared in my life: can I trust him with our daughter's existence? With her safety? With her future?

"I’m not asking." His voice carries absolute authority, but his eyes betray the desperation beneath. He steps closer, eliminating the space I'd created between us. His hand catches my wrist, thumb pressing against my pulse point where he can surely feel my heartbeat betraying my outward calm. "Establish whatever verification protocols you require. Create whatever extraction sequence maintains security. But understand this, Anastasia—I will see my daughter."

The heat of his grip, the intensity in his expression—determination beyond professional assessment or calculation—triggers something unexpected within me. Not fear of his anger but recognition of paternal devotion that mirrors my own maternal protection. A father determined to know his child regardless of complications or vulnerability.

"She needs to be brought to Russia." His statement lands like an imperative rather than emotional appeal. His fingers slide from my wrist to my hand, the contact creating connection beyond tactical discussion. "My compound provides security beyond what Switzerland can offer. Defensive perimeter established through multiple layers. Personnel vetted beyond standard protocols. Resources sufficient for extended isolation if necessary."

The suggestion sends warning signals cascading through my system. Moving Sofia from an established safe location to Russia—to the heart of Bratva territory where my father's surveillance network extends through elaborate connections of loyalty and intimidation.

"Impossible." I shake my head, maternal protection overriding any consideration of his paternal rights. I pull my hand from his, needing physical distance to maintain logical assessment. "The Markov surveillance network has penetration capabilities beyond your assessment. My father's security system extends through layers of personnel loyalty established over decades. One compromised operative, one moment of recognition, and Sofia becomes immediate leverage in organizational politics."

"You think I can't protect my own daughter?" The challenge carries dangerous edge, pride and protective instinct creating volatile combination in a man trained for lethal efficiency. His posture shifts subtly, the predator beneath the civilized exterior showing itself in the fluid tension of muscle and sinew.

"I think neither of us can protect her from my father's organization alone." The admission costs me, acknowledgment of limitation beyond my controlled capabilities. I swallow hard, forcing vulnerability I permit few others to see. "The security protocols I've established maintain isolation precisely because they exist outside Markov surveillance networks."

Viktor paces the perimeter of the safe house, barely contained energy radiating from every measured movement. I watch him carefully, cataloging the tells that betray his emotional state—the slight tension in his shoulders, the control of each step, the unconscious flexing of his hands at his sides.

"Then we establish new protocols." His mind shifts with impressive speed from emotional reaction to a solution. He turns to me, eyes alight with dangerous intelligence that makes him so valuable—and so lethal. "Hybrid security architecture combining your established parameters with my resources. Extraction sequence designed with complementary protective measures. Transport corridor secured through multiple verification checkpoints with redundant authentication systems."

The shift from confrontation to collaboration creates whiplash effect. This man—who minutes ago blazed with justified fury at my deception—now approaching Sofia's protection with the same methodical detail that makes him invaluable to my father's organization.

"Anna will require direct verification of your intentions." I begin thinking operationally despite emotional complications still sparking between us. "Visual confirmation through secure channels. Authentication protocols established without digital fingerprints that might trigger surveillance detection."

"Established secure location first." Viktor shifts immediately into planning, mind already constructing security architecture around Sofia's protection. He moves to me, hands catching my shoulders with surprising gentleness. "My private compound outside Moscow provides primary defensive position. Surveillance countermeasures beyond standard Bratva procedures. Personnel limited to trusted operatives with verified loyalty."

I'm acutely aware of his touch, of the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of my blouse, of how easily we fall into tactical synchronicity despite the emotional chasm between us.

"Extraction sequence requires multiple stages." I move toward the secure console, professional focus creating unexpected bridge across emotional distance. "Separate transportation vectors to complicate pursuit patterns. Decoy operations to mask primary movement. Authentication procedures at each transition point."

"I'll establish forward position in Switzerland." His mind moves with alacrity that matches my own thinking. He follows me to the console, body close enough that I feel his breath against my neck as he studies the security details displayed on the screen. "Verification protocols with your Anna. Security assessment of current safe house. Extraction simulation before actual implementation."

The sudden seamless teamwork creates uncomfortable recognition—we think alike when it comes to protection, to security, to anticipating threats before they materialize. Despite everything separating us, despite deception and surveillance and complicated history, our shared protective instinct toward Sofia creates natural synchronicity.

"Three days." He states with absolute certainty, his body still too close, his scent triggering memories of Paris darkness. "Sufficient time to establish necessary protocols without extending the vulnerability window. My team can secure a transport corridor through diplomatic channels beyond normal surveillance networks."

"Five days." I counter automatically, maternal caution overriding tactical expediency. I turn to face him, finding myself trapped between his body and the console, his presence overwhelming my senses. "Full verification sequence requires minimum forty-eight hours for authentication protocols. Secure transport preparation adds additional thirty-six hours for redundancy measures and contingency planning."

His mouth tightens briefly, silver eyes studying mine with uncomfortable intensity. Then understanding registers in his expression. Not arbitrary delay but legitimate security consideration from woman who has successfully protected their daughter for months through elaborate counter-surveillance measures.

"Four days. Final timeline." The compromise emerges with surprising flexibility from man accustomed to absolute command. His hand rises, fingers brushing an escaped strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness. "Operational parameters established within seventy-two hours. Implementation sequence commencing immediately after verification completion."

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