Page 50 of Obsessive Vows

As I prepare for bed, removing the carefully applied cosmetics and designer gown, I study my reflection in the mirror. The perfect Bratva princess exterior concealing the mother whose heart resides in a Swiss chalet. The dutiful daughter now positioned for involvement in alliances. The woman who once tasted brief freedom in Paris, now facing the potential resurrection of that night's consequences.

The silver locket gleams against my skin in the dim light. I open it, studying the tiny lock of Sofia's dark hair preserved within. Whatever comes next—whoever this Viktor Baranov proves to be, whether stranger or ghost from my past—one truth remains absolute.

My daughter will never be subject to the same calculations that have defined my existence. My daughter will never be bartered for strategic advantage.

The secure phone vibrates silently against the marble countertop. I retrieve it, finding an encrypted file from my investigator—initial intelligence gathered with remarkable speed.

With steady hands, I authenticate access, opening the document to find a single photograph attached to preliminary data.

My heart races. Everything in me begging that it not be the father of my child, the man who made love to me all night in Paris.

The image loads, pixel by pixel, in agonizing slowness. Finally revealing the face of the man my father has assigned to oversee my security.

Silver-gray eyes stare back at me from the screen—the same eyes I see every day in my daughter's face. The same eyes that watched me with unexpected tenderness in his Parisian penthouse.

“It’s him,” I murmur, shocked and appalled.

Viktor. Sofia's father. Now my father's most valued lieutenant.

I feel confused. How did he go from a rogue agent in Paris to months later being so closely tied in with my father? He knows my name, knows who I am… and all these months he’s been earning my father’s trust without ever thinking to reach out to me?

I scoff. That night clearly meant nothing to him.

Good,I think. It will make it easier for me to ignore him. He can forget me just like that, then I can forget him, too. In fact, I look forward to showing him my indifference. That is the only way to keep my child a secret—by keeping her father as far away from me as I can.

And tomorrow, when we come face to face, I will pretend we've never met before—while both our lives, and the life of our secret daughter, hang in the delicate balance of that deception.

14

VIKTOR

The mirror reflects a man I barely recognize anymore. Expertly tailored charcoal suit, Bratva signet ring gleaming on my right hand, the calculating coldness in my eyes that has become second nature. Viktor Baranov—rising Bratva captain, trusted lieutenant to Mikhail Markov, the perfect fabrication I've spent years constructing.

I adjust my cufflinks—platinum with subtle onyx inlay, appropriate for today's significance without appearing ostentatious. Every detail matters in the Bratva world, where appearance signals both status and intention. Today's meeting with Markov requires precise calibration—projecting confidence without arrogance, ambition without overreach.

Anastasia’s face comes to my mind.

No. I will not allow her to be my weakness. I am here to exact my revenge upon her father. My weakness toward her in Paris led to a physical intimacy that should never have happened. The next morning as we’d made our escape, I’d known that I could not kidnap her. I could not use her in that way against her father, the man I hate more than anything.

Now, I’m so close to positioning myself to get my vengeance with Markov. I won’t let her influence me again. I cannot fail in my life’s mission.

Five years has led to this moment. The final approach to vengeance so close I can almost taste it.

My secure phone vibrates with Anton's encrypted signal. I answer without speaking, moving to the window to scan the street below my Moscow apartment—an automatic security sweep that has become instinctive.

"Everything in place?" Anton's voice, tense with anticipation.

"Proceeding as expected." I keep my responses deliberately vague despite the encrypted connection. In this world, paranoia is merely good business practice. "Meeting with the pakhan in one hour."

"Our friends confirm the documentation is prepared." Anton's coded reference to our intelligence sources within Markov's organization. "The terms appear favorable."

My pulse quickens despite years of training in emotional control. "Elaborate."

"Marriage alliance." The words hang between us, their significance momentous. "The contract provides everything we've worked toward—direct access to inner operations, expanded territorial control, legitimate claims to succession."

Marriage alliance. The ultimate Bratva power move—binding families through bloodlines, creating unbreakable connections that mere business arrangements cannot achieve. I'd anticipated this possibility in our planning, but the reality of it arrives with unexpected weight.

"The bride?" I ask, mind already calculating the implications while my pulse quickens despite years of training in emotional control.

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