Page 2 of Violent Love: Viktor
“You’re all so mean to me,” she pouted, stabbing her spoon into the jar. But an unholy glow lit her eyes when the Pakhan whispered something in her ear.
The jar and spoon clattered onto the counter. His growl followed, low and possessive—the same tone he used before putting a bullet between someone’s eyes. Yet here he was, scooping her into his arms like she was something sacred, not a woman obsessed with peanut butter.
I didn’t look up—not because I didn’t want to see a naked ass, but because I was still reeling from the godfather news.
I’d stood by them at their wedding. I was the first they told about the baby. I’d attended every appointment. I’d seen the tiny life move inside the Pakhan’s wife. Watched him worship that bump with the same reverence he reserved for vengeance.
It was a blessing to be trusted.
A curse to want more.
I silently witnessed every intimate detail of their lives—from the outside in.
???
“We have the DocuSign contract from Petrov!” Ania screamed, jumping out of her chair.
Finally. Maybe I’d get to kill someone today. Vadik had given me some of his tools, and I was eager to test them out.
“Bunny, sit your fucking ass down before you give my kid a concussion,” the Pakhan scolded as she bounced.
“No! Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” she shot back, although she stopped bouncing.
I rolled my eyes when he indulged her anyway, pulling her onto his lap with a grin.
“If you two are going to desecrate that chair again, at least give me my orders first,” I groaned.
“You sound frustrated, Viktor. I thought my gift—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” I growled, already raging at the memory of the rainbow dildo she left in my room.
“Get the team together,” the Pakhan said.“He’ll be at the Kremlin in a few days. Bunny will get you everything you need to get in and out of the hotel.”
“It might help your frust—” she started, but he slapped his hand over her mouth.
“You can leave. I’ll message you the details later,” he said, eyes turning cold.“Don’t hold back. Make him pay, Viktor.”
My spine straightened. My pulse kicked.
“He will suffer, Pakhan,” I vowed, quiet but deadly.
Ania closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. I remembered when she first saw what Petrov had done. She vomited.
It would hit harder now, knowing they had a child on the way.
The Pakhan cradled her like a child, his killer hands gentling to comfort. I looked down at my own—tattooed, callused, trained for pain—and wondered if they could do the same. Or had I gone too far? Was there room left in me for softness?
He’d found his way out of the dark. Maybe there was hope.
I looked away.
The thought of Petrov grounded me. I had a job to do.
I left them to their intimacy, closing the office door quietly behind me. My mind was already assembling a team.
This wasn’t work.
This was pleasure.
