Page 36 of Crimson Curse
Daniil nods once and steps closer. His hand lifts, stopping just short of my cheek. He is careful with me, and somehow that makes me feel stronger.
“There are moments when the world narrows to the person in front of you,” he says quietly. “This is one of those moments for me. I want to tell you to stay, because telling you to go feels like tearing something out of my chest.”
“I’m afraid, but I’m coming anyway,” I answer.
His jaw tightens and then loosens. He takes my hand and lays it against his chest, right over his heartbeat. “We go together.”
I lock onto his eyes, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “We will not break. We’ll end this, for us, for our baby, and for the life ahead of us.”
He nods once, a promise unspoken but palpable in the air. His lips claim mine in a kiss that is slow, certain, and deep. When his hand slips from mine and he turns to the desk, the room comes alive again. Yet for me, the world stills as I cling to his vow and the fragile hope that we will survive.
14
DANIIL
The intake plant sits like a fortress of concrete and steel on the Calumet River. This is no neutral ground. This is my choice. Lucien Antonov will walk into my world alive and leave it as a body to be buried.
We arrived thirty minutes early. My movements are purposeful as I survey the space one final time. The concrete room stretches before me, its steel-reinforced walls rising like a bunker to the industrial ceiling. My fingers trace the edge of the pale wood table positioned at the center of the room. The surface is smooth and unmarked. Beneath it, my hand finds the knife I have carried since Sasha died. The blade has waited five years for this moment, sharpened for a purpose it has not yet fulfilled. Tonight, that purpose breathes close.
Lex takes his position on my right, his posture relaxed but alert. Roman is already in position on the south roofline, invisible in the gathering dusk. Maksim waits in the parking structure, his rifle trained on the north entrance. The rest of my men take their places. The pieces of my game are set.
Naomi rests behind layers of reinforced concrete in the safe room down the corridor with two of my most reliable men stationed at her door. Before I left her, she placed her palm against my chest, over my heart. “I am with you even when walls divide us,” she told me, her voice steady despite the fear I could read in her warm brown eyes. Her courage humbles me. She has seen the worst of what I am capable of, and still, she chooses me.
The thought of her gives me focus. Everything I am about to do is for her protection and for our future. Lucien made this personal five years ago when he engineered the car bombing that killed Sasha. Viktor made it personal the moment he touched Naomi. Tonight, they’ll pay that debt in full.
The minutes crawl by agonizingly. I check my watch. 7:58 PM. Two minutes until the agreed time. Lucien will be punctual. Men like him view tardiness as a flaw, a crack in their armor of control. I straighten my tie and brush an invisible speck from my jacket sleeve. At precisely eight o'clock, the doors at the north end swing open.
Lucien enters as if the entire plant answers to him, flanked by twelve guards dressed in sleek black tactical gear. Each step is choreographed for maximum intimidation, a parade of power meant to cow lesser men. But I am not less. I have built my empire on the bones of men who underestimated me, and tonight I will add two more skeletons to that foundation.
Lucien’s ash-blonde hair reflects the overhead lights, perfectly styled as usual. The pale scar across his left palm gleams as he adjusts his cufflinks, expensive platinum inlaid with what appears to be genuine sapphires. Everything about him screams wealth and refinement, but I know the rot that festers beneath that exterior.
His hazel-green eyes find mine across the distance, and he holds them there, daring me to look away first. I don’t oblige him. We stare at each other like wolves circling a kill, each waiting for the other to show weakness. The silence lingers between us, broken only by the soft shuffle of his guards taking defensive positions around the room.
Finally, Lucien's lips curve into that practiced smile I have seen in photos, charming, disarming, and utterly false. He approaches the table with unhurried steps, his hands clasped behind his back in a gesture of mock deference.
“Daniil Zorin,” he says, his voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. “It has been a long time. Not since your mother decided my presence was… inconvenient.”
I remain silent, watching him settle into the chair opposite me. Even seated, he maintains perfect posture, his shoulders squared, and his chin lifted with aristocratic arrogance. This is a man who has never doubted his own superiority and who views the world as his personal playground.
“I admire your choice of venue,” he says, his eyes drifting over the shadows that gather along the walls. “It declares strength and proclaims dominion. Yet I wonder if you’ve given too much away. Places like this make it easy for snipers to write history.”
He knows I have men positioned outside. Just as I know he has counted exits, measured distances, and assessed threats. We are both professionals in the business of violence.
“Exposure works both ways,” I reply, my voice level. “Tonight, there will be no shadows to hide in.”
His laugh is soft and cultured. “Indeed. And speaking of things worth admiring...” His gaze sharpens, taking on a predatorygleam. “I must compliment your taste in women. Naomi is quite exquisite. Such delicate features, such fire in those brown eyes. I can understand why you would risk everything to keep her.”
My jaw tightens until my teeth ache, but I force my expression to remain neutral. He wants a reaction. He feeds on emotional responses the way parasites feed on blood. I will not give him the satisfaction. But before I can formulate a response, he delivers his true opening gambit.
Lucien leans back in his chair, his voice softening to something almost confessional. “I still see Sasha, you know. She comes to me in dreams, in those quiet moments when the mind drifts. The way she looked when the car went up in flames. Do you see her too, Daniil? Do you see her burning?”
Every muscle in my body coils with the need for violence. My hand drifts toward the gun holstered beneath my jacket, my fingers itching to draw steel and put an end to his taunting. But I have learned patience in the hardest school imaginable. Rage without control is nothing but theater, and theater is Lucien's native language. I will not give him applause.
Instead, I let my lips curve into the slow smile I know unnerves him, the same one that has preceded the deaths of a dozen men.
“You should have admired your boundaries,” I reply, my voice as cold as a lake in winter. “Not my woman. Not my dead.”
For the briefest second, his composure cracks. His jaw ticks, and a muscle jumps beneath his carefully maintained facade before he recovers. He’s not as untouchable as he believes.
