Page 4 of Crimson Curse
“I'm not going to drink anything you give me,” I tell him.
“Smart girl.” He nods approvingly. “I wouldn't either, in your position. But you should know that if I wanted to drug you again, I have far more efficient methods than tea.” He takes a sip from his cup, then sets it down carefully. “How are you feeling? Any nausea? Fatigue?”
Something in his tone makes my body lock up.
“I'm fine.” The lie comes automatically.
Viktor tilts his head, studying me with those blue eyes. “Are you? Because pregnancy can be exhausting, especially in the early stages.”
Everything around me, the cabin, the trees outside, and the sound of Viktor's breathing, fades to white noise. I can't speak. I can't even breathe properly. My hands instinctively move to my stomach, still flat beneath my shirt, before I can stop them.
Viktor sees the motion, and his smile widens into something genuinely pleased. Nausea rolls through me, though I can't tell if it's from his words or what might be morning sickness. Either way, I fight it down. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
“You're insane if you think?—”
“Think what?” He interrupts, setting down his cup with unhurried intent. “That this changes things? That a child makes everything more complicated? Oh, Naomi, it absolutely does. But perhaps not in the way you imagine.”
He moves to the window, gazing out at the endless trees. From this angle, I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. For all his calm composure, Viktor Zorin is barely holding it together.
“Do you know what it's like,” he begins, his voice still conversational, “to grow up in someone else's shadow? To watch opportunity after opportunity pass you by because of an accident of birth? Because your father wasn't quite important enough, or ruthless enough to claim what should have been yours?”
I don't answer. I don't want to encourage whatever this is.
“Daniil was handed everything. The Bratva, the territory, the respect. All because his mother was a better manipulator than my father. All because he was born twenty-three months before me.” Viktor turns back to face me, and I see raw desperation in his expression. “But blood is blood, isn’t it Naomi? Zorin blood. And that child you're carrying? That's my blood too.”
The implication barrels into me, knocking the air from my chest. “You're sick.”
“I'm practical.” His mask slips back into place, but I've seen what's underneath now. “Daniil thinks he can have it all. Power, control, love. But he's weak. Sentimental. He's let emotion cloud his judgment, and Chicago is slipping out of Zorin control because of it.”
“That's not true,” I snap back.
“Isn't it?” Viktor moves closer, and I press back against the wall. “When was the last time you felt safe, Naomi? When was the last time you could walk down the street without looking over your shoulder? Daniil's enemies know about you now. They know exactly how to hurt him.”
“By hurting me,” I murmur.
“By taking youawayfrom him.” Viktor's voice drops to almost a whisper. “The way I have.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Outside, wind rustles through the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out. Normal sounds from a normal world that feels impossibly far away.
“What do you want?” I ask again, though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.
Viktor returns to his chair, settling back into his role as gracious host. “I want what's mine. What should have been mine from the beginning. Chicago. The Bratva. A legacy worthy of the Zorin name.”
“And me?”
“You're part of that legacy now.” His eyes drift to my stomach again. “That child will be raised as a Zorin should be. With power and purpose. Not hidden away like some shameful secret the way Daniil would do.”
The certainty in his voice makes me sick. He's talking about my unborn child, a pregnancy I didn't even know about until a few days ago, as if it's already decided. Like I'm just an incubator for his twisted ambitions.
“I won't let you touch my baby,” I hiss.
“Ourbaby,” Viktor corrects gently. “In every way that matters. Do you really think Daniil will be able to protect you? He couldn't protect Sasha.”
The name hits like a slap. Sasha Sokolova. The woman who died because of what Daniil is.
“That's different,” I whisper.
“Is it?” Viktor leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She was young, beautiful, innocent. Just like you. She loved him despite what he was, despite the danger. Just like you. And where is she now, Naomi?”
