Page 7 of Crimson Curse
I force myself into boldness. Slipping my hand beneath his jaw, I guide his face up until his gaze collides with mine. “I’ll consider it,” I murmur, softening my voice with a sweetness I don’t feel.
His eyes spark with twisted satisfaction. Fingers threading into my hair, he crushes his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding past my lips to claim what isn’t his. His kiss is brutal, drowning me in the taste of his control. I endure it, pretending to yield, while my fingers work to adjust my bra and tug my shirt back down.
When he finally pulls back, I summon a gentle smile, masking the hurricane inside me. “I would love some tea, if it’s not too much trouble,” I whisper.
For a heartbeat, he studies me in silence, then rises and leaves the room. The instant he’s gone, I exhale a ragged breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My hands tremble so violently that Ipress them beneath me, pinning them down, desperate to still the shaking.
That night, I lay in the narrow bed and listen to him moving around the cabin. He doesn't sleep much, I've noticed. He’s too wound up or focused on whatever plans are spinning through his mind. I hear him on the phone again, speaking in rapid Russian that I can't understand. But I catch one word that makes my heart sink.Daniil.
Whatever Viktor is planning, it's accelerating. And I'm running out of time to save myself and my child.
3
DANIIL
The message comes through encrypted channels I set up years ago, a system meant only for high-level negotiations. For it to arrive now, from Viktor, makes my blood run hot with suspicion.
I stare at the glowing screen in my office, the blue light bleeding like icy streaks over the papers on my desk. Lex is beside me, arms folded, his eyes scanning the text with silent scrutiny. His presence is steady and reliable, but I can feel the tension radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
Viktor:Truce. Face to face. Neutral ground.
It’s followed by coordinates and time. I clench my jaw, reading it again as though repetition will change the meaning. Each word burns itself deeper into my memory, every letter a fresh insult. A truce? After abducting Naomi and daring to touch what is mine, he now decides to play diplomat? The hypocrisy coats my tongue like venom.
My fingers drum against the marble surface of my desk, a rhythmic tattoo that matches the pulse hammering in mytemples. Every muscle in my body draws taut, every nerve ending alive with the need for violence.
Lex breaks the silence. “It smells like a trap.”
“Of course it does,” I snarl. “But I can’t ignore it. He has Naomi.”
The admission feels like swallowing poison. Viktor never does anything without multiple layers of deception woven into his plans. But beneath the cold logic that has kept me alive all these years is fear, not for myself, but for Naomi.
Lex's gaze sharpens, reading the conflict written across my face. “You think he'll hand her over willingly? He's not looking for peace. He's testing you. He wants to see how far you'll bend before you break.”
I know he's right. Still, I can’t afford hesitation. Every hour Naomi is in his hands, the risk grows exponentially. Viktor may enjoy playing with his food, but he is not above killing when it serves his purposes. And Lucien is out there too, circling like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when both Viktor and I are weakened by our war.
Between the two of them, Naomi's life hangs in the balance. The thought claws at my insides with razor-sharp talons, shredding any pretense of calm I might have maintained. I lean back in the leather chair, scrubbing a hand down my face. The stubble rasps against my palm. Dark circles ring my eyes, exhaustion pulling at my bones, but rest remains impossible. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Every moment of stillness brings fresh waves of scenarios, each more horrific than the last.
I snarl a string of Russian curses under my breath. “Prepare the men. If Viktor wants a performance, I'll give him one.”
Lex doesn't move, just watches me with those eyes that miss nothing. “And if the truce is nothing but bait?”
I know what he really means. What if this is Viktor's endgame? What if he has no intention of negotiating, finding middle ground, or honoring any agreement we might reach? What if this meeting is designed solely to eliminate me and remove the last obstacle standing between him and complete control of the Zorin Bratva and its territory?
“Then we bite down harder than he expects and rip his fucking head off.”
His lips twitch in the faintest ghost of a smile before he nods and leaves to relay the orders. Lex may counsel caution, but he understands violence just as intimately as I do.
The office is silent again, the only sound the faint tick of the clock and the distant hum of activity as my men mobilize. I stand, my body restless with seething anger I can't release. Energy courses through my limbs like lightning, demanding action, movement, and the chance to unleash the violence building in my chest. But there is nowhere to direct it. No immediate target upon which to focus the storm inside me.
The meeting point is an abandoned freight terminal just outside Joliet, chosen for its impartial ground. The location tells me everything I need to know about Viktor's mindset. He wants visibility and to demonstrate that he fears no ambush or surprise attack. But he also wants escape routes and the option to disappear into urban decay if the meeting goes poorly.
I arrive with Lex at my side, Timur and Roman fanning out behind us. Every sense is heightened, and every nerve ending is alive with awareness. The crunch of gravel beneath our boots echoes in the cavernous space, creating an odd percussion against the industrial silence.
Maksim lingers farther back, twitching with anticipation like the wild dog he is, eager for violence. His eyes sweep constantly across the shadows, searching for targets and excuses to unleash the beast that lives just beneath his skin. Of all my men, Maksim is the most unpredictable and the most likely to turn a tense negotiation into a bloodbath. But his loyalty is absolute, and his skills are undeniable.
Two SUVs idle at the perimeter, engines humming low, my men inside ready to move at the slightest signal.
The terminal reeks of rust and old oil, the ghosts of industry clinging to the corroded beams and cracked cement floors. Across the wide-open floor, Viktor waits. Even here, in this abandoned wasteland, he maintains the facade of respectability that has served him so well in legitimate business circles.
