Page 8 of Crimson Curse
He smiles when he sees me, a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. The expression is carefully crafted, intended to project confidence while concealing whatever emotions might be churning beneath the surface. But I can read the subtle signs. The tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers rest just a little too close to his jacket, where a weapon is concealed.
Beside him, Ivan stands with arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. Ivan is Viktor's second-in-command and dangerous in the way that only career soldiers can be. The rest of his men linger in the shadows, weapons visible but not raised.A careful balance between readiness and provocation. Viktor has always been skilled at walking such tightropes.
Lex mutters under his breath, “Smug bastard.”
The assessment is accurate. Viktor radiates self-satisfaction and the supreme confidence of a man who believes he holds all the cards. But confidence can be a weakness when it becomes arrogance and blinds a person to possibilities they haven't considered.
“Let him smile,” I reply quietly. “Teeth are easier to break when they're bared.”
Viktor opens his arms in mock welcome, the gesture theatrical and entirely insincere. Everything about his posture screams performance.
“Cousin,” he greets, his voice carrying with effortless charm. The word drips with false warmth, with the pretense of family bonds that have been strained past any hope of repair. “At last, we meet as men should. Without games.”
The hypocrisy is staggering. Viktor has built his entire strategy around games, manipulation, and misdirection. For him to call this meeting honest is like a snake claiming to have lost its fangs.
I stop several feet from him, keeping enough distance to react if he makes a move. “You abduct my woman and claim it’s ‘without games’?”
The accusation is a challenge thrown down at the feet of a rival. Viktor's smile doesn't waver, but I see the slight tightening around his eyes and the microscopic adjustment in his posture that suggests the barb has found its mark.
His grin widens, darkening into a predatory smile. “I see you're still dramatic.” He glances at Lex, then back at me, including him in his dismissive assessment. “Relax. Naomi is safe. She's untouched. I'm not a monster.”
The casual way he uses her name sends fresh waves of rage coursing through my veins. As though she is a business asset rather than a living person, and her well-being is merely another negotiating chip to be played when convenient. The possessive pronoun in my accusation hasn't escaped his notice either, and I can see the vein pulsing on his temple.
My fists tighten at my sides, my knuckles cracking audibly in the silence. “Where is she?”
“Wisconsin.” He delivers the information easily, as though discussing the weather rather than revealing the location where he holds an innocent woman captive. “A cabin I own in the woods. Quiet, secluded. Perfect for reflection. She's... resting.”
The pause before the final word sets alarm bells ringing in my mind. Viktor chooses his language too carefully for the hesitation to be accidental. Whatever Naomi's current condition, “resting” is not an accurate description. The image of Naomi locked away in some backwoods cabin is enough for me to put a bullet in his head right now, regardless of whether Viktor is telling the complete truth.
Wisconsin. Hundreds of miles from Chicago with no hope of immediate rescue. It is isolated enough that screams would go unheard, and violence would leave no witnesses. The strategic implications make my stomach clench with dread.
“You'll take me there,” I state, my voice like iron.
The words are not a request. They are an absolute command, and the expectation that Viktor will comply or face immediate consequences. But even as I make the demand, I know he will refuse. This entire meeting is theater, designed to achieve goals that have nothing to do with Naomi's immediate release.
He chuckles, shaking his head with regret. “Always so direct. But perhaps that's why she intrigues you. She's spirited, Daniil. Such fire.”
My control snaps tight as a garrote, every ounce of discipline I possess focused on maintaining this sickening facade of negotiation when what I really want is to tear his throat out with my bare hands.
“If you laid a hand on her?—”
“Calm yourself,” Viktor interrupts smoothly, raising one hand in a gesture of mock appeasement. The interruption is calculated, designed to demonstrate that he controls the pace and direction of our conversation. “This is why I asked for a truce. We are cousins. We share blood. And yet, here we are, tearing at each other while Lucien Antonov waits for the perfect moment to strike. Do you not see? Our war only benefits him.”
The topic shift is expertly executed, moving from personal grievance to larger strategic concerns. Viktor understands that appealing to my sense of tactical necessity might succeed where emotional manipulation has failed. His mention of Lucien is deliberate, reminding me that the Antonov threat has not vanished simply because Viktor and I are focused on each other. Lucien possesses patience that neither Viktor nor I can match, willing to wait years for the perfect opportunity to expand his territory and get his revenge.
“Are you proposing we work together?” I ask slowly, tasting each word carefully before releasing it.
Cooperation with Viktor goes against every instinct I possess, violating the fundamental principle that he represents an existential threat to everything I have built. But tactical alliances have been formed from stranger circumstances.
“I propose we stop focusing on each other long enough to protect what is ours,” Viktor replies, smooth as honey. “You have your empire. I have mine. There's no need for them to collide.”
The offer sounds reasonable on the surface, but I can hear the careful qualifications embedded in his language. Protecting what is ours. The phrase could mean anything, twisted to justify any number of future betrayals.
“And Naomi?”
The question cuts to the heart of everything. All the strategic considerations, all the territorial negotiations, all the grand alliance-building mean nothing if he keeps the woman who has somehow become central to my existence.
“She is yours,” he says with a thin smile, “as long as you agree to this truce. Taking down Lucien is my top priority.”
