Chapter 9
Viktor didn't speak to me for the rest of the night.
He locked himself in the command room downstairs, and I heard the low murmur of voices, the click of keyboards, phones ringing and being slammed down. He was angry — not at me, maybe, but the rage radiated through the walls like heat from a furnace.
Dimitri was alive, as Volkov promised — a gash on his temple and a bruised ego. He sat in the kitchen holding ice to his head, refusing medical attention, cursing in Russian.
"He came alone," Dimitri muttered. "One man. Took out the cameras first. I didn't see him until—"
"It's done," I said. "You're okay."
He looked at me strangely — like he was seeing me for the first time.
"You didn't run," he said.
"Where would I go?"
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded slowly. Something shifted in his expression — not warmth, exactly, but acknowledgment.
I went to bed. Didn't sleep.
Volkov's words circled my mind like vultures. *Freedom. Choice.* Things Viktor hadn't offered me. Things I'd never had.
But Viktor's face when I said *I don't know*—
That broke something in me.
Because beneath the monster, beneath the control — he was terrified. Not of Volkov. Of losing me.
Dawn came gray and heavy. I dressed and went downstairs to find Viktor at the kitchen table. He hadn't slept. Dark circles beneath his eyes, jaw shadowed with stubble, shirt wrinkled — the first time I'd ever seen him less than perfectly composed.
A cup of coffee sat in front of the empty chair.
For me.
I sat.
We drank in silence for long minutes. The coffee was perfect — exactly how I liked it. Of course it was. He'd been watching me for six months. He probably knew my coffee order before I did.
"I need to tell you something," Viktor said finally. His voice was raw — not the silk-over-steel I was used to. Sandpaper.
"Okay."
He stared at his cup. "Volkov isn't just after the Karev fortune. He wants something specific inside that vault."
"What?"
"Evidence." Viktor met my eyes. "Of what he did to your family."
My throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
"Your grandfather wasn't assassinated by rivals." Viktor's jaw worked. "Volkov killed him. Poisoned him at a dinner they shared. Then he tried to kill your mother, to ensure no heir survived."
The kitchen tilted.
"But she escaped," Viktor continued. "Came to me. Told me everything. I was young then — ambitious, hungry for power. She was leverage. I won't lie about that. But I also wanted justice."
"And the deal? For me?"
"It was protection. Real protection. Volkov would never stop hunting the Karev heir. Your mother knew that. She knew a child raised outside my organization would be found, eventually."
I pressed my palms flat on the table. "So she gave me to you... to keep me alive."
"Yes."
"And my father took me instead."
"Your father was a coward who thought he could outrun the devil." Viktor's voice hardened. "He spent twenty years hiding you in poverty while Volkov's network grew. When the debts caught up, he came to me because he had no one else."
"He came to you willingly?"
"He begged."
I closed my eyes. The man I'd spent my childhood resenting — for leaving, for silence, for making me feel worthless — had been running. Hiding me. Poorly, desperately, but trying.
And now he'd given me back to the cage my mother built for me.
"The evidence in the vault," I said, opening my eyes. "If Volkov gets it—"
"He destroys it. And he becomes untouchable. No one will ever be able to challenge his power."
"And if I access it?"
Viktor leaned forward. "Then we expose him. His allies crumble. His empire falls."
"We?"
His eyes locked on mine. "You and me."
The way he said it — *you and me* — wasn't about power. It was something else. A partnership. An offering.
"I thought I was a prisoner," I said.
"You were." He didn't flinch. "But I'm asking you now, Sera. Not as the man who took you. As the man who—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "As the man who can't stop thinking about you."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Help me destroy Volkov," he said. "And when it's done... you're free. I'll sign whatever document you want. You walk away, no strings, no debts."
"And if I don't want to walk away?"
The words left me before I could stop them. Vulnerable. Stupid. True.
Viktor's entire body went still.
His hand reached across the table, covering mine. Warm. Steady.
"Then you stay," he said. "Not as property. Not as a pawn." His fingers laced through mine. "As mine. Because you chose to be."
Tears burned behind my eyes.
I looked at our intertwined hands — his scarred, tattooed, violent. Mine still shaking.
"Okay," I whispered. "Let's destroy him."
Viktor's grip tightened. Something fierce and wild blazed in his eyes — gratitude, desire, relief.
He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. The gesture was so soft, so devastatingly tender, I nearly broke.
"Together," he murmured against my skin.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I didn't feel owned.
I felt chosen.
He locked himself in the command room downstairs, and I heard the low murmur of voices, the click of keyboards, phones ringing and being slammed down. He was angry — not at me, maybe, but the rage radiated through the walls like heat from a furnace.
Dimitri was alive, as Volkov promised — a gash on his temple and a bruised ego. He sat in the kitchen holding ice to his head, refusing medical attention, cursing in Russian.
"He came alone," Dimitri muttered. "One man. Took out the cameras first. I didn't see him until—"
"It's done," I said. "You're okay."
He looked at me strangely — like he was seeing me for the first time.
"You didn't run," he said.
"Where would I go?"
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded slowly. Something shifted in his expression — not warmth, exactly, but acknowledgment.
I went to bed. Didn't sleep.
Volkov's words circled my mind like vultures. *Freedom. Choice.* Things Viktor hadn't offered me. Things I'd never had.
But Viktor's face when I said *I don't know*—
That broke something in me.
Because beneath the monster, beneath the control — he was terrified. Not of Volkov. Of losing me.
Dawn came gray and heavy. I dressed and went downstairs to find Viktor at the kitchen table. He hadn't slept. Dark circles beneath his eyes, jaw shadowed with stubble, shirt wrinkled — the first time I'd ever seen him less than perfectly composed.
A cup of coffee sat in front of the empty chair.
For me.
I sat.
We drank in silence for long minutes. The coffee was perfect — exactly how I liked it. Of course it was. He'd been watching me for six months. He probably knew my coffee order before I did.
"I need to tell you something," Viktor said finally. His voice was raw — not the silk-over-steel I was used to. Sandpaper.
"Okay."
He stared at his cup. "Volkov isn't just after the Karev fortune. He wants something specific inside that vault."
"What?"
"Evidence." Viktor met my eyes. "Of what he did to your family."
My throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
"Your grandfather wasn't assassinated by rivals." Viktor's jaw worked. "Volkov killed him. Poisoned him at a dinner they shared. Then he tried to kill your mother, to ensure no heir survived."
The kitchen tilted.
"But she escaped," Viktor continued. "Came to me. Told me everything. I was young then — ambitious, hungry for power. She was leverage. I won't lie about that. But I also wanted justice."
"And the deal? For me?"
"It was protection. Real protection. Volkov would never stop hunting the Karev heir. Your mother knew that. She knew a child raised outside my organization would be found, eventually."
I pressed my palms flat on the table. "So she gave me to you... to keep me alive."
"Yes."
"And my father took me instead."
"Your father was a coward who thought he could outrun the devil." Viktor's voice hardened. "He spent twenty years hiding you in poverty while Volkov's network grew. When the debts caught up, he came to me because he had no one else."
"He came to you willingly?"
"He begged."
I closed my eyes. The man I'd spent my childhood resenting — for leaving, for silence, for making me feel worthless — had been running. Hiding me. Poorly, desperately, but trying.
And now he'd given me back to the cage my mother built for me.
"The evidence in the vault," I said, opening my eyes. "If Volkov gets it—"
"He destroys it. And he becomes untouchable. No one will ever be able to challenge his power."
"And if I access it?"
Viktor leaned forward. "Then we expose him. His allies crumble. His empire falls."
"We?"
His eyes locked on mine. "You and me."
The way he said it — *you and me* — wasn't about power. It was something else. A partnership. An offering.
"I thought I was a prisoner," I said.
"You were." He didn't flinch. "But I'm asking you now, Sera. Not as the man who took you. As the man who—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "As the man who can't stop thinking about you."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Help me destroy Volkov," he said. "And when it's done... you're free. I'll sign whatever document you want. You walk away, no strings, no debts."
"And if I don't want to walk away?"
The words left me before I could stop them. Vulnerable. Stupid. True.
Viktor's entire body went still.
His hand reached across the table, covering mine. Warm. Steady.
"Then you stay," he said. "Not as property. Not as a pawn." His fingers laced through mine. "As mine. Because you chose to be."
Tears burned behind my eyes.
I looked at our intertwined hands — his scarred, tattooed, violent. Mine still shaking.
"Okay," I whispered. "Let's destroy him."
Viktor's grip tightened. Something fierce and wild blazed in his eyes — gratitude, desire, relief.
He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. The gesture was so soft, so devastatingly tender, I nearly broke.
"Together," he murmured against my skin.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I didn't feel owned.
I felt chosen.