Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve.

Viktor stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse suite, staring down at the sprawling city of New York.

The city lights flickered like stars, casting a soft glow over the chaos below. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the faint ember glowing brighter as he took a slow, deliberate drag.

He exhaled, releasing a cloud of smoke that curled lazily into the air. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the city below.

A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness. Without turning, Viktor muttered a 'come in', granting entry. One of his men stepped in, his posture rigid, eyes downcast.

"Sir, this is the file you requested." the man said, holding out a slim, leather-bound folder.

Viktor remained motionless for a moment, his gaze fixed on the city.

He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before turning around. As his eyes opened, they were cold, calculating, the gaze of a predator.

The man hesitated, his voice slightly trembling as he continued. "S-sir, we’ve also received confirmation… Yuri has left the city."

Viktor’s jaw clenched, his sharp features hardening.

He stepped away from the window with the deliberate, commanding stride of a man who owned every space he walked into.

Sinking into the sleek leather couch in his bedroom, he stubbed out the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray already littered with spent butts.

The scent of tobacco lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of whiskey.

The man extended the file toward him, and Viktor took it without a word. He flipped it open, scanning the contents with an unreadable expression.

"Find him." Viktor said, his voice low but laced with authority.

The man bowed and exited quickly, leaving Viktor alone once more.

His eyes returned to the file, the name "**Xena Rossi**" printed in bold letters across the top. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back against the couch, the name rolling silently through his mind.

"My little fire." he murmured, the smirk widening. "Let’s see how interesting you truly are."

He turned the first page and was greeted by a photograph of Xena. She was smiling, her ocean-blue eyes sparkling with warmth and life. She looked happy—carefree even—gazing at something off-camera that had clearly delighted her. Viktor’s eyes lingered on the image, his expression softening, though only slightly.

Flipping through the pages, he absorbed every detail about her.

Born and raised in Italy, she had a younger brother, just twelve years old, and a grandmother who owned a small restaurant in the heart of her hometown.

Xena often helped her Nana, and the notes highlighted her deep connection to family.

He paused at the section labeled “***Parents***.” The space was blank—no names, no explanation of their absence, only the word “***Missing***” typed in bold. He frowned, his mind swirling with possibilities.

Her relationship status? Single. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he found himself satisfied with that detail.

A small, selfish satisfaction curled in his chest as he continued reading.

Her age: 22. Her education, her friendships, even her favorite haunts—everything was laid out in meticulous detail.

He closed the file after devouring every piece of information, his mind now painting a vivid picture of the woman who had unexpectedly caught his attention.

Reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the nearby table, he poured himself a generous glass.

The amber liquid glistened in the dim light as he raised it to his lips, taking a slow sip.

The warmth spread through his chest, but it wasn’t enough to dull the growing intrigue he felt.

Leaning back in the chair, he rested his head against the soft leather, his arms draped over the sides. His eyes closed, the glass still in hand.

"Xena." he whispered, her name slipping from his lips like a promise.

For a moment, the predator in him softened, his thoughts consumed by the girl with the ocean-blue eyes. But as quickly as the moment came, it passed, his expression hardening once more.

Xena Rossi had unknowingly stepped into his world, and Viktor Sokolov wasn’t a man to let go of what intrigued him..

The silence of the room was broken by the sharp ring of Viktor's phone. He didn’t bother to glance at the screen before picking it up, pressing it to his ear.

"What?" he growled, his irritation evident.

"Well, hello to you too." a familiar voice responded with a tone of mock offense.

Viktor groaned, lowering the glass of whiskey to the table before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Mikhail" he muttered, his patience wearing thin. "What do you want? Don’t add to my frustration right now."

"Fucker." Mikhail shot back without hesitation. "Heard Yuri slipped through your fingers again."

Viktor’s jaw tightened at the reminder.

"The bastard’s slippery, I’ll give him that. I almost had him, but he managed to escape at the last moment." His voice was cold, controlled, but underneath was a simmering rage.

Mikhail let out a low chuckle. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll command a full-scale search riot. We’ll track him down soon enough."

Viktor leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the city lights again.

The thought of Yuri evading him was infuriating, but his mind wasn’t entirely on the runaway.

"And when are you coming back to Russia?" Mikhail continued, his tone light but probing.

"We miss you here—or are you starting to fall for the charms of New York? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft, brother."

The corners of Viktor’s mouth twitched, but not in amusement. A flicker of an image crossed his mind—Xena Rossi, her piercing blue eyes, the fire in her voice when she’d stood up to him.

He rolled her name over in his mind like a secret, something precious and dangerous all at once.

"I’m not done yet." he said, his voice low and final.

Mikhail paused on the other end of the line, confusion evident in his silence.

"Huh? What do you mean? Your mission—"

But Viktor didn’t let him finish. He ended the call with a sharp press of the button, tossing the phone onto the table beside the closed file.

For a moment, he sat in stillness, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached for his glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid as he stared into the depths of the glass.

His mission in New York was far from over, and though Yuri was part of it, another face now lingered in his thoughts.

**Xena Rossi.**

Whether it was her defiance, her innocence, or the unshakable pull she had over him, Viktor knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t leaving until he got what he wanted.