Chapter 39: Chapter Thirty Nine.

Both Anya and Mikhail froze, turning toward the source of the voice. Viktor stood a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his tailored slacks. His gaze was icy, his expression unreadable as he walked toward them. 

“Yours?” Anya snapped, her eyes blazing with fury. “How the hell is she *yours*, Viktor? Did she *consent* to that? Or is this just another one of your power games?” 

Viktor’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he stepped closer. “Watch your tone, Anya.” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t care how long we’ve known each other. Raise your voice at me again, and I’ll put a bullet in your skull without hesitation.” 

Anya stared at him, her eyes narrowing, but she didn’t back down. 

“Xena is mine.” Viktor continued, his voice venomous. “She’s been mine since the moment I laid eyes on her. And I will eliminate *anyone* or *anything* that stands in the way of that. She belongs to me.” His hands balled into fists at his sides, the veins in his neck and arms bulging with barely restrained anger. 

Anya let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You call this love? Kidnapping her? Controlling her every move? Keeping her isolated in this prison you call a home? That’s not love, Viktor. That’s obsession.” 

Viktor’s glare deepened, but Anya pressed on. 

“She’s not a bird, Viktor. You can’t keep her locked in a cage and expect her to sing for you. She’ll hate you for this. Mark my words—if you don’t let her go, you’ll lose her forever.” 

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Viktor’s expression remained cold and impassive, but his clenched jaw and the storm brewing in his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. 

Anya broke the tense silence, turning to Mikhail with a sharp nod. “Call me only when it’s work-related,” she said curtly. 

She opened her car door and slid inside, but before closing the window, she threw one last look at Viktor, her eyes hard with defiance. 

“Oh, and Viktor?” she said, her voice laced with venom. “Fuck you.” 

With that, she rolled up the window and drove off, leaving Viktor and Mikhail standing in the driveway. 

Mikhail let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. “Well, that went well.” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“Shut up.” Viktor snapped, his voice taut with anger. 

Mikhail smirked but said nothing more. As Viktor turned back toward the mansion, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He told himself he didn’t care what Anya thought—she didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly understand what Xena meant to him. 

But as he walked back into the house, her words echoed in his mind, refusing to be silenced. *She’ll hate you forever.*

♧♧♧

Viktor stepped into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the space. At first, panic flickered through him when he realized Xena was nowhere to be seen.

His jaw clenched, and he quickly checked the adjoining spaces, his mind already racing through worst-case scenarios. Then, he heard the faint sound of water running from the en suite bathroom, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. He exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the unexpected sense of dread.

As the water stopped, Viktor waited silently. Moments later, the door creaked open, and Xena stepped out, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She was wrapped in nothing but a white towel, clinging tightly to it as if her life depended on it. The moment her eyes landed on him, she froze, a shriek of surprise escaping her lips.

“Y-you!” she stammered, clutching the towel even tighter around herself. “What are you doing in here?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall, though his posture belied the storm brewing inside him. *This is my room,* he thought but didn’t say it. Instead, his dark, brooding eyes roamed over her, taking in the way the water droplets traced down her exposed collarbone and disappeared beneath the towel.

Xena shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her cheeks flushing a deep red. “Stop staring at me!” she snapped, taking a step back toward the bathroom.

But Viktor didn’t move. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he fought to control the sudden, primal urge rising within him. His pants felt unbearably tight, and he hated himself for how affected he was by the mere sight of her. *What the hell is she doing to me?*

Before Xena could retreat back into the bathroom and slam the door, Viktor closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. His strong hands gripped her waist firmly but not harshly, pulling her flush against him.

“Let go of me!” Xena cried, her hands pushing against his chest as she struggled in his hold. Her movements were frantic, but she was completely unaware of the effect she was having on him. Each wiggle of her body pressed her closer to him, and unknowingly, her soft curves rubbed against his hardness.

Viktor hissed sharply through clenched teeth, his head tilting back slightly as he tried to suppress a groan. His voice was low and hoarse when he finally spoke. “Stop moving, Xena.”

But she didn’t stop. She twisted and pushed harder, desperate to free herself. “I said, let me go!” she demanded, oblivious to the dangerous line she was walking.

“You’re not making this easy for me.” Viktor growled, his grip on her tightening slightly. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Xena.”

There was something raw in his voice, something vulnerable yet dominant, that made Xena freeze. For a moment, she didn’t understand what he meant—until she felt it. Her wide eyes darted downward, and her cheeks burned when she realized the hard length pressed against her hip.

She gasped, her breath hitching as the tension in the room became suffocating. Viktor’s forehead dropped to her shoulder, his hot breath fanning against her damp skin.

“God, I want to fuck you so hard, my little fire.” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint. Every word dripped with raw desire, and it sent shivers down her spine.

“P-please…” she stammered, her voice barely audible, “let me go.”

For a long moment, Viktor didn’t move. His grip on her waist remained firm, his lips so close to her neck that she could feel their heat. She didn’t dare move or breathe, terrified that any sudden action might provoke him further. But then, with a deep, frustrated groan, he released her.

Xena didn’t hesitate. The moment his hands left her body, she spun around and bolted toward the walk-in closet. Viktor heard the sound of the door slamming shut and the distinct *click* of the lock being turned. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly, running a hand through his dark hair as he leaned back against the wall.

“You can run, little fire, but you can’t hide forever.” he muttered to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

As he looked down, his smirk faltered slightly. The evidence of his arousal was impossible to ignore, and he let out a frustrated groan. Running a hand over his face, he muttered curses under his breath.

“God, she’s a seductive little devil without even trying.” he murmured, his voice laced with frustration and admiration.

Shaking his head, Viktor pushed himself off the wall and headed toward the bathroom. He needed a cold shower—desperately.

♧♧♧

Meanwhile…

Marco paced the room, his fury filling the air like a storm on the brink of breaking. The tension in the room was palpable, every man present trembling under the weight of their boss’s wrath.

Marco’s typically composed demeanor was nowhere to be seen; instead, his face was twisted in rage, his sharp Italian features contorted as if a volcano were about to erupt.

“What did you just say?” Marco’s voice boomed, his heavy Italian accent cutting through the room like a blade.

The trembling man before him, one of his trusted informants, shifted uneasily on his feet. His voice wavered as he repeated himself. “V-Viktor Sokolov, sir. H-he was the one who infiltrated your territory. And… he took her.”

Marco froze for a split second before his fist slammed into the nearest table, shattering it into pieces. The informant flinched, taking an instinctive step back.

“He *what*?” Marco growled, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that promised pain.

The man swallowed hard. “H-he took the girl… And it was his men who mutilated ours—the one with the tongue cut out and fingers…” His words trailed off as Marco’s glare intensified.

The room grew colder despite the stifling tension. Marco’s nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling as he fought to contain the sheer rage coursing through his veins. His hands, clenched into fists, shook with barely restrained violence.

“That *Russian bastard* dared to step into *my* territory, harm *my* men, and steal *what belongs to me*?” Marco roared, his voice echoing through the room.