Chapter 41: Chapter Fourty One.

Viktor stood near the bed, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the sleeping figure before him. His fingers absently adjusted the collar of his black dress shirt, the top three buttons left undone, exposing a sliver of his toned chest. His muscles were still tense from the events of the previous night, but all of that faded into the background as he watched Xena.

She was still deep in sleep, her body curled up slightly under the silk sheets. The thin covers barely concealed the sheer nightwear Anya had chosen for her, and Viktor exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the possessive heat rising in his chest. Strands of her dark hair were strewn across the pillow, her delicate features soft in slumber, her lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets to the night.

She looked so peaceful. So untouched by the chaos that surrounded her.

Viktor clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to look away. If he stayed any longer, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from touching her—tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear, tracing his fingers along the gentle curve of her lips.

With a silent sigh, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

As soon as he stepped out into the hallway, his voice echoed through the grand estate.

"Svetlana."

Almost immediately, the older maid appeared from the corridor, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Yes, Don?" she responded, her tone composed and respectful.

Viktor's gaze flickered back toward the bedroom before settling on Svetlana.

"Make sure she eats. And ensure she is well taken care of." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Svetlana nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Don. I will see to it personally."

He gave her a curt nod, then turned toward the grand staircase, descending with slow, calculated steps. The moment he stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeted him. His black Ferrari was already parked in front, but before he could get in, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. Mikhail.

He answered immediately. "Speak."

There was no teasing in Mikhail’s tone this time, no sarcasm. Just urgency.

"Something is wrong." Mikhail said, his voice clipped. "You need to be here. Now."

Viktor’s expression darkened.

"I'm on my way."

Without another word, he hung up, sliding into the Ferrari. The engine roared to life, and without hesitation, he sped off, the tires screeching against the pavement.

Whatever was waiting for him—whoever dared to disrupt his world—was about to regret it.

♧♧♧

Viktor’s car came to a screeching halt at the entrance of one of his warehouses, a massive steel structure where most of his underground operations took place.

The moment he stepped out, the crisp night air was thick with tension. His sharp gaze immediately landed on Mikhail, who was pacing near the entrance, a rare sight that only confirmed one thing—something serious was happening.

Viktor didn’t waste time. He shut the car door with a forceful click and strode toward him, his black dress shoes barely making a sound against the gravel.

“What’s the problem?” His deep, commanding voice cut through the silence.

Mikhail turned to face him, his expression grim. "Marco."

At the mere mention of the name, Viktor’s features hardened, and his blue eyes darkened like a brewing storm.

◇◇◇

“The message wasn’t clear.” Mikhail explained as they walked through the dimly lit corridor of the warehouse, their steps echoing against the concrete walls.

“But he sent a warning. Said we need to return what belongs to him.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched, and his hands flexed at his sides.

Mikhail continued, leading him into a private office space. The room was dimly illuminated, the scent of cigars and leather lingering in the air.

Viktor took his seat behind a large mahogany desk, his fingers drumming against the polished wood as he processed the information.

Then, almost on cue, a phone buzzed.

Mikhail glanced at the screen and stiffened. “It’s him.”

Viktor simply lifted a hand, signaling for him to answer.

Mikhail pressed a button, putting the call on speaker, and placed the phone on the desk.

The moment Marco Bellini’s voice came through, it was thick with menace, yet restrained—like a predator baring its fangs before striking.

**"Sokolov."**

A slow, wicked smirk curled on Viktor’s lips.

**"Bellini."** His voice was taunting, smooth as silk but laced with steel.

"And to what do I owe the honor of such an... important call from the almighty Marco Bellini?" Viktor’s mocking tone was deliberate, knowing it would rile him up.

There was a brief pause, then a low, simmering growl from the other end.

"Stepping on you is like stepping on an ant." Marco seethed.

Viktor chuckled darkly. "And yet, here you are—still trying to bring me down after eight years."

Mikhail exchanged a knowing glance with Viktor, sensing just how deep this grudge ran.

Marco’s breathing was heavy now, controlled fury vibrating through the call.

"You stepped into my territory and took something that belongs to me."

Viktor leaned back slightly, exchanging another glance with Mikhail before his smirk widened. "I didn’t take anything from you, Marco. I’m not a coward who steals in the shadows."

The restraint in Marco’s voice snapped. "Give me back my woman!" he roared, his voice booming through the speaker.

The air in the room shifted instantly.

Viktor’s teasing expression vanished, his features tightening into something dangerous. His smirk was gone, replaced by a lethal glare as his possessiveness clawed its way to the surface.

His voice dropped lower, thick with his Russian accent. "What woman?"

Marco didn’t hesitate. "Xena Rossi. You took my woman from me. Xena belongs to me, and I want her back."

Silence stretched in the room, thick and suffocating.

Viktor stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he placed both hands on the desk, his knuckles white from how hard he was clenching them.

Veins bulged in his forearms, his body radiating a murderous energy.

"She is NOT your woman!" Viktor bellowed, slamming his palm against the desk with such force that the phone nearly toppled over.

Marco chuckled darkly on the other end, the sound dripping with arrogance.

"I hate when my property is touched." he said coldly. "Xena is mine. From the very start, her parents gave her to me. If you don’t return what’s mine, Viktor, I will come and take her myself."

Then, the call ended.

The moment the line went dead, Viktor grabbed the phone and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into pieces. His breathing was rough, his fists trembling with unfiltered rage.

Viktor didn’t say anything. His body was vibrating with fury, his mind clouded with only one thought.

Mikhail watched Viktor, his expression unreadable, though he could see the raw, burning possessiveness in his best friend's eyes.

"You need to calm down." Mikhail said cautiously, though he knew it was pointless. Viktor was past the point of reason.

Viktor turned sharply, his movements rigid with fury. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, veins bulging along his forearms. His usually sharp, calculating gaze was now dark with rage.

"How the fuck will I?" Viktor sneered, his voice dangerously low. "Xena is mine. No one will have her."

His tone left no room for argument. It wasn’t just an obsession—it was a declaration of war.

Without another word, he turned toward the door, but before stepping out, he glanced over his shoulder, his voice like steel.

"I need twenty-four hours. Run me a deep check on Xena. Every detail. I want to know everything."

Mikhail nodded, already pulling out his phone to get his best men on the job.

Viktor's expression darkened even more as he repeated, almost like a vow, "She's mine."

Then, without another glance, he stormed out of the room, his long strides echoing through the hall as the door slammed shut behind him.

Mikhail let out a slow breath, leaning against the desk, processing what just happened.

He had known Viktor for a long time—long before he inherited the Sokolov empire. He had been there when Viktor's father passed down the title, had seen the man transform into the ruthless, untouchable Don he was today.

But this? This was different.

Viktor was possessive, yes. He was a man who claimed what he wanted and destroyed anything that got in his way.

But he had never been like this over a woman before.

Xena wasn’t just some conquest to him.

She was his obsession.

And that scared Mikhail more than he wanted to admit.