Chapter Sixty One.

Marco stood in silence, the city lights of Mexico casting long, golden streaks across the floor-to-ceiling windows. His hands were deep in his pockets, jaw clenched as he watched the cars snake down the roads like ants beneath him. The calm before a storm.

A knock echoed behind him, followed by the door creaking open. One of his men stepped inside quietly, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

“Don,” the man said with a slight bow. “We got confirmation. Viktor… he’s in Italy now.”

Marco didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. A slow grin began to spread across his face.

“What is that mad dog sniffing around for now?” he murmured, almost amused. But then—his eyes darkened, voice sharpening like a blade. “Where is my Xena?”

The man swallowed hard. “She… she wasn’t spotted with him. All sources say she’s still here, Don.”

Marco’s smirk returned, lazy and dangerous. “Perfect,” he whispered, turning away from the window. “Everything’s unfolding just the way it should.”

He walked past the trembling man, his presence alone enough to leave chills behind. The man exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging as he turned and followed the Don out.

Meanwhile…

Xena stood in front of the full-length mirror, her reflection staring back like a stranger. Her hands smoothed down the red satin dress that hugged her curves like it had a mind of its own. Her heart thudded nervously in her chest.

*God… this doesn’t feel right.*, she thought.

The bedroom door creaked open and Anya waltzed in with a cat-like grin. “Look at you,” Anya smirked, trailing her eyes up and down Xena’s figure. “Red hot. Literally. you’re a whole fantasy.” she smirked, leaning on the doorframe like she was admiring art.

Xena shot her a nervous glance. “Anya, are you sure this is… safe. I don’t know if this is a good idea. I mean, I’ve never even been to a club before. I don't like them. The noise… the people…”

“I know, I know.” Anya waved her off, plopping onto the edge of the bed. “You're this fierce little lioness who pretends to be a kitten. That’s probably what made Viktor so damn obsessed with you.”

Xena’s brows furrowed slightly. “Obsessed?”

Anya met her gaze in the mirror, smirking again. “Girl, please. The man has you locked up like you’re the crown jewels. That ain’t love, it’s obsession. But tonight? Tonight is about *you.* No guards. No stares. No Viktor breathing down your neck. Just loud music, strobe lights, and a whole lotta freedom. You really wanna let that pass?”

Xena stared at her reflection again. Her body looked good. Too good. The dress clung to her like it was made for her alone, but something in her gut was uneasy. Off.

*Why do I feel like something bad is going to happen?*

She shook the thought away, forcing a breath past her lips. *Maybe it’s just anxiety. I need this. I need to breathe.*

“You’re right,” Xena finally said, turning to face her. “Let’s go before Viktor finds his way back and changes everything.”

“YES!” Anya squealed, practically vibrating. “You are now officially my favorite bitch.”

She leaned forward and planted a dramatic kiss on Xena’s cheek before dragging her out of the room with zero chill.

“Tonight’s about you, baby. Let’s light this city up.”

\~~~~

Viktor and Mikhail stepped out of the sleek black car, the cold wind of the runway brushing past their tailored suits.

The night sky above Italy was deep and endless, and the private jet ahead gleamed under the floodlights, waiting like a silent predator ready to devour the skies.

Viktor walked ahead, his steps sharp, focused. His mind wasn’t on the jet, or Italy, or even the damned mission anymore.

It was on *her.*

Xena.

He was going home to her. Back to the warmth of her presence, the sound of her voice, the maddening calm only she could give him.

The very thought of seeing her again softened something in his chest—but only for a second.

Behind him, Mikhail’s steps slowed. His phone buzzed, and he casually pulled it out, not expecting much.

One glance… and the smirk on his face vanished.

His feet halted. Eyes glued to the screen. Color drained.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, brow twitching at the frozen look on Mikhail’s face. “What the fuck are you gawking at?”

Mikhail didn’t answer. He just slowly lifted the phone and turned the screen toward Viktor.

It was a photo. A fresh one.

Of Xena.

In a short red satin dress.

At a club.

Hair flowing. Skin glowing. Her smile—not forced. Not broken. She was laughing.

And it wasn’t with *him.*

The veins in Viktor’s neck pulsed. His jaw clenched. His heart? It didn’t beat—it roared.

His pupils darkened until only black remained.

“That dress…” he whispered like a warning. “She wore that dress outside?”

“She’s at a club.” Mikhail added cautiously, knowing what was about to happen. “Anya posted the photo. No caption. Just vibes.”

Viktor’s nose flared, his fists curling at his sides. His heart didn’t just ache—it cracked with fury. Betrayal. *Possession.*

“She will pay for this.” he growled, his voice venom-laced and low.

He turned, storming up the steps toward the jet with lethal purpose.

“Get us in the air. *Now.*”