Chapter Sixty Eight.

Chapter Sixty Eight.
Viktor’s boots echoed through the warehouse corridor, the cold concrete underfoot matching the sharpness in his eyes.

The space smelled of gun oil and steel—

Mikhail stepped out of one of the side rooms.

“Did you find him yet?” Viktor asked, voice low but tight, like a wire about to snap.

“Not yet,” Mikhail muttered, falling into step beside him. “Looks like he fled the penthouse before our men swept in. He's hiding somewhere else now—no traces left behind.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched as they exited the warehouse, the biting night air swirling around them.

A single streetlight flickered above, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts beneath Viktor’s heavy stride.

As they approached Viktor’s blacked-out car, Mikhail hesitated before asking, “How is she?”

Viktor stopped mid-step. The quiet was deafening.

“She’s not fine,” he said, eyes hard, voice edged with something raw and violent.

Mikhail didn’t speak.

“Any sign that Marco touched her?” he asked cautiously.

Viktor turned to him, his expression twisted into a snarl of pure hatred.

“If I’d seen so much as a scratch on her—if that Italian bastard had dared—” his voice dropped to a near growl, “I would’ve dragged his body through the goddamn streets and fed him to my piranhas.”

Mikhail nodded once, the tension between them sharp.

“She’s… just shaken,” Viktor added after a moment, his tone softening slightly. “Traumatized. It’s the shock. Her silence is louder than her screams.”

He opened the car door with a sharp click and got in, slamming it shut. Mikhail followed silently.

As Viktor pulled the car into the empty street, his grip on the steering wheel tightening with every mile.

“You got any news on Yuri?” he asked, voice low again, but now laced with something colder.

Mikhail gave a short sigh. “Figured out he’s not in Russia. Took the backdoor out of the country.”

Viktor’s jaw ticked. “Where is he now?”

“Alaska.”

Viktor turned sharply toward him, disbelief shadowing his eyes. “Alaska?”

Mikhail nodded, almost amused. “Yeah. Heard he’s out there, working with some ghost company, refining oil, helping in black Market. He might also have change his whole fucking identity.”

“Coward,” Viktor spat. “He thinks distance can protect him.”

“Apparently, he’s laying low..”

Viktor gave a sharp breath through his nose, fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Call Vlad. I don’t care what it takes. I want Yuri found. I want him bound and gagged and dropped at my fucking feet.”

“Alive?” Mikhail asked.

“For now.”

Mikhail picked up his phone and started dialing as the car sped through the lonely city.

Viktor didn’t say another word, but his mind was running wild with rage.

He couldn’t stand the thought of Marco breathing the same air as Xena.

The image of her—shaken, pale, her voice barely a whisper—had carved itself into Viktor’s brain like a scar.

She wasn’t the same fire-eyed woman he’d known just days ago.

Marco must have told her about the deal—but Viktor was going to make sure he paid for it in blood.

Not just Marco.

But anyone who stood behind him.

“Viktor,” Mikhail said, lowering his phone. “Vlad says he’ll get on it immediately."
“Good,” Viktor muttered.

As the city lights began to fade behind them and the open roads led toward the estate, Viktor’s silence turned darker.

He knew the war wasn’t over. Marco wasn’t the type to hide for long.

He was licking his wounds.

Waiting.

Planning.

♤♤♤

As Viktor and Mikhail stepped into the dim-lit mansion, the silence inside echoed the storm swirling around Viktor’s mind.

The weight of what had just happened still clung to the air.

“Viktor,” Mikhail called behind him.

Viktor stopped, slowly turning to face him, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with barely-contained rage.

“Listen… I know it’s her fault, okay?” Mikhail started, voice careful. “But please… forgive Anya.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched, and the way his eyes flared made the hall feel ten degrees colder. “Why?” he hissed.

“She knew how dangerous it is out there. She knew exactly the kind of people I deal with. Even if it hadn’t been Marco, someone would’ve used Xena to get to me.”

“I know, I know,” Mikhail said quickly, raising his hands a little. “But Anya’s just… she’s being a girl, okay? She thought Xena needed some fresh air, she didn’t think it’d go this far—”

“I didn’t ask her to think,” Viktor cut him off sharply. “I didn’t ask her for help. She disobeyed me and now Xena’s scarred because of it.”

Mikhail didn’t reply. He just looked down, guilt flickering across his face.

Without another word, Viktor turned and stormed up the stairs, the coldness of his mood making the whole place feel like winter had settled indoors. Mikhail stood there for a beat longer before shaking his head and walking back out the front door, quietly shutting it behind him.

At the top of the stairs, Viktor moved toward his bedroom.

Just then, Zoya and Alina stepped out, carefully closing the door behind them, their faces soft with concern.

He halted. “How is she?”

“Ma’am is sleeping,” Zoya replied softly, folding her hands in front of her.

“Did she eat anything?” Viktor asked, his voice quieter now, though the strain in it was obvious.

They both shook their heads.

“She said she wasn’t hungry,” Alina added gently. “But… she drank some juice.”

Viktor sighed heavily, his eyes moving to the door like it held the whole weight of the world behind it. “Alright. You may go.”

Zoya and Alina exchanged a small glance before nodding and walking away, their footsteps echoing faintly down the hall, hearts heavy for the girl in the room.

Viktor pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The light in the room was soft, the kind that kissed your skin without waking you. His eyes immediately landed on her.

Xena.

She was curled under the covers, lying on her side, breathing slow and deep.

Her face looked peaceful—but too peaceful. It wasn’t the usual way she slept, her hair wild across the pillow, her mouth slightly open, limbs scattered like she’d been in a playful war with the sheets.

Tonight… she looked like a ghost of herself.

Still.

Small.

Too quiet.

Viktor walked over and sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes roaming her face.

He reached out and brushed his fingers down her cheek, gently pushing away a loose strand of hair. Her skin was still a little cold. His heart twisted.

Then he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“I’m so sorry, little fire,” he whispered into her hair, his voice breaking just slightly, a crack only the night could hear.

He sat there for a long moment, just watching her, wishing he could take her pain, wishing he could go back in time, wishing he’d gotten to her sooner.

But wishes didn’t matter in his world.

Only vengeance did.

Viktor stood and undressed quietly.

He pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped under the covers, careful not to wake her.

Then, instinctively, like his body was searching for what his soul already needed, he reached out and pulled her into him.

Xena murmured something under her breath in her sleep, her body unconsciously curling into his chest, like she knew—somewhere deep down—that she was safe with him.

He pressed his nose into her hair and exhaled slowly, holding her close, his hand resting protectively over her waist.

It didn’t take long before sleep found him too.