Chapter Seventy.

Chapter Seventy.
“Thank you, Mikhail,” Anya said softly as he escorted her out of the hospital, her arm still bandaged.

Mikhail gave her a reassuring nod, opening the car door for her.

“No need to thank me. Just focus on healing, alright?” His voice was gentle, but his eyes scanned the street with caution.

Anya paused at the edge of the pavement, her brows furrowed, lips tremble. “How is she?” she finally asked, not daring to look him in the eye.

Mikhail’s expression tightened, of course she meant Xena. “She’s safe.” he said calmly. “Viktor made sure of it. Try not to worry.”

“I dragged her into this…” Anya whispered, more to herself. “She didn’t deserve any of it.”

Mikhail let out a slow breath. “What’s done is done, Anya. We can’t rewrite the mess, only try not to drown in it. You just need to take care of yourself now. I hate seeing you like this, all gloomy and broken. Doesn’t suit you.”

Anya managed a tiny smile, only for it to vanish at the sound of screeching tires.

A black Maserati pulled to an abrupt halt beside them, the engine still growling like a beast barely leashed. The door flew open, and out stepped Viktor.

Dark sunglasses. Black coat.

Mikhail straightened. “Boss—”

“Get in the car,” Viktor said, not even looking at him. His voice was ice.

Anya flinched at the tone, and Mikhail shifted awkwardly. “She just got discharged, Viktor—”

“I said get in the damn car, Anya,” Viktor cut him off, his cold eyes locking with hers like a blade.

There was no use arguing. Not with Viktor in this mood. Anya simply nodded. Mikhail helped her into the passenger seat, and Viktor was already behind the wheel before she shut the door.

He didn’t say a word the entire drive. The silence was suffocating.

Anya sat stiffly, hands clasped on her lap. Every few seconds she glanced at him, but Viktor didn’t look her way once. His jaw was clenched, knuckles white against the leather steering wheel.

His anger was a storm barely restrained.

After what felt like forever, they pulled into his mansion’s gated compound. The iron doors groaned open as the car slid through.

Viktor parked sharply in front of the main entrance, stepped out, and slammed the door.

Anya opened hers more carefully, her legs trembling slightly as she stood.

Angry Viktor is a dangerous one.

He turned to her slowly.

“You almost got her killed,” he said flatly.

Anya swallowed hard, heart in her throat. “I—”

“You don’t speak,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t explain. You listen.”

She froze under his piercing glare.

“I should’ve had you taken care of the minute you let Marco into her orbit,” he hissed. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because of Xena is worried about you. Don’t confuse that for mercy.”

Anya looked down, the shame burning hotter than the sunlight above them.

Viktor didn’t wait for a response. He turned and stalked into the mansion, his long coat flaring behind him.

Anya stood there a moment longer, watching him disappear inside.

And even though she was no longer in the hospital, her chest still felt like a cage she couldn’t breathe through.

She followed him silently.

Meanwhile…

Xena sat curled in one of the velvet armchairs of the massive library, the golden afternoon light pouring through the tall windows.

A thick hardcover rested in her lap, its spine bent, pages crinkled, yet not a single word had made sense for the past hour.

Her eyes skimmed the lines, but her mind was lost in a labyrinth of confusion and unease.

The images from the night before kept flashing behind her eyes — the gunfire, the fear, the blood.

And Marco’s words…

“You think he’s your savior? You don’t even know the deal your parents made…”

Contract. Arrangement. Lies.

She exhaled shakily, gripping the edges of the book tighter until her knuckles turned white.

No matter how she tried to silence the questions, they clawed louder in her chest.

Could any of it be true?

Did her parents— no. They would never hand her off like some pawn in a mafia game… right?

She squeezed her eyes shut. There was only one person left in the world who might have answers.

Nana. If she could just reach her…

The sudden creak of the library door yanked her back to the present.

Xena’s head turned, and her heart skipped as Viktor stepped inside.

He was dressed in black again. His presence shifted the entire air in the room, darker, sharper.

She sat up straighter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his voice low and even.

Xena looked down, avoiding his gaze. Her fingers closed tighter around the book in her lap.

“I’m fine… thank you,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Viktor didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

His gaze burned into her like he could see straight through the calm facade she was trying to hold.

He stepped closer. “Little fire,” he said softly.

She looked up.

“You’re still worried about Anya,” he stated, not asked.

Shr nodded.

Viktor’s jaw flexed, a twitch of anger or maybe jealousy flickering in his expression. Then, without warning, he reached forward and took her hand.

“Come.”

“What–” she tried to ask, but he was already pulling her to her feet.

“I want you to meet someone.”

She stumbled as she followed, her heart racing. “Viktor… who? Who are we meeting?”

He didn’t answer. His hand gripped hers firmly, not painfully.

Xena looked up at him, confused and breathless. His expression was unreadable again,
but something simmered beneath the surface, a storm, building.

They stepped out of the library and into the endless marble hallway.