Chapter Seventy Four.

Chapter Seventy Four.
Viktor kissed her like he was starving, deep, consuming, like he couldn’t get enough. His tongue found hers, tangling, tasting her, sucking on it in a way that made her toes curl.

He shifted, brushing kisses over her upper lip, then her bottom one, savoring her like she belonged to him.

“Xena…” he breathed against her mouth, his voice thick with restraint. “Please stop me… or I won’t.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark with something between desire and confusion. She wanted this. God, she wanted this. But was it just… hormones?

Wait… am I ovulating? Her mind screamed.

As if on cue, a knock echoed sharply at the door.

Viktor tore away from her with a murderous glare toward the sound. “Who the fuck is that?” he snapped, his voice laced with venom.

“It’s me, sir,” Zoya’s timid voice came through the door. “Just came to remind you, it’s time for Ma’am’s dinner.”

He growled under his breath, clearly pissed at the interruption. When he looked back at Xena, her cheeks were glowing red, and she quickly averted her gaze, flustered.

“We’re not done here,” he said lowly, his eyes smoldering. He leaned down again, pressed one more firm kiss to her lips, just enough to make her heart skip, then got off the bed and stormed toward the door.

He yanked it open, his gaze burning into Zoya for a brief second before walking out, wordless.

Zoya blinked, confused for a moment. But then she stepped in and caught sight of Xena, lips slightly swollen, hair a little messy, cheeks painted in pink.

She smirked.

“What?” Xena asked defensively, sitting up and running her fingers through her hair.

“Oh, nothing.” Zoya’s grin widened. “You wanna shower now? Then head down for dinner?”

“I… I’ll shower first.” Xena muttered, still flushed as she slid off the bed. She practically rushed into the bathroom, mumbling curses at herself under her breath.

Behind her, Zoya was still grinning.

♤♤♤

The heavy door creaked open.

Marco stepped into the lavish suite, his long coat billowing behind him like a storm. Two of his men followed silently, their faces grim.

The air inside the room was thick, choked with his rage, with the scent of cigarettes and gunpowder.

He didn’t speak at first. He just moved. Jaw locked. Chest rising and falling in harsh, uneven breaths.

Marco dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling with fury.

“That mutt,” he snarled under his breath in thick Italian accent, his voice venomous and vibrating with rage.

His knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands, pacing like a lion trapped in a cage.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick as smoke. His men stood still, almost afraid to speak.

“Sir,” one finally managed, voice cautious. “The path is clear. If we move tonight, we can return to Italy without Viktor intercepting. He won’t expect us to disappear this fast.”

Marco turned sharply, his cold stare slicing through the man like a blade. “I’m not leaving Russia,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not until I get what’s mine.”

The men froze.

“But, sir…” the second one began, hesitant. “The longer we remain here, the more vulnerable we are. We’re short on men. If Viktor retaliates—”

Marco stepped forward slowly, and the man instantly fell silent under his brutal stare.

“I don’t care if Viktor runs this entire fucking country. I’ll rip through his empire if I have to. I’ll go to war with him if he tries to keep her.”

“Xena was promised to me.”

His words echoed through the room.

“I made the deal,” he continued, pacing slowly now. “I paid the price. I gave her family everything they asked for, status, protection, money. They signed the contract. She was meant to be mine.”

He let the words hang, bitter in his mouth.

“But before I could even take what was owed to me… she vanished.”

He flicked his wrist in a silent command, and the two men bowed slightly before retreating from the room.

The heavy door closed with a dull thud, leaving Marco alone.

He exhaled slowly, trying to rein in the madness that bubbled beneath his skin.

His boots echoed against the marble floor as he moved toward the towering floor-to-ceiling window. The Moscow skyline glittered beyond the glass, indifferent to the storm raging inside him.

“And now…” he whispered, jaw tightening, “she’s here. In his city. In his reach.”

He scoffed.

“That accident… it really did a number on your memory, didn’t it?” he said softly, almost to himself. “But it’s alright. I’ll remind you. I’ll remind you of the day we met, i will.”

He placed his palm against the cool glass, fingers splaying like he was reaching for something, or someone, just beyond his grasp.

“If I can’t have you the easy way…” his lips curled into a dark smile, “I’ll drag you out of Viktor’s arms, piece by piece if I have to.”

Marco stood still for a moment, then whispered her name under his breath, like a prayer.

“Xena… Xena… Xena,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, almost intoxicated

His fingers curled into a fist.

“You will come to me. One way or another. And this time, I won’t wait.”

The glass in the window cracked under the pressure of his fist, spiderweb lines spreading like his unraveling sanity.