Two Days Ago
The room was silent except for Darya's soft breathing, as she curled beside Nadya on the bed. The child had fallen into an exhausted sleep, a small sigh escaping her lips every few moments.
It wasn't the quiet Nadya sought, though—it was the stillness of her mind that she craved, but it wouldn't come.
She stared at the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, the pain from the bullet wound a constant reminder of the night her world had shattered.
The blood had dried hours ago, but the wound was still raw beneath the gauze, the skin pink where the bullet had torn.
The older man had done his best to clean her up, and the medical supplies had come from one of his many contacts.
She hadn't wanted to call a doctor and risk the media discovering what had happened.
Not yet.
She barely remembered the pain as she sat in the chair, rain still clinging to her clothes from when they arrived.
"You'll live," he said quietly, voice thick with that same distant worry. "The injury will scar, but you'll be fine."
Her fingers brushed the wrappings. The sting didn't matter. It was the emptiness that cut deeper. The loss of her brother. The rage. The way the world kept moving without him.
"I didn't want you involved in this," Viktor continued, his voice soft but firm. "You and Darya are safe. That's all that matters right now."
Nadya clenched her jaw. "Safe? My brother's dead. The heir is gone. Vultures are already circling, and he's still out there—untouched. You think I'm going to sit here and let that happen?"
Viktor's gaze softened, but there was a sharpness behind it, a warning she hadn't missed. "I never said you should let it go. But there's a difference between vengeance and self-destruction. This—this path will eat you alive."
She turned her face into the pillow, refusing the tears building behind her eyes. "I can't stop now," she whispered, voice hoarse. "I won't."
Viktor sighed heavily and rubbed his weathered face. "It's not worth it, you know. You're doing this to avenge your brother. I get it. However, there's no telling what will happen after you go through with it. And no telling what'll happen to Darya either."
Nadya's hands tightened into fists. She wasn't going to back down, not when there was a chance to make him pay for what he'd done to her family.
"I'm not letting him win," Nadya whispered. "You explained how the inheritance works. I marry him. That puts me close. Close enough to end this."
The older man looked at her long and hard as if weighing his following words carefully. He didn't like it. He didn't want her involved in this mess; he had tried his best to shelter her, protect her from the world's ugliness.
But he had seen the fire in her eyes—the same fire he'd seen in her father's eyes all those years ago. She had inherited his determination, for better or worse.
Viktor looked down at the papers on the bedside table. A contract. Marriage, in name only—but legally binding.
"Just remember," he said, quieter now, "you've got—my contacts. I'll help where I can. But once you cross that threshold, you're in his world."
Nadya stood slowly, straightening her dress and tucking the papers into the hidden pocket stitched into the lining.
She gave a tight smile, the muscles of her face pulling awkwardly. "I'll be fine. Just keep an eye on Darya. I won't be gone long."
The air outside the apartment was cold and biting, but she didn't feel it as she entered the night. She had a mission, and she was going to see it through.
~*~*~*~
The club was alive with sound, the heavy bass of music thumping through the walls, the murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, liquor, and something else—something colder, more dangerous.
Dark corridors wound through the club, pulsating lights flashing as the music reverberated through the floors.
It was where Alexei would be tonight, utterly unaware of the woman about to upend his world.
The bouncers barely spared Nadya a glance as she approached; she blended in well with her dress.
The black piece clung like sin—bare-backed, slit high, made to draw eyes and lower guards. Her heels clicked like a countdown across the marble floor.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of anger and dread swirling inside her. She was disgusted with herself for what she was about to do, but she had no choice.
She couldn't just walk away. Not now. Not when the man who had destroyed her life was within arm's reach.
The upstairs booth opened before her, the private space tucked away behind velvet curtains and guarded by men who looked like they could snap her in half without breaking a sweat.
But she didn't hesitate.
As she approached, the guards stepped forward, their hands going to their weapons, but the man in the booth—Alexei—raised a hand.
"Let her through," he said, his voice calm.
Nadya froze, her breath catching as she saw him. There he was—the man who had killed her brother, the man who had torn her family apart.
He lounged on the leather couch, his legs stretched out, a drink in hand.
His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in them. But it was fleeting, replaced by that arrogant, smug expression she hated so much.
She stepped forward, her hands trembling at her sides. Amusement danced in Alexei's dark eyes as he tracked her every move.
"You're bold," he said, his lips curling into a smirk as she moved quickly to sit on his lap, drawing him in for a kiss. The fire ignited between them when their lips met—his mouth hot, demanding.
He didn't resist.
He responded with a force that made her stomach twist, his lips parting with ease as if it were a game he played often.
His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer, fingertips pressing possessively into her hips as if marking her as his.
Her chest tightened, disgust warring with the undeniable, traitorous heat coursing through her veins.
She kept her hands moving, purposefully gliding over the smoothness of his chest, the firm planes of his torso beneath the fabric of Alexei's shirt.
Her palms slid down his sides, her body betraying her as it responded, even as her mind screamed in protest.
His other hand, warm and insistent, slid up to cup her breast, a motion so sure, so confident, it made her stomach flip. She clenched her jaw, refusing to acknowledge the coil of need twisting inside her, just the act.
Just the job. Nadya wasn't here for this.
Hate him. Hate him. Hate him, Nadya chanted in her head as Alexei's lips trailed down her throat, pushing her hands farther down. This wasn't for pleasure, but for a purpose.
Where is it? Where is it?
Alexei chuckled, mouth still warm against her throat. "You're shaking. Nervous, little dove?"
No. Desperate. Determined.
And then she found it.
Finally, her fingers brushed against something cold—his gun, tucked away in the waistband of his trousers. She gripped it, pulling it out and pointing it directly at his head.
His brow arched, a lazy smile tugging at his lips, like a cat watching a mouse pretend it still had a chance.
"The smiling devil lives up to his name," she thought bitterly.
"Well," he said lightly. "Foreplay's getting creative."
"Don't move," Nadya spat, her pulse hammering in her ears. "I'm not afraid to use this."
He tilted his head, that infernal smile still playing on his lips. "I'll take my chances. You've already made it interesting."
Around them, his men tensed, weapons drawn, but Alexei flicked a finger. "Stand down."
His gaze returned to her, sharp and unreadable. "Do you really think this is going to work?"
Her hands trembled, but she didn't let the barrel waver. "Try me."
His smile didn't fade. If anything, it deepened.
As if he were enjoying every second of it. He leaned in slowly, like a man savouring the moment before the knife sinks in.
"Who are you?" he asked softly, "and who sent you?"
The question caught her off guard. Did he not remember her? The rain? The night he killed her brother? She had seen Alexei's face so clearly, but perhaps the dark had obscured her own?
Or she wasn't worth remembering.
"I came on my own," Nadya said.
His eyes narrowed slightly as if considering her for the first time. "And what is it you want?"
She was here for one thing and one thing only. To make Alexei pay.
She kept the gun steady, her other hand searching for the contract papers beneath her dress.
"Need a hand?" he teased, eyes dragging over her before meeting hers again. "Happy to… assist."
The gun felt heavy in her hand, but she kept it trained on him, not willing to back down now.
As her fingers closed around the papers, she yanked them out and slapped them down on his chest.
He picked them up, eyes scanning the words with a quiet smirk. "So this is it," Alexei said, looking up at her. "You want to marry me?"
Her stomach churned, disgust rising in her throat. "Sign it. Now."
"If you wanted to marry me, all you had to do was show up in this little outfit," he said, his smirk deepening as he gestured for one of his men to hand him a pen.
Without a second thought, Alexei signed the contract.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Why? What was he playing at?
But before she could question him further, Alexei moved too quickly—one hand grasping hers, the other taking control of the gun.
In an instant, he was pressing her down onto the couch, pinning her with ease, his body heavy above hers.
His hand slid down her jaw, the cold barrel of the gun now trailing against her skin.
"If you want to threaten me," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, "you should at least take the safety off the gun first."