Dmitri Volkov's POV:
Blood dripped down the rat's face as I sat before him, eyes fixed on every drop. Something I would normally have enjoyed, but rage burned through me too fiercely to savor it.
My daughter was clinging to her life in the hospital. Just turned eight, an innocent creature who couldn't even hurt a bug. She was the light of my life, pure, unadulterated joy.
But these krysiny ublyudok had the guts to be alive when they tried to destroy that. They kidnapped her and hurt her. They took a child who had known kindness-something almost impossible in our world-and tried to stain it.
They had tossed her like garbage, leaving her to bleed from her head on the road. They were going to face my wrath, and I swear to make it hurt.
-----
My phone rang as I stepped out of the warehouse. Callista's name flashed, and I snatched it up.
"Lyubimaya, what is it?"
"Oh my god, Dmitri. She woke up!"
Her sobs mirrored my racing heart. I barked orders at my men, then slid into the car.
"I'll be there soon, Calli," I said into the phone, flooring the gas and merging onto the highway toward the hospital.
My heart pounded with the hope of seeing my daughter again-her smile, looking at me as if I were the strongest man in the world. My hands tightened around the steering wheel, guilt clawing at me for letting her be kidnapped and hurt. I would burn the whole world down if it meant my baby girl could live again.
-----
I entered the hospital through the VIP entrance, Victor, my right-hand man, joined me, leading the way to the private room.
The door swung open, and I froze. My wife and mother stood at the bedside-Calli clutching a frail little arm, her sobs shaking her whole body.
My daughter's head turned toward me, bandaged, her beautiful hair cut short.
The sight hit me like a punch to the chest.
Her eyes... lifeless, staring at nothing. As if she had already given up.
My chest tightened, and a cold anger spread through me. My wife leaned into me, shaking, her cries muffled against my chest.
I looked at my daughter. Those empty eyes. And then something snapped inside me-rage.
"I'm going to kill those motherfuckers," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. "I'll burn them one by one. This is my promise, Printsessa." I gently moved my wife aside and turned toward the door.
A weak, familiar voice stopped me.
"Papa."
I froze, every muscle taut, then turned.
Sasha's eyes found mine. Recognition flickered there.
"Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice hoarse, tiny, and trembling.
My chest clenched like iron. That small, desperate plea felt like a gift I wasn't worthy to receive.
"Never, Solnyshko," I said, my voice breaking slightly.
Those deep brown eyes-the exact mirror of my wife's-locked onto me as they began to droop. Her tiny hands clutched my suit jacket, her grip surprisingly strong. I let her hold on. I would never let go.
My child was finally back.