Grandma will hear of this

VIKTOR POV.

The scent of burning tobacco filled the air as I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling like a ghost of the past.

The crystal glass in my other hand was half-filled with whiskey, the golden liquid catching the dim glow of the office lamp.

A gun rested on the table beside me, freshly cleaned, its weight familiar—almost comforting.

I had lived with the scent of blood and gunpowder for two decades. It was in my bones, in my breath. There was no escaping it.

A knock at the door.

“Enter.”

Yuvi stepped in, dressed in all black as usual, his sharp gaze scanning the room before settling on me.

“We have a problem,” he said.

“When don’t we?” I flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, rolling my shoulders. “Talk.”

“The shipment from Istanbul—it’s gone. Our men were ambushed before securing the goods. Word is, Boris is making moves again.”

My fingers tightened around the glass. Boris Smirnov.

The son of the man who had ended my family.

My jaw ticked as the memory surfaced, unbidden.

***

I had woken up to the scent of fresh bread and my grandmother’s quiet chanting. A prayer of protection.

It was a cold morning in Moscow, frost creeping along the edges of the windows as my father, Vladimir Romanov, adjusted his cufflinks, his face calm but unreadable.

Beside him, my older brother, Alexei, was lacing his boots, muttering about how pointless the meeting was.

“They won’t listen,” Alexei had said. “We’re wasting our time.”

Father had merely given him a look. “Peace is always worth the effort, even if it fails.”

I had been eighteen then—young, impulsive, but not foolish. I knew the Smirnovs were not the type to negotiate. But my father had insisted on extending an olive branch.

It was the last time I saw them alive.

Hours later, their bodies were delivered to our gate. Wrapped in bloodstained sheets, their throats slit. My grandmother’s screams still echoed in my head.

I had been forced to step up that very night. The only surviving son of the Romanov family, thrust into power before I even had time to grieve. There was no time for weakness. No time for mourning. Only vengeance.

***

I exhaled through my nose, dragging a hand down my face.

“That bastard.”

Yuvi nodded. “He’s getting bolder. The attack wasn’t just about the shipment. He’s sending a message.”

I smirked, leaning back. “Good. I’ll send one back.”

Yuvi’s phone buzzed, but before he could check it, my gaze flickered to the surveillance screens mounted on the wall.

Kukolka.

She was in the game room with Nikolai, cross-legged on the floor, her emerald-green eyes narrowed in concentration.

Her wavy hair cascaded down her back, a few strands falling over her petite nose as she focused on the screen.

Nikolai nudged her, laughing, but she barely reacted, too caught up in whatever game they were playing.

I took a slow sip of whiskey, inhaling deeply.

I had never cared for the pet ceremony. Never had any interest in purchasing a woman like some prized possession. But Irina had insisted.

You must not look weak before the others, Viktor. They are watching. Always watching.

So I had chosen. And now, the woman I had selected seemed determined to test my patience every single day.

“She’s settling in well,” Yuvi noted, following my gaze.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” I muttered.

Yuvi smirked. “Yet, you watch her.”

I turned to him slowly, my expression blank. “If you’re going to say something stupid, leave.”

He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Just an observation.”

I took another drag of my cigarette, exhaling slowly.

Boris wanted to play games. I was more than happy to oblige.

I told Yuvi to call a meeting as we needed to discuss the next line of action. Romanov must be on top of the game.

The meeting had gone as expected—long, filled with tension, and ending with no real solutions, just more blood to be spilled. It was always the same.

Lighting another cigarette, I made my way to my room, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness. The moment I opened the door, I stopped.

Isabella stood inside, half-naked, her silk robe barely clinging to her body. I exhaled, the smoke curling around me.

Not this again.

She smiled, running a hand through her dark waves. “Took you long enough.”

My jaw clenched. “What do you want?”

She took a slow step forward, eyes gleaming with something predatory. “What do you think?”

Her hand lifted to undo the last knot of her robe, but my mind flashed back—to another moment, another woman.

Anya. Yesterday, that I had walked in on her.

She had stood frozen, emerald eyes wide with shock, arms frantically trying to cover herself. Her cheeks had flushed a deep red, her lips parting in a silent gasp.

Unlike Isabella, she hadn't wanted to be seen. Unlike Isabella, she hadn't wanted me. I pushed the memory aside.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said flatly.

Her smile faltered. “Viktor,” she purred, taking another step closer. “We’re going to get married soon. Why are you still keeping your distance?”

I held her gaze, unblinking. “Because I don’t want to.”

Her face twisted in frustration. “We’re not children playing pretend! You chose me—”

“I didn't. Babushka(grandma) arranged this.” My voice was sharp, cutting through the space between us.

Her lips pressed together, anger simmering beneath her beautiful features. I sighed, dragging my shirt over my head and tossing it onto the chair.

That was a mistake because the moment my chest was bare, she moved.

Her fingers slid over my left arm, tracing the ink that covered it. The swirling lines and symbols told a story—a story of blood, vengeance, and survival.

“You never let me touch you this up close before,” she murmured, her fingers gliding over the designs. “It suits you.”

I didn’t respond.

She pressed closer, her breath warm against my skin as her lips brushed over my chest. Then—she bit my nipple.

I grabbed her wrist.

“Enough.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, defiance flashing in them. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I’m human and I have blood flowing through my veins.”

My grip tightened. “Leave.”

Her nostrils flared, but she knew better than to argue. Jerking her arm away, she huffed, snatching her robe tighter around her body.

“Grandma will hear of this.” She stormed out.