Morning light slowly filtered through the curtains into the room.
The atmosphere felt calm, yet beneath that calmness there was a strange tension.
Viktor was already awake. His face looked hard, his eyes irritated.
In a low voice, he was speaking rapidly in Russian—there was clear anger in his tone.
Alia was still in deep sleep, but her subconscious mind was picking up the sound.
Even in her sleep, her brows slightly tightened, as if she could sense Viktor's unrest.
Viktor's voice was breaking the silence of the room, while Alia's breathing remained slow and peaceful.
This contrast—storm inside one person, deep stillness inside the other—made the room feel even more mysterious.
Gradually, through her half-sleep, Alia began to hear his words more clearly.
Viktor was on the phone:
"Это было ошибкой… Я предупреждал вас."
(This was a mistake… I warned you before.)
After a brief pause, he continued:
"Никто не должен знать. Исправьте это немедленно."
(No one must know. Fix this immediately.)
His voice was controlled, but the anger underneath was unmistakable.
Without even opening her eyes, Alia understood
Viktor's day had not started peacefully. Something serious had happened.
Half-asleep, she murmured softly,
"What happened, Viktor…?"
Viktor went quiet for a moment. He lowered the phone and stood by the window. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw tight.
In a low voice, he said,
"Nothing… a small problem."
Alia slowly opened her eyes. She knew well when Viktor says "small problem," it is never small.
He turned toward her, that cold, calculating look in his eyes.
"One of our men made a mistake… and that mistake leaked outside."
Silence filled the room.
Then, in an even lower voice:
"I'll handle it. You don't need to worry."
But Alia understood
today would not be a normal day.
She sat up in bed. Sleep still lingered in her eyes, but her voice was firm.
"Tell me. What happened?"
Viktor remained silent for a few seconds, then spoke slowly:
"Last night, one of our secret shipment routes was changed. That information was never supposed to leave… but someone knew in advance."
He looked toward the window, his tone cold and controlled.
"Before our men arrived, the place was already empty. And the people who were there… are missing."
Alia felt a sharp thud in her chest.
"So… someone from inside tipped them off?"
Viktor nodded.
"Yes. There is a traitor inside."
The silence in the room suddenly felt heavy.
Viktor said quietly,
"Today, I have to find out who it is."Alia gave a slow nod.
"Oh… okay."
Her voice was calm, but inside, waves of thought were moving. She knew that hard look in Viktor's eyes very well.
She got out of bed and gently pulled the curtain aside to look outside. The morning felt unusually silent.
Then she walked to the wardrobe.
She changed out of her night dress and put on neat, composed clothes. Standing in front of the mirror, she adjusted her hair. The firmness had returned to her face—as if she was preparing herself not just for the day, but to be part of the storm that surrounded Viktor's life.
She looked down and picked up her favorite pair of CESARE PACIOTTI shoes.
As she sat and wore them, a strange steadiness appeared in her eyes.
Today was not a normal day
she could feel it.
Alia tightened the laces. There was no hesitation left on her face only a cold, prepared gaze.
She opened the dresser drawer and took out her licensed small pistol. She checked the magazine, then placed it into the holster and slid it inside her jacket.
She stood in front of the mirror for a second and quietly said to herself,
"Stay calm, Alia."
She opened the door and stepped outside. The maids silently moved aside with respect.
As she walked down the stairs, the firmness of old habits returned to her steps as if, after a long time, she was walking toward an invisible mission again.
Alia got into the car and started the engine. The morning air was cool, and dew shimmered softly on the garden grass.
The car moved slowly along the stone path beside the mansion. Tall trees, green lawns, and silence surrounded her only the soft sound of the tires could be heard.
The inner part of the garden was hidden from outside eyes high hedges, iron gates, and security cameras. Ordinary people never came here.
Alia stopped the car beside a small marble fountain. She stepped out and looked around once. There was alertness in her eyes, a calculated calm within.
She could sense it this morning was not just for a walk.
She needed to find something.
She needed to understand something.
A faint rustling of leaves rose in the distance.
Alia slowly stepped forward, deeper into the garden.From the distant shadows of the bushes, two figures suddenly stirred.
Alia's eyes sharpened instantly. Her old training surged within her—breathing slow, gaze fixed, body primed.
One man rushed forward, hinting at a weapon in his hand, while another tried to flank her from the side.
Alia wasted not a second. She swiftly moved behind the marble fountain, her hand instinctively going to the grip of the pistol hidden in her jacket.
"Wrong place, wrong time," she murmured.
The first man fired—a shot echoed off the stones in the garden. Alia took cover, calculated, and returned fire. The bullet struck true, and the man crumpled to the ground, his weapon flying from his grasp.
The second man tried to flee, but Alia quickly repositioned and aimed. Another controlled shot—he collapsed, motionless.
Silence returned, broken only by the rustling leaves and Alia's steady breath.
She moved forward slowly, securing the weapons and ensuring there were no further threats. Her eyes showed no fear—only cold, trained precision.
It became clear—this was no coincidence. Someone had known she would be here.
From the bushes, more movement was detected. This time, she didn't just fire from a distance—the confrontation was inevitable.
As an attacker lunged from behind, Alia spun with a swift Taekwondo kick, toppling him off balance. Another came at her from the front; she caught his wrist and twisted it with a Krav Maga maneuver, disarming him and neutralizing him with a precise elbow strike.
A third tried to tackle her to the ground. Alia dropped low, slipping into a Jiu-Jitsu grip—locking his neck and rendering him unconscious in seconds.
Everything happened in moments. Her breathing steady, her eyes calculating.
Another assailant attempted to escape. Alia swiftly secured the fallen weapons and took aim, neutralizing the threat with a controlled shot.
The garden fell silent again. Alia scanned her surroundings—tall trees, hedges, camera angles—all under her watchful eye.
Her years of training had fully awakened:
Perfect control in hand-to-hand combat
Rapid disarming of attackers
Strategic use of distance, cover, and precision shooting
She exhaled slowly.
This was no ordinary attack.
They had come prepared.
And she was even more prepared.
Night had fallen. Moonlight painted the garden's greenery in muted shadows.
Alia moved slowly, her body battered, breath quick, blood staining her form cuts and bruises evident but her gaze was unwavering, filled with relentless strength.
The night's silence was broken only by the rapid thump of her heartbeat. The faint scent of blood mingled with the cool air.
Every step carried exhaustion, but she pressed on toward her objective. No help was coming just darkness, her training, and inner resolve.
Each footstep quickened her pulse; every breath was sharp, yet her eyes held steady control and vigilance.
Bloodstains, wounds everything was visible. Yet Alia's courage and determination were undeniable.
The garden had become her private battlefield, where she stood alone shadows moving faintly in the distance, while she advanced with unyielding resolve.The night was deep, with a soft moonlight spreading across the sky, when suddenly, in the distance, the red and white lights of a helicopter began flashing. Its rotors roared through the air, shattering the silence of the garden. The sound seemed like a warning of imminent danger.
Alia's eyes sharpened instantly. Her heart started racing. Without hesitation, she leaned into the bushes, each tree and hedge under her scrutiny. Every muscle in her body went into alert mode.
She dropped to the ground, hiding herself beneath the thick branches and foliage. The helicopter's light fell on her bloodied face, but she remained perfectly still, holding her breath. She knew that even the smallest movement could give her away. Her hand slowly moved to her pistol, perfectly synchronized with her steady breathing.
The helicopter hovered directly above the garden. Its red spotlight flickered as if all the fleeting lights of the sky had converged on her. Alia lay silently, eyes wide open, body tense, absorbing every shadow and sound.
Gradually, the helicopter came closer. The air pressure brushed her hair and clothes like a storm. She lowered herself further into the cover of the bushes. Her mind repeated a single thought: "Stay still… be patient until it's gone."
The helicopter's beam grazed her eyes, but she did not move, hiding her presence with absolute control. Its noise intensified, but Alia's internal training kept her calm and composed. The night, the helicopter, her bloodied body, the concealment of the bushes—all created a tense, extraordinary scenario. She knew that a single wrong move could mean death or expose her location.
She took quiet, measured breaths, eyes sharp. Every second was a game of life and death—whether the helicopter's searchlight would find her was her only challenge. Truly, the silent night garden had become Alia's solitary battlefield.
The sound of the helicopter slowly faded, but the tension in the air remained. The searchlight paused momentarily on the garden's edge. Alia pressed herself against the thick trunk of a tree. Her breathing was controlled, but her heartbeat was unmistakable.
Then she saw him—Victor, striding rapidly along the stone path of the garden. Dressed in a black coat, flanked by two armed guards. His face was hard, his eyes burning with a fiery rage.
Victor roared as he scanned the area:
"Where is the girl? Today, I will find her!"
There was a fury in his voice that Alia had rarely heard. Her brow furrowed. She realized—Victor knew someone had been here. But he didn't know that the "someone" was actually Alia herself.
From her hiding spot, she watched silently. Moonlight hit Victor's face—jaw set, gaze sharp, like a predator seeking its prey.
One of the guards spoke:
"Sir, there are signs of a fight… and blood."
Victor crouched to examine the stains on the ground. His eyes grew colder.
"She's injured. She couldn't have gone far."
Alia's chest tightened. An unusual situation Victor was searching for an enemy, while the enemy was hiding right before his eyes… herself.
The night air grew heavy, and even the leaves seemed afraid to move.
Victor slowly lifted the dazzling Rolex diamond watch, the same one Alia often wore. It sparkled in the moonlight, the diamond-studded dial reflecting the pale glow. He stared at it, momentarily frozen in thought.
"This watch…" Victor's voice was low, deep, and strangely enigmatic.
Alia observed from her hiding spot. She immediately realized Victor was thinking about the watch, and it reminded him of the deep connection he shared with her.
The watch, which Alia usually wore, was now in Victor's hand.
The silence of the night, the soft breeze, and the glinting diamond together created a strange, thrilling, and romantic tension.
A peculiar light flickered in Victor's eyes, as if saying: "This isn't just a watch… it's yours, Alia."
Alia's heart began racing uncontrollably, almost without her realizing it. In this night, the watch had become a silent message a subtle declaration of Victor's interest, his power, and the invisible pull he felt toward Alia.