As Victor entered the secret underground FSB headquarters beneath the Kremlin, the atmosphere instantly shifted. The rhythmic click of his boots echoed against the polished floor. Every FSB (Federal Security Service) officer in the corridor men who were feared by the entire nation immediately snapped to attention.
They stood straight, saluting him with a mixture of awe and terror. This wasn't just formal protocol; it was absolute respect. They knew that Victor Petrov was the man without a file, the ghost agent who operated where the law ended and true power began.
Two high-ranking officers flanked him as he strode toward the main briefing room, speaking in hushed, urgent tones:
"Sir, Yanukovych is waiting for you inside. We've tried to contain the breach, but this situation requires your 'special touch' to be fully neutralized."
Victor didn't break his stride. His face remained an impenetrable mask of ice the same cold expression that had terrified Alia just hours before. He pushed open the heavy oak doors to find Yanukovych, one of the most powerful figures in the state, standing by the window. Upon seeing Victor, a rare look of relief crossed Yanukovych's face.
Yanukovych stepped forward and placed a hand on Victor's shoulder a gesture of respect granted to almost no one. He spoke gravely:
"Victor, thank god you're here. The Lord of the Dark World and the Kremlin's sharpest blade... solving this leak would be impossible without you."
A pin-drop silence fell over the room. The veteran generals of the FSB watched Victor as if he were a supernatural force. Victor looked down at a red file placed on the map table and said in a voice as sharp as a razor:
"The job will be done. But remember, Yanukovych when I am in the field, I follow my own laws. Make sure no 'protocols' get in my way."
Yanukovych nodded slowly. He understood that it was Victor's nature as a Morally Grey Alpha that made him invincible. He was simultaneously the shield of the state and the king of the shadows.
Key Takeaways of this Chapter:
Unrivaled Authority: The FSB views Victor not as a subordinate, but as a legendary figure who can accomplish the impossible.
The Dual Identity: While he was a dominant captor to Alia at 3 AM, by 9 AM, he is the strategic mastermind holding the fate of the country in his hands.
The New Threat: A leaked file has put the nation at risk, and Victor is the only one "dark" enough to handle the fallout.Yanukovych leaned toward Victor, placing his hand on the file. His eyes were clouded with deep concern. He warned in a low, cautious voice:
"Victor, this mission isn't as simple as you might think. There are many toxic baits in this web. But be very careful about one thing there are countless 'Honeytraps' set for you. Both men and women, they will take any form to seduce and trap you. One small slip from you could destroy our entire covert operation."
A cold, dismissive smirk played on Victor's lips. Adjusting his gloves, he replied in a freezing tone:
"Honeytraps? Yanukovych, have you forgotten who I am? A man who cannot control his own impulses cannot rule this world. No beautiful woman, no tempting man none have the power to sway me. To me, 'honey' is just another word for poison."
Yanukovych chuckled, but a lingering question remained in his eyes. He knew Victor was stone-hearted, but he had also heard rumors about a woman named Alia being kept under heavy guard at Victor's mansion. He added softly:
"I know you are invincible. But remember, we are strongest when we have no weaknesses. Do you have a weakness now, Victor?"
Victor's pupils constricted. For a split second, Alia's helpless face flashed in his mind the way she looked wrapped in sheets, sleeping deeply in his bed. But he showed no emotion. Picking up the file and heading for the door, he said:
"I have no weaknesses. I am the weakness of others. I'm going."
As Victor left the FSB headquarters and stepped into his black limousine, Yanukovych's warning echoed in his head. He knew he had to enter a dark world where temptation and death waited at every corner. But a strange resolve settled in him to protect the cage he had built for Alia, he was ready to crush any honeytrap that crossed his path.It was nearly 10:00 PM. Victor's limousine pulled up outside "The Velvet Sin," St. Petersburg's most expensive and mysterious underground club. This club was strictly for the elite and high-profile criminals. Victor entered not as an FSB agent, but as his notorious 'Mafia Lord' persona.
Inside, the club was a blur of crimson lights, expensive champagne, and thick smoke. Victor took a seat in a corner of the VIP lounge. He wore a black silk shirt, top buttons undone, with that same predatory gaze in his eyes.
Suddenly, Yanukovych's warning about the 'Honeytrap' began to materialize.
A stunningly attractive girl and a strikingly handsome boy emerged from the crowd, heading toward Victor's table. The girl wore a skin-tight silver gown, while the boy possessed a perfectly sculpted physique. Their eyes were filled with an inviting temptation.
The girl poured champagne into Victor's glass, whispering:
"I heard the most powerful man in the city was here tonight. Could someone like us ease your loneliness?"
The boy leaned in close, brushing against Victor's wrist as if attempting to plant a small chip. He hissed softly:
"We know what you're looking for. But in exchange for that file, we want something else from you."
Victor didn't flinch for a second. He knew these weren't ordinary people; they were trained honeytraps who used seduction to extract secrets. He picked up the glass but didn't take a sip.
Suddenly, Alia's face flashed in his mind. When Alia cries, her tears are real. But the temptation in these people's eyes was as fake as plastic.
Victor suddenly gripped the boy's wrist so hard the bone made a sickening crunching sound. In a lethal tone, he said:
"Your cheap games don't work on me. Yanukovych might fear toxic pests like you, but I dine with dinosaurs. Now, tell me where the leaked file is, or do I ruin these pretty faces of yours tonight?"
The lounge went cold instantly. The honeytraps realized they had targeted the wrong man. Victor Petrov wasn't a victim; he was a living devil.Victor's iron grip was crushing the boy's wrist. Despite the searing pain turning his face pale, the boy refused to drop his 'honeytrap' persona. He looked at Victor with an alluring, hazy gaze and said in a soft, pained voice:
"Ugh! Let go... why are you being so rough? Are you always this harsh? We just wanted to spend some time with you. If you act like this, would anyone ever want to stay by your side?"
The boy began to trace his other hand along Victor's muscular forearm, trying to seduce him even through the pain. The girl added with a playful smirk:
"Lord Petrov, must every war in the world be won by force? Sometimes, you have to learn to surrender. Is there truly no room for love in that rugged heart of yours?"
Victor gave a bitter laugh. He released the boy's wrist with a jerk and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close to his face. Victor's eyes burned like fire. He spoke in a freezing tone:
"Love? That's for the weak. And my behavior? The woman crying in my bed right now asks me the same thing. But those words don't suit the mouths of hired puppets like you."
Victor slammed the champagne glass onto the floor, shattering it. Shards of glass flew up, grazing the boy's cheek. Victor roared:
"Stop the act! I know who's pulling your strings. If I don't get the password for that leaked file right now, the floor of this club will run red with your blood tonight. I have very little time, and even less patience."
The honeytraps finally realized that the beast within Victor could not be tamed by beauty or sweetness. Victor Petrov only knew one thing dominance.Seeing Victor's terrifying wrath, both honeytraps realized their lives were hanging by a thread. The boy, wiping the blood from his cheek, stammered:
"Stop, Lord Petrov! We'll tell you... don't kill us. The file isn't here. It's kept in a high-security vault in the basement of this club. The password is 'Black Rose 1991'."
Victor shoved him back onto the sofa. He knew they were just pawns. But at that exact moment, an eerie silence fell over the club. The music stopped, and the red lights turned into a cold, clinical blue.
Suddenly, a heavy voice boomed over the speakers:
"Well played, Victor. But did you really think you'd walk out of my lair with the file that easily?"
About 10-12 armed bouncers and professional hitmen emerged from a hidden door behind the bar, all carrying silenced pistols. From among them stepped a mysterious woman, her face half-hidden by a mask.
Victor calmly pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He had expected this. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he said:
"Take off the mask. I know who you are. You're the one behind Yanukovych's leaked file."
The woman laughed, a sharp, piercing sound. She said:
"You're right. But tonight, you won't leave with the file—only your death. And your precious Alia? She's already on our radar. While you're fighting here, my men might have already breached your mansion gates."
At the mention of Alia, Victor's jaw tightened. His eyes flared with a lethal intensity. In one swift motion, he drew two pistols from inside his jacket.
Victor hissed through gritted teeth:
"If you dare touch my empire, remember I am not just a mafia lord; I am the king of hell. Tonight will be your last!