Victor remained still on her chest, seemingly defeated by the very intimacy he had demanded. Seizing this moment of apparent vulnerability, Alia leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she dropped the bombshell.
Chapter: The Devil's Chessboard
"Viktor... there is something you should know," she whispered, her voice devoid of its earlier passion. "The pregnancy... it was a lie. A perfect, calculated fabrication to weaken your resolve. There is no child."
She expected an explosion. She expected him to recoil in rage, to wrap his hands around her throat, or to storm out of the room. But Victor didn't flinch.
Instead, he slowly lifted his head from her breast. His icy eyes met hers, and rather than the fire of anger, she saw a dark, shimmering amusement. A slow, devilish smirk spread across his face the kind of look a predator gives when the prey thinks it has found a way out of the trap.
He let out a low, dry chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I know, Alia," he said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "I've known since the second day. My doctors don't make mistakes, and neither do my spies."
He reached out, tracing the red mark the belt had left on her wrist with a mocking gentleness.
"I wasn't angry because I was curious. I wanted to see how far you would go to maintain the illusion. I wanted to see if you would sacrifice your body and your pride for a lie."
His smirk widened, turning into something more sinister as he leaned back over her, pinning her with his gaze.
"But here is the real question, my little spy... That scream? That look in your eyes when I unbound you? Was that part of the script, too? Or did you accidentally find the truth while you were busy telling me a lie?"
Alia felt the air leave her lungs. She had tried to play the devil, only to realize she was lying in bed with the King of Hell himself.Alia's defiance and her pride as an elite operative shattered in an instant. Looking into Viktor's cold, calculated eyes and that devilish smirk, she realized she had fallen into a bottomless abyss. The thought of signing the death warrant for Mikhail the man who had come to rescue her was more than she could bear.Stumbling, Alia climbed down from the bed. She collapsed directly onto the floor at Viktor's feet. Clad in her torn red silk nightie and surrounded by scattered Russian Rubles, she grabbed his legs with both hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Viktor, I beg of you! I am at your feet... please, don't do this!"
Her face, drenched in tears, rested against his boots. Shaking violently, she pleaded:
"Kill me instead. Break me piece by piece, but let Mikhail live. I know I've sinned, I know I lied but that man was only doing his duty. I am begging for your forgiveness, Viktor. I surrender. I will be your slave, I will stay imprisoned within these four walls forever, but please... do not stain my hands with his blood."
Viktor didn't move. He stood there like a stone statue. There was no mercy in his downward gaze; instead, there was a twisted sense of satisfaction. He watched as the woman who, only hours ago, had challenged him with fire in her eyes, now clung to his shoes, begging for a life.
Viktor leaned down, gripped her hair tightly, and forced her face upward to meet his. He spoke in a voice that was terrifyingly calm:
"Finally, you don't look like a CIA agent anymore, Alia. Now, you look like an ordinary woman one who is willing to surrender everything to save someone she cares about. But remember... I am Mafia. I am not kind. Mikhail's life is now on the tip of your pen. If you sign, he dies. If you don't, I will make you do something far more horrific than death."Viktor's mood shifted from icy cold to a blazing inferno in an instant. As Alia clung to his legs, sobbing for Mikhail's life, Viktor felt a surge of pure, unadulterated disgust. He violently jerked his leg away, causing Alia to sprawl forward onto the cold floor.Alia didn't give up. She reached out again, her fingers scraping against the scattered Rubles, her voice trembling with desperation.
"Don't pull away, Viktor! Please... don't kill him. Mikhail is just my friend... he's been my only support for years!"
The word "friend" acted like a spark in a powder keg. Viktor let out a guttural roar, like a wounded predator. He lunged forward, grabbing Alia by the collar of her torn nightie and hauling her up until her face was inches from his. His eyes were bloodshot, shimmering with a mixture of rage and agonizing betrayal.
"Friend?" he spat, his voice trembling with fury. "If he is your 'friend,' then what was I, Alia? What was I to you all this time?"
He let out a sharp, hollow laugh that sounded more like a sob.
"I was everything to you long before he ever existed in your world! I loved you. I trusted you with the keys to my kingdom. I wanted to make you the queen of this dark empire. I was yours long before you became a spy! And now... you are at my feet, weeping for a 'friend' while you trampled over the heart I gave you?"
He threw her back onto the pile of money, his chest heaving. The realization hit him like a physical blow: to her, he was just a target to be managed, while her true loyalty her true heart belonged to someone else.Viktor's face, which had been a mask of murderous rage, suddenly turned stone-cold and eerily calm. The fire in his eyes died down, replaced by a deep, inscrutable darkness. He stared at Alia's shattered form for a long moment before letting out a slow, deliberate breath. He reached down and pulled her up from the floor with a grip that was firm yet strangely no longer violent.Viktor lowered his voice to a hauntingly smooth whisper:
"Fine, Alia... I will let him go. Mikhail lives to see another sunrise. But in exchange, tonight belongs entirely to my terms."
Alia looked into his eyes, stunned by this sudden pivot. The whiplash of his temperament was terrifying. Viktor reached out and wiped a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
"Today, I am taking you away from this blood-stained manor. We are going to the most expensive hotel in Russia—to the grandest VIP suite where the screams of the world cannot reach us. Tonight, you will not be a CIA agent. You will not be a traitor. You will be the most precious, priceless possession I have ever owned."
Viktor pressed a button on his intercom and coldly ordered Nikola to release Mikhail. Then, he turned back to Alia, a faint, ghost of that devilish smirk returning to his lips.
"Get ready, Alia. Tonight, you will experience the true meaning of Russian luxury and the sheer weight of my obsession. In that hotel room, we will find the final resolution for this toxic bond of ours."As Victor uttered the names of the most prestigious hotels in Russia, a glint of aristocratic cruelty sparked in his eyes. He stepped closer to Alia, his voice dropping to a low, velvety whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence wrapped in velvet.Tell me, Alia... which cage do you prefer for your final act of submission?" he asked, his breath cold against her ear.
"The Four Seasons Hotel Moscow, where the blood-red walls of the Kremlin will watch us from the window? Or the Ararat Park Hyatt, where luxury and isolation go hand in hand? Or perhaps... the Barvikha Hotel & Spa, far from the city's noise, where the forest is deep enough to swallow your screams whole?"
He gently tilted her chin up, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with terrifying possessiveness.
"Wherever we go, tonight will be the longest night of your life. Mikhail is free now; he is likely scrambling to cross the border, thinking he saved you. But you? You are now the most expensive captive in the most expensive room in Russia. Get ready. The final act of our twisted game is about to begin."
Alia remained speechless, her heart hammering against her ribs. She realized that Victor wasn't taking her to these places for a romantic getaway; he was turning the height of Russian opulence into a stage for his absolute dominance.As the supreme Lord of the Russian Mafia, a single phone call from Viktor was enough to make the very foundations of Russia tremble. Standing in the middle of the room, he pulled out his custom gold-plated phone. With one hand still gripping Alia's chin forcing her to witness his absolute authority he began to dial the syndicate heads of Russia's two greatest power seats.First, he contacted the Moscow underworld. His voice was a low, vibrating blade of steel:
"Clear the veins of the city. From Red Square to the Ararat Park Hyatt, I want every VIP route locked down. If a single CIA shadow or Interpol rat is spotted within three blocks of my convoy, I want their bodies at the bottom of the Moskva River before sunrise. Moscow belongs to me tonight."
Then, without hanging up, he bridged a call to the port authorities and syndicate leaders in Saint Petersburg:
"The rat named Mikhail is heading your way. Let him pass. Let him reach the border. I gave him his life, but I want him to feel my shadow every step of the way. Let him live with the knowledge that he is breathing only because I allowed it. But if he looks back... crush him."
He tossed the phone onto the bed, where it landed silently on the pile of Rubles. He turned his full attention back to Alia. The "Mafia Lord" had fully emerged cold, untouchable, and omnipotent.
"Do you see, Alia? With two calls, I have paralyzed the two greatest cities in this country. Do you still believe your little agency can reach you here? Tonight, Moscow is our private kingdom, and you are the captive queen of my empire."