Chapter Ten – His Game
Viktor adjusted his cufflinks and stared at the mirror for a second before leaving his office. The reflection looking back at him wasn't a man going to a club. It was a man going to war with a smile.
Everything tonight had been planned.
Isa's dress.
The car.
The seat next to him.
The eyes of the other bosses on her.
She thought this was a dinner. It wasn't. It was a stage. And she was the centre of it.
He'd waited for the right night to bring her. Waited until she'd stopped shaking when he entered a room. Waited until she'd started looking at him and not at the door. Little things. Steps. He wanted her used to his world, used to his face.
Tonight was about one thing, showing everyone that Isa belonged to him.
Ivan met him at the entrance of the club. "Everything ready?"
Viktor gave one short nod. "Da."
Inside, the chandeliers glowed warm. Men in suits already seated. Guards lined the walls like statues. The women sparkled. Isa walked in on Ivan's arm, Lena trailing like a shadow.
She looked exactly as he'd dreamed, black silk, high slit, diamonds on her shoulders. Perfect. His.
Viktor offered his arm. "Come," he said.
She hesitated but took it. Her hand trembled against his sleeve. He liked the tremble. Fear was good. Fear turned into respect. Respect turned into loyalty.
He led her to the main table. Heads turned. Eyes dipped. He didn't have to say a word. Everyone knew what he was doing.
"Mr. Baranov," one man said in English. "And this must be the future Mrs. Baranov?"
Viktor's hand landed on the back of Isa's chair, a small warning. "She's Isa," he said, his tone flat.
The man shut up. Another laughed softly, saying something in Russian about Viktor's taste. Viktor ignored it. He poured himself a drink and began talking business with the others.
Isa shifted beside him. He could feel her eyes on him.
"I'm not a prop," she muttered under her breath.
He leaned closer without looking at her. "Then stop acting like one," he said quietly, and went back to Russian.
She pressed her lips tight. He hid a small smile. She was already fighting him without knowing she was playing his game.
He had just started on the next point of the meeting, shipments, ports, payments — when the first crash came from the front of the club. Glass breaking. A shout.
Viktor's jaw tightened. He rose, already speaking fast Russian to his men. "Закрыть двери! (Close the doors!)"
Gunfire cracked through the room. Not part of the plan. Someone was trying to ruin his night. His eyes went dark. Anyone who got in his way went six feet under.
Guards moved instantly. Chairs scraped. The other bosses ducked low. Women screamed. But Viktor didn't flinch. He barked more orders. "Зачистить зал! (Clear the hall!)"
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ivan move to Isa. Good. He trusted Ivan. He didn't even look as Ivan pulled her under the table.
Another shot. Viktor's men returned fire. He drew his own gun, cold metal in his hand, and started toward the source of the noise.
This wasn't just a hit. This was a message.
Wrong night. Wrong girl. Wrong man.
He fired twice, covering his men as they advanced. He caught a glimpse of Isa's face, pale, wide-eyed, before Ivan dragged her through a side door.
Good. Get her out.
He switched to Russian, voice like ice. "Найти их. Никто не уйдет. (Find them. No one leaves.)"
Bullets tore through glass. The marble floor echoed with boots. Viktor moved like a shadow between tables, calm, controlled, killing anyone who aimed at him.
This was his club. His city. His rules.
When the shooting slowed, Viktor holstered his gun and barked for a cleanup. His guards were already dragging bodies. Someone moaned on the floor. Blood streaked across white marble like paint.
He wiped his hand with a napkin, straightened his jacket, and walked to the back hallway where Ivan had taken Isa.
He found them in a small room, Isa against the wall, shaking, Ivan at her side like a guard dog. Her dress was torn at the hem. Her clutch was gone.
She looked up at Viktor. Her eyes were huge.
He didn't speak at first. He just stared at her, his face unreadable.
"This wasn't part of the plan," Ivan said in Russian. "It was a setup."
Viktor's voice was low. "I know."
He stepped closer to Isa. She flinched but didn't move.
"Now you've seen it," he said. "My world."
"I didn't want..." she started.
He cut her off with a look. "You're in it. You survive it. That's all."
"I don't belong here," she whispered. "I just want to goee home."
His hand came up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. The move was gentle. The grip was not.
"This is home," he said softly. "And there is only what I give you."
Her breath caught.
He glanced at Ivan. "Take her to her bedroom. From now on she stays there. Nobody touches her."
Ivan nodded once. "Da."
Isa stared at Viktor, heart hammering, but she didn't speak. He was already turning away, giving orders to his men, his voice like steel.
The night had been ruined. But his game hadn't. He would rebuild the scene. He would rebuild everything.
And she would still end up his.