I've already had enough goddamn problems. Now this? I should've killed her the moment I knew she existed. No, before I even learned her fucking name. But I couldn't. Something in me held back, and I hate it. I hate myself for it.

The fear that radiates off her... it's intoxicating. Pure adrenaline in the air. Just my presence is enough to unnerve her, to make her falter. I see it—the way she stiffens, the way her breath catches like she's being suffocated by shadows. Terrified. She feels me even when she can't see me. That night, I realized she could sense my presence in a way no one else ever has. I've perfected the art of vanishing into the dark, of becoming a ghost in the room until I decide to make myself known. But her? She knew. She sensed.

She's something else entirely. Something that makes my blood hum. I want her in my grasp, to crush her fear and taste the terror in her eyes. I couldn't help but think about the earlier events.

My father used to take me hunting, teaching me how to stalk prey, how to breathe silent death into the forest. He wanted perfection—no mistakes, no missed shots, no hesitation. I learned fast, faster than he expected, and soon even he couldn't anticipate my next move. That pride I felt then? Fucking euphoric. It made me untouchable. Fearless. Since then, I've craved that high, chasing it in every shadow, every kill, every conquest.

Now, there's her. She's my next hunt, my next fix. Her fear pulls me like gravity, intoxicating and all-consuming.

But my thoughts don't get to linger. Void has been a goddamn thorn in my side lately. Maksim's childish, predictable little games are grating on my patience. The bastard has the audacity to ask for a face-to-face meeting to talk about "conflicts." Conflicts? The only conflict I have is deciding whether to break his neck or gut him first.

Still, I let them pick the location—some mid-tier restaurant. They're trying to be discreet, I suppose. I've already had my men sweep the place. No bugs, no traps, no threats. Maksim seems to really want to talk.

I arrive earlier than the agreed time because fuck waiting for him. A medium-rare steak and red wine? Not bad. I'll admit, the food here is good enough that I might actually come back.

The door creaks open, and I glance up, expecting Maksim. Instead, my little brother walks in. Zinoviy. One of the twins.

What the hell is he doing here? Did someone tip him off about the meeting? I know he despises Maksim. Given the chance, Zinoviy would put a bullet between his eyes without a second thought. But Zin's not looking for me. He's not even glancing around like he's scouting for Maksim.

His gaze softens, and I follow it—to her.

Her.

It's Her.

She's also another reason I came here early. She still owes me something. An apology. And I really, really want to talk to her. To tell her, "Get the hell out of my brother's life." But what's happening here? Unexpected. Mikhail already sent me the details about her.

Orphan. Middle-class, boring life. Lives with her uncle and aunt. Has a younger brother. So, that's him— Blake. And her name, Viv stands for Vivian. As I suspected. Vivian Harper. American. Doing her master's at the same university as my brothers and sister. I knew everything about her. Every irrelevant detail Mikhail could dig up.

But what I didn't know was what's unfolding right in front of me. My brother—keeping this a hell of a secret? No wonder even Mikhail couldn't sniff this out.

She slapped him. Just like that. The prince of the Kalashnikov family. And the bastard, He smiled. A real, genuine, teeth-showing smile. What the actual fuck? I sat there, dumbfounded. Then he had the audacity to slide his hand around her waist and pull her closer like she was his. Like she belonged there. The casual intimacy between them—it wasn't something new. It reeked of familiarity. So that's why he got angry at Zoran. 

They knew each other.

My blood surged hot and fast. I don't know why. The intrigue? The audacity? Or just the plain absurdity of what I was seeing. Whatever it was, it hooked me. She led him toward the alley behind the restaurant, and my appetite for steak evaporated. I found something far more appetizing. I followed them.

The moment they were alone, my darling brother wasted no time. He yanked her close, crushing his lips against hers. She didn't resist. She complied.

So this is their relationship.

Her body stiffened suddenly, her fingers clutching his shirt in a desperate search for comfort. She wasn't just uneasy—she was scared. No, she was terrified. That fear...it was something else. Something pure and unfiltered. It wasn't the kind that people mask with bravado or deny with trembling excuses. It was visceral, raw, and utterly consuming. That kind of fear doesn't just show—it radiates. And it drew me in, like a shark scenting blood in the water. It gripped me, pulled me toward her, and wrapped itself around my very being.

She sensed it. The shift in the air. The oppressive weight of being watched. She felt it before she could even begin to understand it. Her fear sharpened, eyes darting, searching for a threat she couldn't see. She couldn't spot me—no one ever could unless I allowed it—but she knew. Instinct whispered to her that something was there, just out of reach, waiting.

That's when she had me.

She didn't know who was playing the game yet. But I did. And I was going to enjoy every moment of it.

I want her. I need her. In my grasp. In my fucking grip. Under my thumb. Until I break her. Completely. Piece by fragile piece. Until there's nothing left but the ruins I create. The thought alone sends a thrill through me.

This is going to be fun.

Of course, there's Zin. He'll throw a goddamn tantrum when he finds out. He'll rage, he'll curse, maybe even swing at me. But honestly? Worth it.

Zin had his fill on her—his lips devouring hers, his hands mapping out every inch of her body like it was his birth right. And she let him. She fucking let him. Her body melted into his, pliant and submissive under his touch. But what really got me was The coaxing caresses. She clung to him, desperate and trusting, like he was the only anchor in her chaotic little world.

Who the hell even is this version of my brother?

The Zinoviy I know is reckless. Unpredictable. A selfish, unhinged bastard who never softens for anyone. And yet here he is, playing the gentle fucking knight for this girl. My curiosity might have been piqued—might—if I wasn't so damn focused on her.

Let him have his moment.

But Vivian Harper?

She's mine.

And I'll take care of her in ways Zin could never imagine.

Zinoviy finally let her go, but not without reluctance that even a blind man could see. His fingers lingered at her waist, his lips twitching into a smirk that reeked of satisfaction.

"See ya." he murmured, his voice low, barely audible over the distant clatter of restaurant activity.

Vivian nodded, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. It wasn't submission—it was distance. Detachment. She was putting up her walls, but Zinoviy didn't push.

Instead, he pulled back with a casual shrug, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. He glanced at her one last time before muttering, "Take care, sweetie," and walking off.

I returned to the front of the restaurant, slipping back into my earlier seat. Maksim arrived moments later, strutting in like he owned the place. His suit was sharp, his hair slicked back in that way he thought made him look powerful. To me, he looked like a child playing dress-up in his father's closet.

He slid into the seat across from me, tossing a grin like he thought it could disarm me. Amusing.

"Zakhar," he greeted, his voice carefully neutral, but the edge of unease betrayed him.

"Maksim," I replied, my tone flat, unimpressed. "You're late."

"I wasn't aware this was a clock-in sort of meeting," he retorted, sliding into the chair across from me. His smirk was weak, but I let it slide. For now.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my gaze locking with his. "You wanted this meeting. You needed it. Don't act like you're doing me a favor."

His smirk faltered, but he quickly covered it up. "I wanted to discuss the... tensions between our organizations. We've been stepping on each other's toes, and it's time we set boundaries."

"Tensions?" I chuckled, low and sharp. "That's an interesting word for sabotage, Maksim. You don't set boundaries by blowing up my shipments or taking cheap shots at my men."

His jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. "I didn't come here to trade accusations, Zakhar. I came to propose a solution."

I swirled the wine in my glass, the silence between us thickening. Then I set it down deliberately. "A solution? Let me guess—you're going to suggest some bullshit truce where you get to keep everything you've stolen, and I agree to play nice."

"You're paranoid," Maksim shot back, though his voice wavered. "I'm offering to divide the territory cleanly. No more stepping on each other's business. A win-win."

I leaned back, my smile icy. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe you won't crawl right back across the line the second it suits you?"

Maksim's façade cracked just slightly, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "And what's your alternative, Zakhar? Kill me? You think Void will crumble just because I'm gone? We're bigger than one man."

I leaned forward again, lowering my voice. "Killing you isn't my first option, Maksim. But it's on the table. Along with burning your little empire to the ground, piece by piece, while you watch."

His expression hardened. He knew I wasn't bluffing.

"You think you're untouchable," he said, his voice quieter now, laced with forced bravado. "But one day, someone's going to remind you. you're not."

"Then let them try. But if they come for me, they better be ready to lose everything."

The venom in Maksim's expression flashed briefly before he masked it with a tight-lipped smile. "You're going to regret underestimating me."

I tilted my head, "The only thing I regret is I'm gonna let you walk out of here alive."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded reluctantly. "Fine. I'll play ball. Just don't forget—you're not untouchable, Zakhar. Even kings fall."

I leaned in, my eyes narrowing into slits. "Let me make one thing clear, Maksim. You're not even on the board, much less a player. You're a pawn, and pawns don't threaten kings. They get sacrificed."

The silence between us was electric, a taut wire ready to snap. Finally, Maksim pushed his chair back, standing with a forced smile. "I'll be in touch."

"You'll wait for my call," I corrected, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Maksim stiffened but didn't dare respond. He stood, brushing off his suit jacket with exaggerated precision, then left without another word. The door to the restaurant creaked shut behind him. Maksim left, his arrogance still clinging to the air like a foul stench. I didn't bother watching him go; my focus was elsewhere.

Vivian Harper.

I stayed seated, swirling the last remnants of red wine in my glass. My eyes flicked toward the alley where she and Zinoviy had disappeared earlier. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I thought about the scene I'd witnessed. My dear brother was utterly ensnared by her. I wasn't blind not to see that obvious.

When Vivian finally emerged from the alley, her face was flushed, her lips slightly swollen from Zinoviy's attention.

She got back to work, moving through the tables with quiet efficiency, serving customers as if nothing else mattered. I leaned back in my chair, silently watching her. She really was something—a beauty that crept up on her, not flashy, but striking in a way that was hard to pin down. There was a strange charm in how she carried herself, a mix of innocence and defiance.

Some of the male customers tried their luck, throwing her smirks and smooth lines that probably worked on every other waitress here. But not her. She deflected their advances with practiced, waitress-polite refusals, a tight smile on her lips that barely masked her irritation. When they persisted, she cleverly pawned them off onto other waitresses, making it clear she wasn't here for their entertainment. Smart girl. Adorable, even.

I watched her for a while, paid the bill, and left the place. I had this itch to talk to her—until I saw my brother practically devouring her mouth. Now? Now I'm even more invested in her.

I have a bad habit of ditching my guards and wandering the city alone. It's not like I need their protection. My feet always seem to decide where I'm going before I do, and tonight was no different. They took me to some dingy alley where I lit a cigarette, leaned back against the cold brick, and let the smoke curl around me. There's something cathartic about cigarettes. It's not the nicotine—it's the ashes. Watching something burn down to nothing. A reminder that destruction can be beautiful.

The Void has been getting on my nerves lately. Normally, I don't let much bother me—unless someone dares to touch my warehouse or my shipments. Void touched my shipment. No, correction: Maksim, that fucking bastard, burned down 260 crores worth of product. Drugs. Gone. The money? Irrelevant. My great-grandkids won't need to lift a finger in their lives, let alone work. But my shipments? My business? That's personal. So, I retaliated. Burned down their headquarters. A clean tit for tat.

As I stood there, savoring the last drag of my cigarette, I heard footsteps echoing down the alley. The smoke was gone, just ashes now. I stepped further into the shadows, waiting. And then I saw her.

I almost laughed. The little malyshka. Can't seem to stay away from me, can she? She passed right by, oblivious to my presence in the dark. But I saw her earlier at the restaurant. The way her long black hair cascaded down her back. Those emerald-green eyes that could stop a man's heart. She's mesmerizing, sure. But not my type. Too tiny—barely reaches my chest. I like tall women. Still, that doesn't mean I wouldn't fuck her if the opportunity presented itself. I don't say no to women.

But she's not just a body to me. It's her fear that gets me. The way she tenses up when she feels me watching. That intoxicating cocktail of vulnerability and defiance.

I couldn't help but spook her a little, so I sent her a text. Mikhail had handed me her number, along with the rest of her life wrapped up in a neat little file.

"I can't help but watch you, Malyshka."

Her phone chimed, and I watched as she froze, her fingers fumbling to check the screen. She didn't open the text—just glanced at the notification, but that was enough. Her expression shifted, tension snapping through her body like a live wire. Her eyes darted around, desperate to find me, but of course, she couldn't.

Baby girl still feels me. The thought twisted something in me, dark and satisfied.

She was smart, though. She didn't give the mystery sender the satisfaction of seeing her read the message. But her body betrayed her—stiff and wired, her steps quickening like a prey animal sensing the predator's breath on its neck.

I stayed hidden, leaning back in the shadows, smirking as I let her go. I could've followed her. Could've hunted her down just to see that fear bloom a little brighter in those emerald eyes. But tonight? Not in the mood to play full-on creep. Just a little.

I watched her figure disappear into the distance, her pace almost frantic. The corners of my mouth tugged into a grin as I flicked the spent cigarette away, got in my car, and headed home.

A few days slipped by, and I found myself watching Zinoviy more closely. He was always with Zoran—like they were glued together—but every now and then, he'd sneak off. Alone. I wasn't surprised when I realized why. To see her, of course. I texted her occasionally. Just too spook her and see her tremble.

Then, my business partner decided it was time for a meeting. At a club. Of all places. Clubs aren't my thing. The pounding bass, the suffocating press of bodies, the drunken laughter—it's all noise to me. But business is business, and sometimes even I have to play along.

This wasn't just any club, though. On the surface, it was your typical den of chaos—flashing lights, thumping beats, and idiots stumbling around with too many drinks in hand. But beneath the façade? A different world entirely.

The meeting was held underground, past the blaring music and the haze of alcohol. I knew this place. I'd been here before, and I hated it every damn time. The forced charm, the fake smiles—it's a stage where everyone's acting, and I don't do well with pretense. Extroversion isn't my strength.

When I arrived, the air changed. The underground chamber was packed with a mix of filth disguised as power. Corrupt businessmen and celebrities, smug in their vices. A handful of mafia leaders—small fries clinging to scraps of relevance. Their eyes darted to me as I entered, some nodding, others offering polite smiles. It was all for show, of course. The weight of my name carried into the room before I did.

Their gestures of courtesy didn't interest me, but I gave them the bare minimum—a slight nod—and nothing more. After a few minutes I settled on a table, the door opened.

There he was. My business partner. The one who trusted me with more than just his operations—who trusted me with his life. My best friend. Rolf Schwarz. A German.

He was a sharp businessman, and his reputation in the arms industry wasn't just good—it was damn near legendary. He designed and sold weapons to the German government and other legitimate dealers. But in the underworld, where I thrived openly as a Bratva leader,, he was just as corrupted as I am. We both lived in the same dirty world—drugs and weapons.

And now the Void had burned the drug shipment meant for Rolf. That shit didn't sit well with me. I should've killed Maksim for this. No question. But I let it slide—for now. Not without consequences, though.

So, when I walked into this meeting, I already knew exactly what kind of game was about to unfold—and where it was headed.

"You're late. What kept you so long?" A genuine smile spread across my lips.

"Ach, scheiße. The traffic was a fucking nightmare, and you know how much I hate driving through this mess. But here I am," he muttered, his voice thick with irritation, letting out a heavy sigh like the world owed him something.

"Here I thought you'd lost your sense of time," I said, my voice dripping with amusement, the weight of the words hanging in the air between us.

"Du bist ein Arschloch, weißt du das? Aber ich bin hier, also reicht's." He chuckled, though it was more of a growl. His words slipped out in German, his native tongue leaking from him without any filter, like a habit he couldn't control.

I took a slow sip from my drink, playing it cool, but I wasn't blind. The irritation was there, hidden behind his attempt to hide it. And I could see it in his eyes—his calm was a mask, and the pressure was building just under the surface.

He took a seat across from me, his gaze never leaving mine. He didn't even wait for the damn drink before launching into it.

"You should've killed Maksim. How dare he touch my fucking shipment?" His irritation and anger were almost suffocating, palpable in the air between us. I could feel the heat of it.

"I dealt with him, Rolf," I tried to calm him down, my voice smooth but firm.

"Like fuck you did. burned down his fucking headquarters isn't the solution, Zakhar." His words came out sharp, laced with disbelief and fury.

"Rolf, patience. I cou—"

"Fuck you, Zak. Patience my ass. That bastard touched my shipment. That motherfucking piece of shit. You should've burnt him alive instead." His voice cracked with rage, and I could see his knuckles whiten as he clenched his fists.

For a second, I felt the urge to put a bullet in Rolf's skull instead of Maksim's. This bastard never had any patience—always jumping to the worst-case scenario without thinking.

He took a drink and started ranting like a damn kid. I was used to it by now. Rolf was a fucking hurricane—terrific yet twistedly funny. That humor? It was only for me. He'd shoot a guy and then talk to the corpse like it was some regular conversation.

The door opened again, and without thinking, my eyes shot over.

Someone else walked past the door. But before the automatic door could close, I caught a glimpse of her— My Malyshka. She didn't step in, but just crossed the threshold. No fucking doubt about it, that was her.

But what the fuck was she doing here?