"Get rid of them but spread the word about what happened. A war is coming. We need loyal men. Weakness will not be tolerated."
The other two men dragged Zaitsev away, his heels leaving dark smears across the concrete floor. Vladan stayed behind for a moment, his shoulders tight with unasked questions.
"A war with Solovyov or Gregor?" he asked when we were alone.
"Gregor and I still may come to a peaceful arrangement."
Vladan shot me a look. From anyone else it would have been disrespectful. The corners of his mouth tightened with doubt.
"So for now, Solovyov first. We will not let him divide us. In the meantime, I want eyes on Viktoria. At least two men, at all times. I don't know what other dealings her father had, and who might search for payment."
Vladan nodded, his expression clearing as he understood my intent.
I stood and cracked my neck before holstering my gun. The weight of it against my ribs familiar, comforting. "I'll trust you to handle this."
"Yes, boss."
Usually I would have stayed and helped my men.
Not tonight.
Thoughts of Viktoria still distracted me. The memory of her defiant eyes and wounded dignity lingered in my mind.
I resolved to check on her myself—to see if she had learned her first lesson in obedience, and to teach her what happened to those who defied an Ivanov.
CHAPTER6
VIKTORIA
Icurled up in the back seat of the Range Rover, trying to make myself as small as possible.
My injured shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat, a relentless pulse of agony that was hard to ignore.
The leather seats were cold against my skin, or maybe it was the bone-deep chill that settled into my body hours ago when my father’s men first dragged me to that cabin.
The driver hadn't said a word since we left. Just stone-faced silence as we wound through the dark Virginia woods. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of pain radiating from my shoulder down to my fingertips.
Artem's suit jacket hung heavily on my shoulders.
I hadn't wanted to take it, but he'd insisted.
Again, I must insist.
His voice still echoed in my head, my skin prickling with awareness at the mere thought of that low rumble.
I buried my nose in the collar, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne. The warmth of his body still clung to the fabric, a trace of his presence wrapped around me.
I shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or something else entirely.
The driver muttered something in Russian, his eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," I whispered.
My throat was raw from screaming earlier. From begging my father and brother not to hurt me as they'd tied me up in that chair.
"Kholodno," he repeated, then gestured to the seat. "Cold. You cold?"
I nodded, wrapping my good arm tighter around myself.
