*This chapter contains sexual content so if you’re underage or uncomfortable with sexual acts, this is your warning, the book is also rated mature and has a warning in the prologue*
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O N E M O N T H L A T E R
The air in the Bratva’s basement was thick with the metallic scent of blood, lingering in the narrow corridor that led me out of the torture room. The crimson stains on the concrete walls seemed almost alive in the flickering fluorescent light, a silent testament to the screams that had echoed through here not so long ago.
I let the heavy metal door close behind me with a quiet, final click, the sound almost swallowed by the oppressive silence of the building.
As I emerged from the shadows, the cool night air of Moscow greeted me like a slap to the face. Jungkook was leaning against his sleek, black Mercedes, the glow of his cigarette ember casting eerie shadows across his stoic features. He was waiting, as he always did, a silent sentinel in the dimly lit alleyway.
Without a word, I reached into the inner pocket of my tailored suit jacket and pulled out the small, encrypted pen drive. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed it toward him. It spun through the air, the silver glint catching the moonlight, before landing neatly in his outstretched hand. I watched as he studied it, his eyes reflecting the data’s silent promise of power and control.
“Your brother-in-law talked,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. The satisfaction was palpable in the air, a silent acknowledgment that the task had been completed to Jungkook’s exacting standards.
“Is he still breathing?” Jungkook's question was a mere formality. He knew my methods—efficient and precise.
I nodded once. “A few bones are broken, but he’ll survive. Just enough to send the message and keep him from singing to anyone else.”
Turning away, I headed for my own car, the smooth leather seats and polished chrome a stark contrast to the grimy cobblestones beneath my shined shoes. The city was a chessboard, and the Pravda organization was winning the game, piece by bloody piece. But Jungkook’s voice stopped me mid-step, his tone sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. “How long are you going to ignore her?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge, but I didn’t show any sign of being rattled. “Who?” I responded coldly.
“Your daughter, Taehyung,” Jungkook said, his words lingering in the air like a demand for an answer.
I froze for a moment, the anger surging through my veins before I could suppress it. The very notion of accepting that girl into my life was as absurd as expecting a shark to swim in a bathtub. “She’s not my child,” I replied, my voice as cold and unwavering as the steel grip of winter.
Jungkook didn’t miss a beat, his footsteps echoing in the vast space as he approached. His expression remained composed, almost saddened. “Your wife has embraced her, Taehyung,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a man who knew he was speaking a truth that would be difficult to hear. “And she’s given Amelia what she’s always desired—a chance to be a mother.”
