Isabella's POV
The dock was eerily quiet after the chaos. The crates of guns and drugs that were supposed to be loaded onto the boat were now nothing but charred remnants of a botched operation. Smoke curled into the night sky, mixing with the salty sea breeze, but I stood motionless amidst it all. My sharp eyes scanned the destruction, my mind processing every detail of the attack.
"A friend of Viktor?"
Those words echoed in my head as I recalled the handsome stranger who had disrupted the shipment. He didn't fit in—his presence, his tactics. He wasn't like any of the cartel soldiers I'd encountered in Mexico. No, there was something different about him—calculating, cold, like a predator stalking its prey. A foreigner, 'gringo' was what the locals would call him. But the nickname didn't quite capture his intensity, the quiet threat that lingered in his gaze. He was more than just an outsider; he was dangerous.
The sound of approaching footsteps behind me pulled me back to the present. Viktor's men had arrived, their faces tight with concern as they hurried toward me.
"Señorita Volkov," one of the men called, his voice tense. "Are you alright? Viktor would like to speak with you."
I didn't respond right away, my gaze still fixed on the burning wreckage of what should have been a smooth exchange. my mind was elsewhere, miles away from these men and their obligations to Viktor. my body felt weighed down, as though the invisible chains Viktor had placed around my wrists and ankles grew heavier with every breath I took.
But I turned, eyes cold, and nodded curtly. "I'm fine," I lied.
The man handed me the phone, and my fingers tightened around it. The sleek black screen reflected my face—hard, unreadable. But beneath it, I was boiling. Viktor's voice crackled on the other end, his accent thick with the weight of years spent controlling the underworld.
"Isabella," Viktor's voice oozed through the phone, calm yet laced with something dark, "I heard there was trouble."
I closed my eyes for a moment, steadying myself before speaking. "The shipment was ambuId. Guns, drugs—the entire operation was interrupted." I hesitated, not because I feared Viktor, but because I hated having to report back to him. Hated having to acknowledge the grip he held on my life.
"And the attacker?" Viktor's tone sharpened. "Was it one of Pedro's men?"
Isabella exhaled slowly, my mind flashing back to the face of the man who had caused all this. "No," I said, my voice flat. "He wasn't one of Pedro's. He didn't… stick out as a local. A foreigner. 'Goringo', as they say here. He said he's a friend of yours and at the same time he said he's your nightmare and your nemesis. His only message was that your doom was near."
There was a pause on Viktor's end, a dangerous silence. I could almost hear him thinking, strategizing. Then his voice returned, colder, more calculated. "Return to base. Now. We'll discuss this better when you return. Let the men handle the rest of the situation."
I bristled at his commanding tone, feeling my throat tighten in anger. But Viktor wasn't finiId.
"And Isabella," his voice softened, but the words were venomous, "don't do anything stupid. You know I have your daughter. And your brother. It would be… unfortunate if anything were to happen to them because of your recklessness. You wouldn't want me to make that call, would you?"
My grip on the phone tightened as my free hand balled into a fist at my side. Rage surged through my like wildfire, threatening to consume my. But I couldn't show it. Not now. Not when Viktor was watching my every move, controlling my every decision like a puppet master.
"Understood," I managed, my voice calm, though it took every ounce of strength not to scream.
Viktor's chuckle sent chills down my spine. "Good girl. Hand the phone back."
I didn't say anything else, simply lowering the phone and handing it to the man who had brought it to my. I caught his concerned look as I turned to leave, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the car Viktor had sent to retrieve me. The doors clicked open with a soft thud, and I slipped inside, the black leather seats cold against my skin. The driver nodded at me through the rearview mirror as he started the engine, but I barely registered him. My mind was somewhere else—lost in the dark corners of my past.
The car moved slowly through the dimly lit streets, but Isabella barely noticed. My thoughts were a tangled mess, memories I had buried long ago clawing their way back to the surface.
Russia. A world away from the sweltering heat of Mexico. The cold, grey streets of my hometown seemed like another lifetime now. But the darkness that had engulfed my tmye followed my everywmye.
When my parents moved to Mexico I had the hopes that things over here were going to get better than it was back home in Russia, but it only got worse.
My parents—my mother, strung out on drugs and alcohol, always at some casino trying to gamble away what little money we had. And my father… a cruel, abusive man, his vices worse than my mother's. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted, and consent was never something he cared for.
I blinked, my eyes stinging as the memories flooded back. The night he came for me—the night I became his prey, I was only nine years old. I had fought, screamed for my mother, but my cries had fallen on deaf ears. My mother had passed out on the couch, a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand, and the only response I gave was a slurred, indifferent, "Stop being dramatic, Bella."
My father hadn't stopped.
It had continued for years, it continued for so long with my mother turning a blind eye to her daughter's pleas of help out of an abusive father, all of my pleas went unanswered as my torment only intensified.
I felt a tear slip down my cheek, hot and burning, but I wiped it away quickly. I hadn't allowed myself to cry in years, not since I had escaped that hellish existence. But now, as the car sped through the night, the weight of everything crashed down on me.
"Señorita, are you alright?" The driver's voice cut through my thoughts, pulling my back to the present. His concerned eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and it was only then that I realized I had been crying.
I quickly blinked away the remaining tears, forcing myself to sit up straighter. My face hardened once more, the mask slipping back into place. "I'm fine," I replied, my voice clipped. "Something… just got in my eyes."
The driver hesitated but didn't press the issue. He nodded and returned his focus on the road.
I leaned back in my seat, my gaze drifting to the passing scenery. I couldn't afford to be weak. Not now. Not ever. Viktor had taken everything from me—my freedom, my family, my life. He held my daughter and my younger brother as hostages, using them to control me, to make sure I followed his every command.
But one day, I would get them back. One day, I would make him pay.
The car eventually pulled up to the gates of Viktor's mansion, the towering iron bars parting as the security team recognized the vehicle. The lights of the mansion loomed ahead, a grotesque beacon of Viktor's power.
The guard at the gate stepped forward, their eyes lowering in respect as they bowed slightly. "Welcome back, Señorita Volkov," one of them said as they opened the door for me.
I stepped out of the car, my expression cold, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside me. I walked toward the mansion, my posture rigid, my mind already formulating my next move. Viktor could control me for now, but I wouldn't be his puppet forever. I would find a way out.
And when I did, I would burn his empire to the ground.