Page 76 of Never Distract a Biker

After a few seconds, her voice shatters the stillness, a whisper laden with guilt. "It's my fault, Viktor. If I hadn't insisted on shopping ..."

I turn to her sharply, the frustration in me wanting to rage at the world, but not at her. Never at her. "No, Yelena. I will not let you bear this cross."

She looks away, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. This isn't her burden. It's mine – all mine.

"Listen to me," I command gently, stepping closer. " I should have given her better protection, and I swear on my life, I'll bring her home. I will bring them home."

Yelena's shoulders slump, the fight seeping out of her. She's crumbling under the weight of self-blame and exhaustion.

"Malen'kiy," I murmur, stroking her hair back from her face, my fingers lingering on the soft strands. "You need rest."

"Viktor, I can't—"

"Trust me," I interrupt, my tone leaving no room for argument. Authority comes easy; it's etched into my very bones.

"Go," I say firmly. "Sleep now. When you wake, we'll be closer to bringing her back."

She nods, acquiescing in the way only family can compel her to. As she turns to leave, I know deep down, despite all her bravado, Yelena is one sweet kid.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence roars in my ears. I can't afford to waste any more time. My jaw sets as I reach for the phone, each digit I press a declaration of war against those who dare take what is mine. The line rings once, twice, and then Thiago's gruff voice answers.

"Thiago," I say, my voice like ice shards. "I'm on my way."

"Viktor?" Surprise laces his tone, but I cut through any pleasantries.

"I need to see you," I tell him clipped. There's no room for discussion.

The scent of old leather and cigar smoke assaults me as I enter Thiago's office. It's dimly lit, every shadow holding whispered threats. Thiago sits behind his mahogany desk, his expression unreadable. His eyes flick to me, cold and calculating.

"Viktor," he begins, a slow smile not reaching his eyes. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"You know why I'm here. You have ears stuck on every wall of this city."

"Ah, yes, the little matter of your missing sweetheart." He leans back, and I sense the steel trap of his mind working. "Remind me again why I should help you, especially after you so eloquently declined my offer regarding my daughter."

I clench my fists, feeling the burn of his gaze. I stand motionless, a predator waiting to strike. "This isn't about past offers," I grind out. "It's about now. And you owe me."

"Owe you?" Thiago chuckles, a sound devoid of humor. "That's a dangerous word between men like us."

“You damn well know that Men like me know how to collect our debts.”

“And do I owe you?”

“Don’t you?” I look at him pointedly. “For the past fifteen years, I secured this cartel for you by taking out any and every threat.”

“But yet you refused to solidify our relationship.”

“Are we now enemies?” I ask pointedly.

Let me fucking know how to treat you.

He mumbles something under his breath and watches me like a lion assessing another. The tension crackles, a tangible force in this confined space of his lair. But I don't waver. I never do. Especially not now.

"This is bigger than any grievance or grudge you have against me," I say with a calm facade over the churning fury inside. "The lady in question is carrying my children. The future of my Bratva." The words hang heavy in the air, a tether to the humanity that binds even the most hardened of us.

Thiago's dark eyes narrow, searching mine for deceit. But he finds only the raw truth, the undeniable force driving me. For a moment, the room falls silent but for the distant hum of the city outside.

"Children?" His voice is softer now, understanding dawning on him. It's a card I play without shame—our shared understanding of legacy and blood.

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