Page 54 of Bound in Possession

The metal grates against the bone. Igor lets out a shrill, deafening scream that rattles the crystal glasses on the table. Tears of pure agony leak from his eyes as his heels kick frantically against the floorboards.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he shrieks, looking directly at Camilla now, his voice cracking with desperation. "Forgive me! I am sorry!"

I stare at him for a beat longer, ensuring the lesson is burned into his brain. "Good," I murmur.

With one swift, brutal motion, I pull the fork out of his hand. Igor groans, collapsing sideways against his chair, clutching his bloody palm to his chest. I lift my hand, signaling the guards standing by the door. Two of my men step forward immediately, lifting Igor by his arms and dragging his staggering, bleeding form out of the grand dining room.

The heavy double doors shut behind them, leaving a profound, suffocating silence in their wake. Yuri, Daniil, and Matvey sit perfectly still. Not a single one of them speaks. None of them defend him. They just look at the bloodstain on the white linen, and then back at me, their eyes filled with a renewed, unshakable fear.

I pick up my linen napkin, casually wiping a stray drop of blood from the cuff of my shirt, completely unfazed.

"Let's continue eating," I announce, gesturing to the plates before us.

Dinner resumes silently.

The rhythmic, quiet scraping of silver against porcelain fills the room, but my mind is already miles away from this table. I can’t wait to get Camilla out of here, my eyes tracking the elegant slope of her neck and the sharp set of her jaw. I am simply biding my time, waiting until this fucking dinner is finally over so I can lock her away in our quarters and remind her exactly whose queen she is.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors click and swing open again.

Every head at the table turns toward the entrance. The moment the figure steps into the light, my blood curdles, a raw, primal hostility freezing the air in my lungs.

Viktor saunters into the room as if he owns the place, a mocking, leisurely smile plastered across his face.

Instantly, the tension in the room snaps. My personal guards move like lightning, their heavy boots thudding against the floor as they draw their weapons, a dozen red laser sights painting the center of Viktor's chest. They are on high alert, waiting for my command to paint the walls with his blood.

He is standing deep inside my territory, completely exposed. If I give the order, he dies in seconds. But the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. If I kill him right here, at a formal council dinner, it will violate the ancient laws of sanctuary and set off a devastating, full-scale war with his syndicate—and every allied family will turn against me for breaking protocol.

He is the commander of a rival Bratva, and as he holds his hands out to his sides, it is glaringly obvious that he is entirely unarmed. If word gets out that the new Pakhan slaughtered an unarmed Bratva commander at a peaceful dinner, the political fallout will be more trouble than Viktor is worth.

I will kill him eventually. I fucking swear it on my life, I will rip the breath from his throat, but right now, I have to be patient. I have to play the chess match.

"Lower your weapons," I bark at my men, my voice low and dangerous, vibrating with suppressed fury.

The guards hesitate for a fraction of a second before bringing their guns down, though their fingers remain tight on the triggers. I lock my eyes onto Viktor, my posture rigid as I lean back in my chair.

"What are you doing here, Viktor?" I demand, the words cutting through the room like shards of ice.

Viktor places a hand over his heart, his smile widening into something deeply unsettling as his gaze shifts from me, lingering just a moment too long, to the sharp, beautiful sight of my wife.

"Relax, Pakhan," Viktor purrs, taking another step forward, entirely unbothered by the lethal atmosphere. "I am not here for blood. A monumental union has occurred between the Sokolovs and the Carusos, and as a neighbor, it would be bad manners not to attend. I am simply here to congratulate Camilla and you."

He dips his hands smoothly into his coat pockets, and the motion instantly triggers my men. The metallic click of weapons being raised echoes through the room as guns point right back at his head. Viktor only chuckles, slowly bringing his hands back out to show a small, velvet jewelry box, holding it up to prove it’s not a weapon.

He begins to walk slowly toward Camilla, his eyes locked onto her with a sickeningly familiar intensity. A dark, territorial rage flares in my gut. I reach out, grabbing the edge of Camilla's heavy chair, and pull it flush against mine, marking her clearly as under my direct protection. Viktor notices the movement, his lips curling into a knowing, taunting smile.

He stops right in front of her, leaning down just enough to invade her space. "You are absolutely beautiful, doll," he murmurs, his voice dripping with smooth, calculated admiration. "I can certainly see why Maksim is completely crazy about you."

Then, he stretches out his arm, holding the velvet box directly toward her. "I got this for you. A wedding gift."

Impressively, Camilla doesn't reach for it. She sits perfectly still, her dark eyes reflecting nothing but cold detachment.

My voice cuts through the air like a blade. "Open it, Viktor."

Viktor gives a mocking nod, his fingers popping the latch of the box to reveal the contents.

Inside, resting against the black velvet, is a stunning diamond necklace. But it’s the pendant hanging from the center that makes my vision go completely red. Embossed sharply into the platinum surface is the number 102.

The number on her card the night I bought her at the auction.