Mikhail Sokolov’s POV

Mikhail leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he swirled the glass of vodka in his hand. The night had been perfect.

Luca and Valarie Ivanov—those little pests—had finally been cornered.

His men had them right there. Helpless. Outnumbered. Right where they should be.

Luca, that pretty little plaything Damien Volkov held so dear, was practically trembling. And Valarie? That fiery bitch had still been fighting, her pretty little fists doing nothing against his men.

They were seconds away from being dragged to him.

And then—

Then the impossible happened.

Something he hadn’t foreseen.

Something that sent pure, boiling rage through his veins.

Sebastian Vasiliev.

His so-called ally.

The man he had shaken hands with, the man who stood beside him in the war against Volkov.

That bastard had turned on him.

Had slaughtered his men.

For them.

For the Ivanovs.

Mikhail’s grip tightened around the glass, his smirk vanishing. His breathing was heavy, deep, as the scene replayed in his head like a cursed memory.

Blood. Screams.

The sound of bodies hitting the pavement as Sebastian cut them down like they were nothing.

His men—the men he had trained, the men who had sworn loyalty to him—dead.

Because of him.

Sebastian fucking Vasiliev.

The betrayal burned like acid in his throat.

The glass in his hand shattered.

A sharp, stinging pain bloomed in his palm, but he didn’t even flinch. The blood dripping between his fingers was nothing compared to the fire searing through his veins.

His desk was next.

A single, violent swipe of his arm sent everything crashing to the floor—documents, liquor bottles, stacks of money—all worthless now.

"FUCK!"

The roar of his own voice echoed through the room as he kicked over a chair, the wood splintering on impact.

His men stood frozen near the doorway, silent.

Smart.

He would’ve slaughtered the first one who spoke.

His chest heaved as he exhaled harshly, his nails digging into the wound on his palm as he thought.

Plotted.

Calculated.

This wasn’t over.

No, this was just the beginning.

Sebastian thought he could betray him? Thought he could side with the Ivanovs and walk away unscathed?

That was his mistake.

And Mikhail would make sure he paid for it.

His lips curled into a slow, sinister grin.

"Sebastian, you just signed your own death warrant."

****** Sebastian Vasiliev’s POV

The warehouse was cold. Dimly lit. The kind of place where men entered breathing and left in pieces.

Sebastian leaned back against the steel table, arms crossed over his chest, exuding nothing but pure arrogance as he watched Mikhail Sokolov storm inside.

The bastard was furious.

Good.

His rage was almost amusing.

Mikhail’s boots echoed against the concrete as he closed the distance between them, barely holding himself together. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched like he was seconds away from snapping.

"You fucking betrayed me."

Sebastian raised a brow, unbothered. "Did I?"

Mikhail slammed his fist into the table, inches from where Sebastian stood.

"Don’t play games with me!" he roared. "You killed my men!"

Sebastian smirked.

"I did."

He said it so easily. So calmly.

Like it was nothing.

Because to him, it was.

Mikhail’s face contorted with barely restrained murderous rage.

"Why?" he demanded. "You were my ally! We had a fucking deal!"

Sebastian tilted his head. "A deal?" His voice was smooth, mocking. "Oh, you mean that pathetic excuse of an arrangement where I let you act like a rabid dog, and in return, you think you're my equal?"

Mikhail’s nostrils flared. "You son of a—"

Sebastian straightened, stepping closer, his presence imposing.

"Watch your mouth." His voice was low, dark. A quiet promise of violence.

Mikhail’s fists trembled at his sides. "You killed my men for the Ivanovs? For Damien fucking Volkov?!**"

Sebastian’s smirk widened.

"No. I killed them for her."

Mikhail paused. Blinking. Then something ugly twisted his expression.

His lips curled.

"For Valarie?" He let out a low, mocking laugh. "That fiery little whore?"

The air turned razor-sharp.

Sebastian’s entire body locked.

His blood boiled.

It was instant. Blinding.

The sound of bones snapping echoed through the warehouse before Mikhail even realized what was happening.

Sebastian had moved.

Faster than thought. Faster than breath.

His hand was around Mikhail’s throat, shoving him back against the table, his grip crushing.

Mikhail choked, eyes wide with shock.

Sebastian leaned in, voice lethal.

"Say her name like that again, and I will carve out your tongue and feed it to you."

The promise was deadly.

Real.

Mikhail coughed, his face turning red as he struggled, but Sebastian didn’t let go.

"You think you can insult her and walk away breathing?" His voice was cold, his fingers tightening. "You forget who I am, Mikhail. I don't forgive. I don't forget."

He slammed him down harder, lips curling into something dark.

"If you ever touch her, even think about touching her—"

Sebastian leaned in, whispering against Mikhail’s ear.

"I will make sure no one ever finds your fucking body."

Silence.

A single, suffocating moment where death lingered between them.

Then—Sebastian released him.

Mikhail staggered back, coughing violently, rubbing his bruised throat.

His eyes burned with hatred.

Sebastian?

Sebastian was calm. Composed. Like he hadn’t just come seconds away from snapping his neck.

He smoothed his suit. Adjusted his cufflinks.

Then looked at Mikhail with nothing but sheer, condescending amusement.

"Now, run along, little dog. Before I decide to put you down."

********

Mikhail was still rubbing his throat, his pride bleeding more than his skin.

Sebastian watched him with cold amusement, standing tall, untouchable.

Mikhail hated this.

Hated bowing his head.

But he was not stupid.

“I overstepped,” Mikhail finally said, his voice hoarse but controlled. “It won’t happen again.”

Sebastian’s smirk was slow, lazy.

“No, it won’t.”

Mikhail exhaled sharply, hating every second of this. “The deal remains.”

Sebastian hummed, pretending to consider it. Like Mikhail’s words meant anything.

“Fine.” He shrugged. “But there’s one condition.”

Mikhail tensed. “What?”

Sebastian’s expression darkened.

His next words were obsessive. Uncompromising.

“Valarie is off-limits.”

Silence.

Mikhail’s hesitation was instant. A flicker of something calculating.

Sebastian noticed.

His fingers twitched at his side, itching to wrap around that bastard’s throat again.

“Do you understand?” His voice was dangerously soft.

Mikhail clenched his jaw. “I do.”

Liar.

Sebastian knew that look.

Knew Mikhail’s mind was already turning.

And yet—

Sebastian smiled.

He let it go. For now.

Because he knew something Mikhail didn’t.

He knew exactly what to do if that bastard even thought of breaking his word.

And this time, he wouldn’t stop at a warning.

Mikhail had no idea what it meant to steal from him.

To touch what was his.

But he would soon.

—

Later that night, Sebastian sat in his dimly lit office, fingers curled around a crystal glass of whiskey, his mind drifting.

To her.

To Valarie.

Fierce. Beautiful. Untouchable.

Or—almost untouchable.

Sebastian tilted his head, picturing her again. The way she moved. The way she fought.

The way her lips parted when she was caught off guard. The way she came in his dreams every night.

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening.

The rage he felt when Mikhail insulted her was nothing compared to the hunger.

The ache.

She was divine.

His deity.

And one day—

She would realize it too.