LOGINDANTE'S PERSPECTIVE
She should’ve collapsed after the first time. But I wasn’t fucking done. My anger was far from spent. No. It was burning hotter now, deeper than before, knotted up inside me like barbed wire. And even though she was trembling beneath me, thighs slick and raw, her body pliant from the last time I took her, I still wanted more. Needed more. “Open your legs for me,” I growled, voice scraping low. She obeyed. Soft. Quiet. Innocent. Fuck. I should’ve walked away. I should’ve let her sleep. But she was mine. She wore my bruises now, my cum still dripping out of her swollen little cunt, and still, it wasn’t enough. I needed her ruined. I grabbed her waist, dragged her down to the edge of the mattress. Her breath hitched. I leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You’re going to take it again.CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVETHE MOUNTAIN SAFEHOUSE – Month 8, three nights before the final moveZurab waited for me in the dark.Not the broken thing I’d carried out of that warehouse eight months ago.The man who stepped from the shadows now was something forged in hell and tempered in silence.Six-foot-four of scar tissue and prosthetic steel.Left eye replaced by matte-black glass that caught the firelight like a dead star.Half his tongue gone, so every word cost him blood and breath.He wore a tailored black coat despite the heat, collar high to hide the rope burns that never quite healed.When he knelt, the floorboards groaned.I didn’t tell him to rise.I let him stay there, head bowed, until the way a wolf shows throat only when it chooses to.“Koroleva,” he rasped, voice like gravel poured over broken glass.“I am ready.”I walked a slow circle around him.The room was bare
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE SOCHI & THE BLACK SEA COAST – Months 3–8 after the “death”The empire grew fat and careless, exactly the way I needed it.Gavriil’s name became a prayer and a curse from Batumi to Volgograd. Ports, pipelines, entire cities bowed. He celebrated every victory by dragging me to bed and fucking me until dawn, convinced the taste of my screams was proof of ownership.I let him believe it.I let him fall asleep with his hand curled around my throat like a collar.I let him wake to the sight of me cooking breakfast in nothing but his shirt and the black-gold ring that now lived on my right hand.I let him think the ring meant surrender.Every morning he kissed the inside of my wrist where the pulse beat steady and slow, and every morning I smiled like a woman in love while I calculated how many seconds it would take to slit that wrist open with the butter knife.We bec
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVERUSSIA, SOCHI MANSION I walked into his office still smelling of cordite and mountain air.Gavriil was at the window, back to me, city lights glittering behind him like scattered diamonds.He didn’t turn when my boots crossed the threshold.“Well?” His voice was velvet over steel.I let the silence stretch just long enough.“Done,” I said. “Magomed and Aslan both signed. Thirty percent, no bodies, corridor stays open. They’ll kiss the ground you walk on now.”He turned then.Slowly.His eyes were winter.He leaned back against the desk, arms folded, and studied me the way a wolf studies a trap it already knows is there.I felt the shift in the air.I didn’t give him time to speak.I crossed the room in four strides, slid between his thighs, and cupped his face with both hands.“I went to the old monastery,” I said softly, letting my voice tremble just
DANTE’S PERSPECTIVE VERONA – 03:47 a.m., 72 hours after Catalina’s message was deliveredThe burner phone buzzed once on the nightstand.I was already awake. I hadn’t slept more than twenty minutes at a stretch since the day I left Russia.My son was asleep in the crib beside my bed, one month and thirteen days old, breathing soft and even. I stared at the phone like it was a live grenade.One new video file.I knew before I opened it.I carried the phone into the walk-in closet, closed the door, sat on the floor with my back against the safe, and pressed play.Her face filled the screen.The second I saw her eyes, dead, hollow, carved out, something inside me shattered so completely I didn’t make a sound.Then she spoke.“Dante… our son is dead.”The world went black at the edges.I heard the rest through a tunnel: I held him… so small… your mouth
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVECHECHEN-INGUSH BORDER – 48 hours after the bargainThe convoy was small.Two armored G-Wagens, blacked-out windows, no plates.Four of Gavriil’s most trusted men in the lead car.Me in the second, alone in the back seat, wearing black fatigues, hair braided tight, Glock 19 on my thigh and a suppressed AK-12 across my lap.Gavriil had kissed me goodbye at the gate like a husband sending his wife to the market.He was still limping slightly from the night he’d tried to fuck me into submission.I’d left him sleeping it off, lips swollen, back shredded, cock raw.He thought he’d won something.I was about to win everything.The meeting point was an abandoned Soviet-era collective farm outside Kizlyar, halfway between Grozny and the Ingush border.Neutral ground.Burned-out barns, rusted tractors, the smell of old wheat and cordite in the air.Both sides w
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE SOCHI & THE CAUCASUS FOOTHILLS The leash loosened. Not because he trusted the world. Because he trusted me to bite anyone who looked at him wrong. It started with a single outing: a sit-down in a half-abandoned port warehouse where three of his lieutenants had been skimming heroin shipments. Gavriil walked in with me on his arm like I was decoration. Five minutes later two men were on their knees begging, the third tried to run. I broke his femur with a tire iron before his second step. Gavriil watched, pupils blown, cock hard against his slacks, and said nothing. That was the first night he knelt without being told. After that, we became a matched pair. Every night for two weeks we hunted. A safehouse in Adler. A nightclub in Sochi. A mountain pass w







