Luca’s POVThe airstrip’s floodlights pierced the night like accusatory fingers, illuminating Viktor’s massive frame as he stood triumphant, flanked by a phalanx of Bratva soldiers in tactical gear. Their AKs gleamed under the glare, pointed at our group—Sofia frozen in shock, Dante struggling against his chains, Enzo and Sal glaring with impotent rage. The toxin in my veins surged like acid, blurring my vision, weakening my knees. I collapsed to the tarmac, the cold asphalt biting into my palms as nausea roiled. Viktor’s laugh boomed—a deep, guttural sound that echoed his Siberian roots.“Full backstory, you say?” Viktor rumbled, stepping closer, his blue eyes cold as arctic ice. He hauled me up by the collar, effortless strength pinning me against the jet’s fuselage. “You think this started with your puny family, accountant? Dive deep, boy. Deeper than you dare.”His voice dropped, a storyteller’s cadence laced with menace. “I was born in the gulags, 1978. Mother a political prisone
Last Updated : 2026-01-15 Read more