Kairus' POV :
My palm flexed tighter around her throat.
I didn't mean to squeeze so hard.
But I snapped.
Watching her walk away like last night meant nothing? After I marked her, worshipped her, lost myself in her?
No.
No one touches what's mine and pretends otherwise. Not even her.
"You're mine," I hissed again, louder this time, the words cracking from my throat like a promise made in hell.
She struggled against my grip, her nails digging into my wrist, her lips parting—but I barely registered it.
"You're mine, Raven. Say it."
Her skin was flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide—not with fear, but with that fire I'd tasted last night. The same fire that haunted me. The same fire that brought color to everything I touched.
Before her, everything was… the same. Hazy. Gray. Muted.
But now, the flush of her cheeks, the glint of her eyes, the red bite mark on her collarbone—
I could see it.
Her. Only her.
"Say it," I growled again, eyes locked on her parted lips.
She raised her fist. Ready to strike.
Good.
Fight me. Hate me. But don't fucking ignore what we are.
The door burst open.
"Kairus!" Mikhail shouted, breathless. "Your father—he's called an emergency council. Now. "
Everything inside me stilled.
My hand dropped from her neck.
Father.
The bastard's name rang in my head like a gunshot.
I felt the blood drain from my face. My pulse slowed. That ice-cold chill—like drowning in the past.
I didn't say a word to Raven. Just stepped back.
She stared at me—confused, breathless, and blinking like she just saw a crack in my armor.
I turned my back to her.
I couldn't let her see more. Not that. Not him.
"Get the car," I ordered flatly, walking out with a storm brewing behind my eyes.
There would be blood before this day was over.
The black Maybach rolled to a stop outside our headquarters—the real one—hidden beneath the guise of a five-star private club on the edge of the city. The guards parted like shadows as I stepped out, my boots echoing against the marble floor.
Everything here reeked of power.
Gun oil. Whiskey. Blood.
And him.
I walked through the corridors but inside—I felt it. That pulse of rage that only one man could summon without even raising his voice.
The doors to the council room swung open.
There he was.
Leonid Vasiliev.
My father. Founder of the Bratva Mafia Empire. The man who taught me pain before I knew how to spell it.
Tall, still built like a war machine, shoulders squared beneath a dark silk suit. His gray hair was combed neatly back, not a strand out of place. But it was the scar slashing through his right eye that made most men drop their gaze. A trophy from a war he never talks about.
He sat at the head of the long mahogany table like it was a throne, a fat cigar nestled between his teeth, glowing as he took a drag.
"Syn," he said, smirking through smoke, his gravel voice echoing through the chamber. "How's the wife?"
My jaw clenched. "Don't talk about her."
His smirk widened—delighted by the reaction. "So, you've already grown soft. That didn't take long."
"Keep. Her. Out. Of. Your. Mouth."
I didn't raise my voice, but the venom in it could've melted steel.
He chuckled, puffing smoke toward the ceiling like I was just a child throwing a tantrum.
Then the room shifted.
The smile dropped.
"Good," he muttered, flicking ash into the crystal tray. "Now grow some balls before you cost me billions."
He tossed a thick black folder down the table. It slid toward me.
"Our newest deal—exclusive supply chain on the new narcotic variant. Stronger than anything on the streets right now. We're moving it through Amsterdam, then Dubai. The Belov brothers are sniffing around it. But if we strike fast, they choke."
I flipped through the pages. Codes. Routes. Supply chains. It wasn't just dangerous—it was volatile. One mistake and we were exposed.
"Your name is on this, Kairus," he said, his voice dipped in steel. "If you fuck this up…"
His eyes met mine.
"I'll kill you myself."
I didn't flinch. But the air thinned.
My left shoulder ached.
And just like that—I was ten again.
Standing in the frost-covered woods behind our estate.
The snow silent. The world holding its breath.
His voice cold.
"Shoot."
I missed.
A crack tore through the stillness.
And pain exploded in my arm.
He'd shot me.
No hesitation. No warning.
I still remember the blood on the snow. Bright red. The only color I saw that winter.
I looked up at him now, the ghost of that boy still bleeding behind my ribs.
"I won't miss," I said.
He nodded once, satisfied.
But my fists were already clenched in my pockets, nails digging into flesh.
Because this time, I had something worth more than the empire.
Something I would kill for.
And if he ever touched her—Raven—wife or not…
Father or not, I'd burn him and his empire so deep into the ground, not even their ashes would dare to rise.
I lit another cigarette, but it tasted like ash now. The air around me was too thick, too tight—just like my chest.
I shouldn't have come. I knew it the moment that bastard opened his mouth.
My father leaned back, puffed his cigar, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
"Your wife, huh? She got your mother's stubbornness… though at least she didn't die a useless romantic."
I froze.
That word—useless—carved deeper than any blade.
The room went still.
My jaw cracked from how tightly I clenched it.
"Say her name again," I growled low, stepping forward, fists shaking.
"Fucking say it again."
My father just laughed. "Touchy, aren't we? Just like when you cried for her after I put a bullet through your arm. Pathetic."
My vision blurred—red, white, everything but reason.
My fingers itched for the gun at my side. One more word, and I'd forget who he was.
I turned.
If I stayed a second longer, I'd bury a bullet in his skull and destroy everything I built.
I got into the car and drove. Fast. Too fast.
The city bled into shadows, a blur of monochrome lights and rain-slick streets. Red. Green. Amber. All the same shade to me.
I didn't care.
My knuckles whitened on the wheel, jaw clenched like a goddamn vice. Rage roared louder than the engine.
I almost missed the flash.
The blur of something too big.
Too close.
Too late.
The truck's horn blared.
Metal screamed.
And just before the world flipped—
All I could see was her.