Brutal vows

Chapter 3: The Emergency Protocol

"Alekov," I breathed, my hand flying to my neck to touch the small cut. My heart was hammering violently against my ribs, not from the intruder's attack, but from the raw, terrifying power radiating from the man standing in front of me. He didn't look at the man he was choking to death. He looked only at me. His intense, burning gaze locked onto the tiny smear of crimson on my collarbone, his nostrils flaring. Heavy, synchronized footsteps began to echo down the hallway. My father’s heavy enforcers were finally arriving, alerted by the silent alarm Alekov must have triggered.

"Clean this up," Alekov commanded the men as they burst through the double doors, tossing the unconscious intruder to the floor like a sack of trash. He turned back to me, his expression snapping instantly back into a mask of cold, professional detachment. He stepped back, re-establishing his mandatory three-foot radius.

"Miss Elena. Your father has issued an immediate emergency protocol. The perimeter is compromised. We are moving you to the secondary safehouse right now. Do not pack. Follow me."

The rain slammed violently against the reinforced, bulletproof glass of the black SUV as we tore through the slick city streets. We were flying north toward the isolated forest lines, leaving the safety of the Volkov estate far behind. The silence inside the vehicle was heavy, thick with a suffocating tension that made it hard to breathe. Up front, a trusted syndicate driver kept his eyes glued to the dark, winding road, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. In the backseat, I sat on the far right, pressing myself against the door, while Alekov sat on the far left.

The distance between us on the leather seat felt like a physical border, a boundary heavily policed by the rules of the family. The city’s glowing neon signs blurred into streaks of liquid pink and green against the storm outside, throwing eerie shadows across Alekov's sharp profile. He remained utterly motionless, a machine built for war, his eyes constantly tracking the dark mirrors for any tracking signatures. Yet, I could see the rigid line of his jawline—he was humming with a dangerous energy that filled the entire cabin with electricity.

"Was it the Bratva?" I asked softly, the quiet words cutting through the low rumble of the V8 engine. I pulled my arms tighter around myself, trying to stop the shivering that had nothing to do with the cold. "The intruder in the study. Did they find a bypass through the main perimeter grid?"

Alekov didn't turn his head. His focus remained locked on the dark highway unfolding through the sheets of downpour. "The Don’s analytics team is verifying the breach, Miss Elena. Your only directive right now is to stay off the radar. The safehouse is shielded with thick lead plating. Once we clear the county limits, the external network lines will go completely dead. No tracking data can leak to the shortwave wires."

His clinical, unfeeling tone stung deeper than the laceration on my skin. I turned my head back to the dark window, watching the city skyscrapers shrink into the distance. To my father, I was a high-value line item on a corporate balance sheet, a prize to be sold in a strategic marriage treaty. And to Alekov, I was nothing more than an asset—a cargo package to be delivered safely behind the reinforced doors of a cedar cage. We were tearing into the wilderness, running from a war that had already breached my doorstep, and the man holding my life in his hands refused to let me even step across his three-foot radius.