❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
Betrayal, my old friend.
No matter how I tried to prepare for the blow, I never seemed to steel myself on time when it mattered the most.
My arm rose, the heavy metal an extension of me as I aimed at Orlov Conti’s head. Anything to knock his hand off her skin.
The surprised shouts of Primo’s men warbled all around as my men and the Marlow soldatos closed in, shooting them down like sitting ducks.
The heiress watched my movements in shock. Her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Open lips, flushed cheeks, fists clenched tight. Wearing a red dress so short I could picture what lay just above.
Orlov stood with his face close to hers, leveling me with a smug grin.
“Viktor…” Rosalind started, her voice a soft gasp piercing through the battle waging in the background
