The wind howled across the Neva River as Natalia drove north through the sleeping streets of St. Petersburg. Snow hissed beneath her tires, each gust of wind whispering the same warning: Don't go.
But she couldn't listen. The picture of Dimitri ,beaten, tied to a chair, sat on the passenger seat like a burning brand.
She should have let him die. It would be justice for her father. For everything he has done.
And yet, she couldn't.
Because somewhere between the gunfire, the lies, the secrets, and the hunger in his eyes, she had fallen and falling for Dimitri Volkov was as fatal as a bullet to the heart.
The address on the note led her to an abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of the city , the kind of place where no one asked questions, and bodies vanished into the snow and no one dared to speak about for the sake of their own lives.
She parked two blocks away, tucked a knife into her boot, and checked her pistol. Then she pulled up her hood and moved like a shadow through the dark roads in the drifting snow.
Inside, the factory smelled of rust and gasoline choking her . Dim light flickered through broken windows. Voices echoed ,low, rough, Russian.
"Bring him out here ," Viktor ordered.
Natalia froze behind a column. She could see them now , Dmitri slumped in a chair, blood running down his temple, his hands tied. Viktor stood over him with a pistol, smiling like a man who has won a lottery .
"So this is the great Dimitri Volkov," Viktor sneered. "Heir to a crumbling empire, betrayed by his trusted men ."
Dmitri lifted his head weakly. "You think killing me will give you power ?"
Viktor chuckled. "No, Volkov. Killing you will make me free."
"Then you don't understand power," Dmitri murmured, voice raw. "It's never about freedom."
Viktor raised the gun — and Natalia moved.
She fired once, twice.
One bullet hit Viktor's shoulder; the other shattered a light above him. He roared, stumbling back. Chaos erupted. Men shouted, guns were drawn, ready to shoot .
Natalia sprinted forward, cutting through the smoke like a shadow,fast and calculative. She shot one guard, disarmed another, and kicked a third into a stack of metal crates.
"Cover me!" Dimitri shouted, struggling to free himself.
"You owe me for this!" she yelled back, ducking behind a table .
"Add it to my growing list of debts!"
They fought side by side, silent and lethal , a rhythm that felt dangerously natural.
When the gunfire finally died, Viktor was gone again, leaving only blood and echoes behind.
Dimitri leaned against a beam, breathing hard. "You came for me."
She glared at him. "Don't read too much meaning into it."
He smiled faintly, wincing. "Then why are your hands shaking ?"
"Because I should've let you die."
"Liar."
Her jaw clenched. "You're still a Volkov."
"And you're still the woman I can't forget," he said softly.
For a moment, they just stood there , two scarred souls surrounded by smoke. Then she turned away, hiding the tremor in her voice. "We have to leave this place . Viktor won't stop."
They hid for days in one of Dimitri's safe houses near the Finnish border. Snow fell endlessly, muffling the world outside.
Dimitri's injuries healed slowly. Natalia patched him up with quiet precision, refusing to meet his eyes. But silence between them grew heavier with every passing hour.
On the third night, Dimitri broke it.
"My father's empire is falling," he said quietly, watching the fire. "Half the Bratva think I'm dead. The other half want me to be."
"Maybe that's what you deserve," she said coldly.
"Maybe," he admitted. "But I want to change it."
She looked up sharply. "Change? You run drugs, weapons, protection rackets. You kill men for the wrong reasons. What part of that do you want to change?"
"The part that took your father," Dimitri said simply.
Natalia stared into the flames, torn between anger and the faint, terrifying hope in his voice.
"You think redemption exists in our world?" she whispered.
"I think you exist in mine," he replied. "And that changes everything."
She laughed bitterly. "You really think a few sweet words can erase a lifetime of hatred, blood and anger?"
"No." He stood, walked to her, and knelt so their eyes met. "But maybe it can start something new."
The firelight caught the scar across his knuckles, the hollow shadows under his eyes. He wasn't the invincible Volkov heir anymore. He was just a man , one who had lost everything except the woman who should hate him.
And she did hate him.
But she also wanted him.
Before she could think, she leaned in and their lips met.
This kiss was different. Slower. Ache instead of rage. A fragile truce in a burning world.
His hand slid up to her jaw, his touch trembling. She felt his heartbeat through his shirt, rough and uneven. When they broke apart, she whispered, "This is insane."
"Yes," Dimitri said softly. "But it's ours."
They didn't speak of love ,not aloud. It was too dangerous a word to speak about.
But in stolen moments, between gunfire and snow, it lived in the way they looked at each other.
Until the message came.
A coded signal on Dimitri's encrypted phone , the kind only his inner circle could send.
He frowned. "It's from my second-in-command, Mikhail. He says he found Viktor."
"Where?"
"The old Volkov estate. Outside Moscow."
Natalia's blood turned cold. "That's suicide."
"I have to finish this," he said. "He won't stop until one of us is dead."
She shook her head. "Then I'm coming with you."
Dimitri's lips twitched. "I was hoping you'd say that."
The Volkov estate was a frozen and airy place, an empire of marble and silence. Natalia had never seen it before, but it felt cursed.
Inside, portraits of Dimitri's ancestors stared down from the walls, all men who'd ruled with iron and paranoia.
Mikhail greeted them in the foyer, tall, stoic, a scar slicing across his eyebrow.
"Boss," he said in Russian. "He's here. In the wine cellar."
Dmitri nodded. "Lock the perimeter. No one in or out."
But as Natalia followed him down the winding staircase, something gnawed at her gut.
It was too easy.
Too quiet.
She touched his arm. "Dimitri..."
The explosion hit before she could finish.
The blast threw them both against the wall, smoke choking the air. Alarms blared.
When the dust cleared, Dmitri was on the floor, bleeding from a gash on his forehead.
Mikhail stood above them, gun in hand.
"Forgive me, boss," Mikhail said. "But the Bratva chose a new leader."
Dmitri's eyes widened. "You betrayed me."
Mikhail's expression didn't change. "Viktor offered me a future. You offered me a grave."
Natalia moved faster than thought. She lunged for her gun, firing. Mikhail dodged, shooting back. Bullets ricocheted off the marble.
"Run!" Dimitri shouted.
"I'm not leaving you!"
"Do it, Natalia!"
But she didn't. She rolled behind a pillar, fired again, and hit Mikhail's arm. He dropped his gun with a curse.
Dimitri staggered to his feet, grabbed Mikhail by the collar, and slammed him into the wall.
"Where is Viktor?" he demanded.
Mikhail spat blood. "You'll find out soon enough."
Then he pulled a pin from a grenade hidden under his coat.
"Dimitri!" Natalia screamed.
The world went white.
When she regained consciousness , she was lying in the snow outside the burning mansion. Her ears rang, her vision blurred.
"Dimitri…"
Flames devoured the estate. Through the haze, she saw movement ,figures dragging someone toward a black SUV.
Viktor.
And in his grip was Dimitri, unconscious, bleeding.
"No," she gasped, trying to stand. Pain lanced through her ribs.
She raised her gun, fired wildly, but the car sped away into the darkness.
Natalia fell to her knees, snow soaking through her clothes.
The man she'd sworn to hate, the man she'd come to love,gone yet again.
And this time, she didn't even know if he was alive.
Three days later, Natalia sat in a safe house near Murmansk, staring at a cracked phone screen. Her contact in the Federal Security Bureau had sent a message:
Intercepted communication
"Viktor Lebedev transporting subject "D. Volkov" across Finnish border within 48 hours. Target classified as "high priority asset."
She leaned back, exhaling shakily.
So he was alive.
And Viktor was selling him , to whom, she didn't know.
Her phone buzzed again. An anonymous number.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Natalia," said a voice she didn't recognize. Smooth. Male. Calm. "If you want Dimitri Volkov alive, come to Helsinki. Alone."
"Who is this?"
"Let's just say someone who shares the same obsession as you."
The line went dead.
Natalia stared at the phone, heart pounding anxiously.
Her reflection in the cracked screen looked like a stranger bloodshot eyes, bruised cheek, lips trembling .She looked so worn out.
She whispered, "You're losing yourself."
But even as she said it, she was already packing her gun.
Because love and hate weren't opposites.
They were the same blade — and she'd bleed on both edges before she let him die.
ONE WEEK LATER
A dark room. A single light and no window in sight.
Dimitri Volkov sat chained to a chair, his wrists raw, his vision swimming. He didn't know how long he'd been there ,hours, days, months.
Then the door opened.
A man stepped inside , sharp suit, dark hair, and eyes so dark it lacked any emotion at all.
"Dimitri," he said in a flawless Russian accent. "It's been a long time."
Dimitri blinked through the haze. "Father?"
The man smiled coldly. "You didn't think I'd let you destroy everything I built, did you?"
Realization struck like a blade to the gut.
Viktor hadn't been the true enemy.
He was a puppet to his master being Dimitri's father.
The real enemy had been alive all along.