My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles went white. "Who is this?"
"That's not important." The voice carried sick pleasure. "What matters is your beautiful wife is in my hands. She's so frightened, keeps calling your name. How touching—a woman in her darkest hour still thinks of the man who abandoned her."
"If you touch one hair on her head—"
"Threats? How boring." He cut me off. "Listen, Volkov. The rules are simple. Two hours. Hand over all your East Coast territory files, weapons warehouse locations, and evidence of yourdirty deals."
"Impossible."
"Then prepare for a body bag. Oh, and your adorable daughter—Sofia, right? Five years old? Such a shame to lose her mother so young. Don't worry though, we'll be collecting her soon too."
Clearer struggling sounds came through, then Anna's pained cry as she was brutally restrained.
"Alexander!" I heard Anna's voice, full of terror and desperation. "Don't... don't give them anything! Protect Sofia!"
Then a dull thud, like a blow striking flesh.
In that instant, my darkest childhood memories crashed over me like a tsunami, shattering my last defenses. The smell of blood, screaming, gunshots, and that bone-deep helplessness—every buried fear exploded to the surface.
My legs gave out, and I swayed against the car door. Breathing became impossible, like invisible hands crushing my throat.
That seven-year-old boy was back—hiding under the table, watching his parents die in pools of blood, hearing only his own thundering heartbeat, powerless to do anything.
"Pakhan!" Ivan grabbed my shoulders frantically.
I saw him holding me, lips moving, but heard nothing. Only my parents' dying cries, only those killers' cold laughter filled my ears.
My vision blurred, sounds grew distant. Darkness crept in from the edges, ready to swallow me whole. I felt myself falling into that bloody abyss.
Just as the darkness was about to consume me completely, an image flashed through my mind—
Sofia curled on the couch, face flushed with fever, clutching her blanket, murmuring "Mama's coming back" in her sleep.
"Alex will protect me and Mama, right?"
That's what she'd asked me once.
"Of course. I'll never let anyone hurt you."
That was my promise. My sacred promise to my daughter.
I couldn't let her endure what I had. I couldn't let her lose her mother at five, couldn't let her grow up drowning in fear.
I couldn't let history repeat itself.
Never.
That thought struck like lightning, tearing through the darkness surrounding me.
I sucked in air, oxygen burning my lungs. Then another breath. My nails dug deep into my palms, the sharp pain dragging my consciousness back from that bloody pit.
I wasn't that seven-year-old boy anymore. I wasn't helpless or weak. I was Alexander Volkov, one of the most powerful men on the East Coast. I had resources, strength, the ability to protect the people I loved.
Slowly, my breathing steadied. My heart still raced, but it wasn't that out-of-control chaos anymore. The darkness retreated as reason reclaimed control.
I opened my eyes to Ivan's worried face. His hands still gripped my shoulders, eyes full of alertness and concern.
"I'm fine." My voice was rough but steady again.
