Chapter Eight.
By the time Viktor reached the hallway leading to the VIP room, the faint irritation on his face had hardened into a mask of icy control.
Two guards stationed outside the VIP door stiffened as they recognized him. One fumbled to open the door, his hands shaking.
Inside, the atmosphere was starkly different. The VIP room reeked of wealth and debauchery.
Lavishly upholstered chairs lined the room, occupied by powerful yet morally bankrupt men.
Most of them had a woman—or two—draped over them, scantily clad and eager to please.
The air was thick with cigar smoke and the scent of expensive liquor.
The moment Viktor stepped in, the room fell silent. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Laughter died. Even the music from the club below seemed muted.
The weight of his presence was suffocating, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping across the room.
The men in the VIP room shifted uneasily in their seats, their indulgent smirks replaced with nervous grimaces.
The women clung to their respective clients, their wide eyes betraying fear.
Viktor’s reputation had preceded him, and it was clear to everyone that his arrival was no social call.
Viktor walked further into the room, his boots heavy against the polished floor.
He stopped near a lavish chair, its high back resembling a throne, and lowered himself into it with deliberate slowness.
His long coat flared slightly as he crossed one leg over the other, exuding a level of control that only added to the tension.
The room hung in a pregnant silence, waiting for him to speak, to reveal his purpose.
The thick silence of the room was broken by a voice, deep and cold, reverberating from the far corner.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the Don himself.” the man drawled, his tone dripping with mockery.
Viktor’s icy gaze shifted toward the source, his sharp features betraying not even the faintest flicker of emotion.
Leaning casually against a leather armchair was Oleg.
He was exactly as Viktor remembered.. A large, imposing man with a rugged, intimidating presence.
A thick cigar smoldered between his calloused fingers, its acrid smoke curling lazily in the air around him.
Oleg pushed off the armchair and took a step forward, his heavy boots thudding against the floor.
The dim light cast sharp shadows over his face, accentuating the deep scar that ran from just below his eye to the corner of his upper lip.
It twisted his already cruel smirk into something far more menacing, giving him the look of a predator circling his prey.
“You’ve come a long way, Don Sokolov.” Oleg said, his voice carrying a mocking edge as he gestured lazily with his cigar.
“All the way to my little playground. I’m honored, truly.”
Viktor remained seated, his posture as rigid and commanding as a statue.
He rested his elbow on the armrest, his fingers lightly brushing against his chin, a picture of dangerous calm.
The room seemed to shrink under his silent scrutiny, the tension crackling like a live wire.
“Oleg.” Viktor said finally, his voice low and even, yet laced with a menace that made the hairs on the back of every neck in the room stand up.
“I didn’t come here for pleasantries.”
Oleg chuckled, a harsh, grating sound that echoed off the walls.
“No, of course not. The infamous Viktor Sokolov doesn’t waste time on small talk. You’re here for Yuri, aren’t you?”
At the mention of Yuri’s name, Viktor’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his expression remained cold and unreadable.
Oleg took a long drag from his cigar, the tip glowing red in the dim light, and exhaled a thick plume of smoke that obscured his face for a moment.
“Yuri told me you’d come eventually. Said you’d sniff him out like the bloodhound you are.” His smirk widened as he tapped the ash off his cigar.
“He’s not here, in case you were wondering.”
Viktor leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. The movement, subtle as it was, radiated a lethal intensity that silenced Oleg’s smirk for the briefest of moments.
“Do I look like I’m here to wonder?” Viktor asked, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Oleg’s smirk faltered, but only slightly. He was Yuri’s closest confidant, and he prided himself on not being easily intimidated.
But there was something about Viktor’s presence, something cold and unrelenting, that unsettled even the most hardened of men.
“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” Oleg sneered, trying to regain the upper hand.
“Marching in here like you own the place, like you own this city.”
Viktor stood then, rising slowly to his full height.
The room seemed to darken as his towering figure cast a long shadow.
His piercing grey eyes locked onto Oleg’s, freezing him in place like prey caught in the sights of a predator.
“I don’t think I own this city.” Viktor said, his voice calm but dripping with menace. “I do.”
Oleg swallowed, his bravado faltering for a split second before he forced a grin back onto his face.
“Big words, Sokolov. But you don’t scare me.”
In an instant, faster than anyone in the room could react, Viktor’s hand shot out, gripping Oleg by the throat and slamming him against the wall. The cigar fell from Oleg’s hand, rolling across the floor as he gasped for air.
“You should be scared.” Viktor hissed, his voice low and venomous.
“You and Yuri made the mistake of stealing from me. Betraying me. Do you know what happens to people who betray me, Oleg?”
Oleg clawed at Viktor’s hand, his face turning red as he struggled to breathe.
His bravado was gone now, replaced by pure, unadulterated fear.
“They disappear.” Viktor continued, his grip tightening. “And no one even remembers they existed.”
With a final, disdainful glare, Viktor released Oleg, letting him collapse to the floor in a coughing, sputtering heap.
Viktor adjusted his coat with meticulous precision, as if nothing had happened, before turning to his men.
Suddenly, The chaos erupted in an instant. The door to the VIP room slammed open, and Yuri's men stormed in with guns blazing.
Bullets tore through the air, shattering glasses and overturning furniture.
Screams filled the room as Viktor’s bodyguards moved with precision, returning fire in a deadly exchange.
The deafening sounds of gunfire and shouts echoed through the building, mingling with the pounding bass of the music that still blared in the background.
Amid the chaos, Viktor’s sharp gaze locked onto the doorway, where Yuri stood for a brief moment, his face pale with fear.
Their eyes met—one man’s filled with desperation, the other’s with cold, unrelenting fury.
Without hesitation, Yuri turned and bolted, shoving past panicked patrons as he fled into the corridor.
Viktor’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening like stone.
Calmly, He followed him, his movements deliberate despite the mayhem around him.
The bullet-riddled VIP room was now a battlefield, but Viktor didn’t spare it a second glance as he strode toward the door.
“Cover me.” he barked to his men, his deep voice cutting through the chaos.
The hallway outside was a warzone. Bodies littered the ground, a mix of club-goers caught in the crossfire and armed men who had fallen in the skirmish.
Blood smeared the floor, mingling with shards of broken glass. Viktor stepped over the carnage with the cold indifference of a man used to violence.
Ahead, Yuri’s figure darted through the hall, shoving through the disarray in a desperate bid to escape.
Viktor’s eyes narrowed as he reached into his coat and drew his gun, the polished metal gleaming under the strobing club lights.
A shot whizzed past Viktor’s head, narrowly missing him and slamming into the wall behind him.
Instinctively, he ducked, his sharp reflexes keeping him alive. He straightened quickly and looked ahead, spotting Yuri at the far end of the hallway, fumbling with his own weapon.
Without hesitation, Viktor raised his pistol, his aim steady despite the chaos around him. He fired a single shot.
The sound cracked through the air, and Yuri cried out in pain as the bullet struck his upper arm.
Clutching the wound, he stumbled but managed to keep running, his blood leaving a crimson trail behind him.
Viktor’s lips curled into a grim line as he advanced, his boots echoing against the blood-slicked floor.
He moved with the calm purpose of a predator closing in on its prey. The hallway led him down to the main level of the club, where the scene was even more chaotic.
The once-packed dance floor was now a battleground.
Patrons screamed and scrambled for the exits, their high heels and polished shoes slipping on the bloodstained tiles.
Tables were overturned, and shattered bottles glinted like jagged diamonds under the flashing lights.
Viktor’s eyes swept the room, quickly taking in the carnage. His men were locked in fierce combat with Yuri’s, exchanging fire with ruthless efficiency.
The air reeked of gunpowder, sweat, and fear.
A stray bullet shattered a bottle near Viktor, sending shards flying.
He ignored it, his focus entirely on Yuri, who was pushing his way toward the club’s back exit.
“Get out of my way.” he growled at a panicked patron who had stumbled into his path. The man quickly scrambled aside.
Yuri was slipping through Viktor's grasp, but the chase was far from over.
Holstering his gun for a moment, Viktor pulled out his phone and barked orders into it.
“Seal the exits. No one leaves without my permission. And find Yuri—now.”
Sliding the phone back into his coat, Viktor turned his attention back to the hunt.
His men were already moving to block the club’s entrances and exits, tightening the noose around Yuri’s neck. Viktor allowed himself a small, predatory smirk.
“Run all you want, Yuri.” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and deadly. “But you can’t outrun me.”
With that, he moved toward the back of the club, his relentless pursuit driving him through the chaos like a force of nature. The hunt was on, and Viktor Sokolov never left his prey alive.