Chapter 7 - The Ghost from the PastThree weeks passed like lightning.
Under Zora’s strategic genius, Rostov Global expanded its legitimate holdings while systematically crushing every rival syndicate in the Tri-State area. Moretti was in hiding, stripped of his wealth and influence. Viktor’s empire was stronger, richer, and more secure than it had ever been.
And Zora Reid was no longer a starving, terrified woman facing eviction. She wore custom silk suits designed to sit comfortably in her wheelchair, her hair was styled in elaborate, regal braids, and her eyes sparkled with renewed life. Her health had improved dramatically under the care of Viktor’s private medical team, and her custom-built racing wheelchair was a masterpiece of carbon fiber and polished chrome.
It was a crisp Thursday afternoon when the past came back to haunt them.
Zora was sitting at an outdoor table in the private courtyard garden, reviewing a branding layout on her tablet, while Kaiser dozed peacefully at her feet.
Buzz. Her cell phone vibrated on the table.
She picked it up. An unknown number. She swiped to answer.
"Hello?"
"Zora? Zora, thank God you picked up," a familiar, breathless voice poured through the speaker.
Zora froze. Her blood turned to ice water.
Marcus.
The man who had walked out of her hospital room six months ago, leaving her with an empty bed and a broken heart.
"How did you get this number?" Zora’s voice dropped into a dangerous, icy whisper.
"It doesn't matter," Marcus stammered on the other end, sounding frantic, pathetic, and desperate. "Zora, look, I made a mistake. A massive mistake. I was scared, okay? The pressure of the accident, the hospital bills... it was too much. But I've been thinking about you every day. I heard... I heard you're living on the Upper East Side now. In a multi-million-dollar penthouse? Look, Zora, we belong together. Let's get coffee. Let's talk about us."
Zora let out a cold, humorless laugh that made Kaiser lift his massive head and growl softly.
"You heard I was living in a penthouse, Marcus?" Zora said, her voice dripping with venom. "Strange. When I was facing eviction with three months of back rent and empty pill bottles, you couldn't even return my phone calls. Now that I smell like money, you crawl out of the woodwork like a cockroach."
"Zora, please! Don't be like that!" Marcus pleaded, his tone turning whiny and manipulative. "I'm your fiancé! You loved me! Where are you? I'm coming over. Text me the address—"
"If you come within five miles of me, Marcus, you won't live to regret it," Zora snapped, her eyes flashing fire.
Before Marcus could reply, a large, calloused hand gently reached over and lifted the phone from her ear.
Viktor.
He hadn't made a sound as he walked up behind her wheelchair. His face was a mask of terrifying, frozen calm. He brought the phone to his own mouth.
"Listen to me very carefully, whoever you are," Viktor said, his voice dropping into the icy register of a death sentence. "If you ever call this phone again, or if you ever breathe the name Zora Reid in public again, my dog Kaiser will spend his afternoon chewing on your kneecaps. Do we understand each other?"
Click. Viktor hung up the phone and tossed it onto the table.
May you like
Zora looked up at him, her chest heaving. "You didn't have to do that."
"Nobody threatens what is mine," Viktor said softly, his dark eyes burning into hers with a possessive intensity that left no room for argument.
