The crackle of the fire filled the grand study, casting shadows across the room. Viktor Sokolov sat in his leather armchair, swirling a glass of vodka, his gaze fixed on a framed photograph on the mantel. Alina’s warm smile and young child’s innocent eyes stared back, a haunting reminder of the love he’d lost and the legacy he still had to protect. The mansion was silent, but Viktor’s thoughts were a storm.

“Alexei (The Wolf),” he called, his voice calm yet commanding.

The door creaked open, revealing Alexei, his towering frame and battle-scarred face exuding menace.

“The Volkov shipment didn’t arrive,” Viktor stated without looking up.

“They ambushed the convoy outside Yekaterinburg. No survivors,” Alexei replied grimly.

Viktor’s jaw tightened. Dmitri Volkov had been pressing his limits for months, mistaking restraint for weakness. A fatal error, Viktor decided.

“Ready the men,” Viktor ordered, setting his glass down with deliberate precision. “Strike his supply line. Leave nothing standing.”

*Alexei nodded silently and vanished into the shadows.

Left alone, Viktor’s gaze returned to the photograph. The weight of his promise to Alina hung heavy.* “I will not fail you again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The stillness broke as quiet footsteps approached. Viktor turned to see his child standing in the doorway, their expression a blend of defiance and determination.

“I can help,” they said, stepping forward. “You can’t shield me forever.”

For a moment, Viktor saw Alina’s strength in their eyes. He stood, his imposing shadow falling over them like a protective cloak.

“You want to help?” Viktor asked, his voice low and steady. “Then learn. But understand—this life will demand everything.”

The fire flickered, its light reflecting in both their eyes. The war had only just begun.