Bound To The Devil

Mikhail Sokolov’s POV

Mikhail leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he swirled the glass of vodka in his hand. The night had been perfect.

Luca and Valarie Ivanov—those little pests—had finally been cornered.

His men had them right there. Helpless. Outnumbered. Right where they should be.

Luca, that pretty little plaything Damien Volkov held so dear, was practically trembling. And Valarie? That fiery bitch had still been fighting, her pretty little fists doing nothing against his men.

They were seconds away from being dragged to him.

And then—

Then the impossible happened.

Something he hadn’t foreseen.

Something that sent pure, boiling rage through his veins.

Sebastian Vasiliev.

His so-called ally.

The man he had shaken hands with, the man who stood beside him in the war against Volkov.

That bastard had turned on him.

Had slaughtered his men.

For them.

For the Ivanovs.

Mikhail’s grip tightened around the glass, his smirk vanishing. His breathing was heavy, deep, as the scene replayed in his head like a cursed memory.

Blood. Screams.

The sound of bodies hitting the pavement as Sebastian cut them down like they were nothing.

His men—the men he had trained, the men who had sworn loyalty to him—dead.

Because of him.

Sebastian fucking Vasiliev.

The betrayal burned like acid in his throat.

The glass in his hand shattered.

A sharp, stinging pain bloomed in his palm, but he didn’t even flinch. The blood dripping between his fingers was nothing compared to the fire searing through his veins.

His desk was next.

A single, violent swipe of his arm sent everything crashing to the floor—documents, liquor bottles, stacks of money—all worthless now.

"FUCK!"

The roar of his own voice echoed through the room as he kicked over a chair, the wood splintering on impact.

His men stood frozen near the doorway, silent.

Smart.

He would’ve slaughtered the first one who spoke.

His chest heaved as he exhaled harshly, his nails digging into the wound on his palm as he thought.

Plotted.

Calculated.

This wasn’t over.

No, this was just the beginning.

Sebastian thought he could betray him? Thought he could side with the Ivanovs and walk away unscathed?

That was his mistake.

And Mikhail would make sure he paid for it.

His lips curled into a slow, sinister grin.

"Sebastian, you just signed your own death warrant."