When Moin Saheb hung up the phone, his tears finally broke all barriers. He covered his face with both hands and began to sob uncontrollably. The young officer beside him watched in stunned silence, never having seen his stern boss collapse in such a manner.
Choking back his tears, Moin Saheb said, "Do you have any idea whom I've thrown into the jaws of death today? She wasn't just an agent. She was the pride of this country a brilliant Major-rank Army officer of the Bangladesh Army! She earned her promotion through sheer bravery at such a young age."
He slammed the file onto the floor with fury. "When I brought Sofia from the Army into Intelligence, I promised her that I would never let anything happen to her. She is a disciplined officer who came to Russia risking her life for the country. And today, I am leaving my patriotic officer alone in the bed of a beast, just out of political fear!"
Moin Saheb looked at the screen and shouted, "An Army officer is sacrificing her honor and life in the Moscow snow today, while we sit in air-conditioning like cowards! I'm sorry, child... I couldn't save you. I couldn't uphold the dignity of your uniform."
In that silent headquarters room, only the echoes of Moin Saheb's cries and Sofia's screams lingered. The glory of a fearless Major was buried today under the snow of betrayal.
In that Moscow headquarters, as Moin Saheb's lamentation and Sofia's screams merged into a horrific symphony, everything suddenly went silent. The sound of the screams coming through the microphone hidden in Sofia's dress stopped abruptly.
There was no longer the sound of sobbing on the speakers, nor Dimitri's cruel laughter—only a deathly, freezing silence.
Moin Saheb frantically put the headphones back on. "Sofia? Sofia, can you hear me? Speak, child!" he screamed. But there was no response. Only the faint, rustling sound of falling snow could be heard, as if the microphone was now lying on the floor or out in the snow.
The young officer asked in a trembling voice, "Sir... is the connection lost? Or did Dimitri find the microphone?"
Moin Saheb sat frozen. His experienced mind was receiving a terrifying signal. For screams to stop so suddenly meant one of two things—either Sofia had lost consciousness, or someone had silenced her with extreme violence.
At that moment, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the speaker. Someone had picked up the microphone. Then came Dimitri's blood-chilling, deep voice. He addressed Moin Saheb directly in English:
"Are you listening, General? The show is over. Your soldier was brave, but even the bravest birds fall when their wings are clipped. Don't look for her anymore. She belongs to the snow now."
Then came a harsh, crunching sound—Dimitri had crushed the microphone with the pressure of his own hand. Now, only a continuous static noise buzzed through the speakers at headquarters. Moin Saheb sat like a stone, still holding the receiver. He realized that Sofia was gone—or even if she remained, she was now in a hell where Moin Saheb's apology could never reach.In that dark, opulent room, a demonic silence now prevailed. Dimitri sat over Sofia, his brute strength pinning her down. Sofia's hands clutched the silk bedsheet with a desperate grip, as if it were her last lifeline. The fabric crumpled and tore under the pressure of her trembling fingers.
A thin veil of tears shimmered in Sofia's eyes. The fierce, high-ranking Army Major was now utterly helpless against the situation. Her entire body shook as she whispered to herself in a broken voice, "I can't take it anymore... Ricky, I just can't..."
Dimitri's heavy boots remained fixed on either side of her. Nearby, those expensive CESARE T PACIOTTI heels lay discarded on the carpet—the very shoes that, moments ago, were symbols of her elegance and power. Now, they were merely witnesses to a lost battle.
Dimitri lowered his face close to hers. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his lips curled into a sinister grin of satisfaction. He leaned into her ear and whispered, "The pride of your uniform has frozen in the Russian snow today, Sofia. Now, it is just you and me."
Sofia gripped the sheet even tighter. That single teardrop finally rolled down her cheek, soaking into the fabric of the bed. She realized that her beloved country, her senior Moin Saheb—everyone had abandoned her in this hell. She was now nothing more than prey, and her predator knew no mercy.
Outside, the blizzard intensified, as if nature were trying to shroud a hideous truth beneath a blanket of pure white snow.Dimitri leaned in closer, his hot breath grazing the curve of Sofia's neck as he whispered with a chilling, predatory calmness. Every word felt like a shard of ice piercing through her soul. He said:
"Do you know why I haven't killed you yet, Major? Because a soldier's death is too quick, too easy. But breaking a soldier's spirit... that is a masterpiece. Today, I won't just take your body; I will strip away the pride of that uniform you wear. When you return to your country—if you return—you will look in the mirror and see only a woman who was conquered by Dimitri Ivanov."
Sofia closed her eyes tight, tears escaping as his hand tightened around the delicate fabric of her sheer dress, ready to tear it away. Dimitri's voice dropped to a sinister rasp:
"Moin won't save you. He is sitting in his office right now, watching your defeat over a glass of whiskey. This is Moscow, baby. Here, tears turn to ice, but hearts never melt."
Sofia felt the crushing weight of his body and the tightening grip of his hands. She was still clutching the bedsheet until her knuckles turned white, but deep inside the hollow of her despair, a spark of pure, lethal hatred began to smolder like a dormant volcano.Sofia was sobbing uncontrollably as her cries echoed through the silent room. Tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking into the bedsheet. In that moment, through the dim light, she looked up at Dimitri and saw that he had stripped off his shirt.
The faint light of the luxurious room glistened off Dimitri's muscular physique. Sofia saw his well-defined six-pack abs and broad chest—he was now bare-chested. He stood over her like a predator unmasking its raw, savage form. The hard muscles of his body radiated a sense of absolute dominance and arrogance.
Sofia shuddered for a moment. As an Army officer, she had seen many strong men, but the presence of Dimitri's bare chest made her feel even more psychologically crushed. She realized that in terms of raw physical strength, matching this beastly man was nearly impossible for her.
Dimitri leaned down further over Sofia with his bare chest, smiling with a demonic satisfaction. Sofia made a final, desperate attempt to cover herself with the sheet, but her tear-filled eyes and trembling body betrayed just how vulnerable she felt.Even in the face of such extreme danger, Sofia's intellect as an Army Major flickered to life. She knew she couldn't match Dimitri's physical strength, so she tried to distract him. Looking up at him through her tear-filled eyes, she asked in a trembling voice:
"What is your real name? I've heard that Russian names are very long... is your name just Dimitri?"
Dimitri paused, his face inches from hers. A crooked smile played on his lips at such an odd question at this moment. He traced his fingers along the base of her throat and spoke in a deep, gravelly voice:
"My full name is Dimitri Nikolayevich Volkov. Dimitri means 'Son of the Earth,' and Volkov comes from 'Volk'—which means Wolf. I am that wolf, Sofia, who is going to devour his prey tonight."
Sofia gained a split second of time. While Dimitri was occupied with the pride of his noble name, Sofia's mind was frantically scanning the dark room for anything she could use as a weapon.Sofia's calculated question rattled Dimitri's ego for a split second. As Dimitri pressed his heavy, muscular frame against her with increasing aggression, Sofia gasped in pain, whispering brokenly:
"Oh, I see... Ahhh! Hey... easy! Down... do it slowly..."
Sofia was struggling in pain, but her eyes were fixed on the right side of Dimitri's neck. There, just below the jawline, was an intricate black butterfly tattoo. Even in this moment of sheer terror, Sofia masked her fear and asked with forced curiosity:
"Why do you have a butterfly tattoo on the right side of your neck? A butterfly on a wolf... it doesn't fit."
Dimitri froze. Amidst his predatory heat, this question acted like a cold current. He pinned both of Sofia's hands above her head and went still. A dark past seemed to flicker in his eyes. Holding her gaze intensely, he growled in a low voice:
"Not every butterfly is a symbol of beauty, Sofia. This is a 'Black Monarch.' It means—every transformation is painful. I crawled through blood and ice before I could spread these wings. You notice too much, Major. Knowing too much only makes the death more agonizing."
Sofia realized she had struck a nerve. Dimitri's focus was momentarily trapped in the memory of his own ink, and she used this fraction of a second to slowly slide her right hand beneath the crumpled bedsheet.Sofia's dual behavior was confusing even a seasoned predator like Dimitri. While she was cringing in pain, she was also using her indomitable courage to get close to him. Sofia reached out her trembling fingers toward Dimitri's muscular neck. Her nails softly grazed the butterfly tattoo.
She whispered, "Butterfly... cute."
At that exact moment, as Dimitri pressed down on her with his full weight, crushing her into the bed, Sofia cried out in pain again.
"Ahhhh! Hey, I said do it slowly! Does anyone even do it like this? You are a complete animal!"
Sofia's sudden outburst sparked a strange sensation in Dimitri. He was used to women fainting in fear or begging for their lives, but this Bengali Army officer was reprimanding him even in the midst of her agony. Dimitri paused for a second, his heavy breath fanning across Sofia's face.
Sofia kept her fingers on his tattoo, staring directly into his eyes. She was counting the seconds—she knew that the moment Dimitri got lost in her touch, she would have to strike. Dimitri pressed his bare, muscular chest even harder against her and growled in a raspy voice, "This is how I do it, Sofia. There is no such word as 'slow' in my dictionary."Sofia's question struck a rusty, long-closed door inside Dimitri's mind. Dimitri, who until now had been nothing but a predatory wolf, suddenly went still. Though his muscular frame remained pinned over Sofia like a heavy stone, his gaze drifted toward the endless snowfall outside the window.
Sofia realized she had found a crack in Dimitri's armor. She whispered again, "Tell me... did you have a family? Did your mother love you as much as this butterfly tattoo?"
Dimitri's jaw tightened. He let go of Sofia's hands and buried his face near her neck—not to bite this time, but as if hiding a deep, heavy sigh. He spoke in a choked, hollow voice:
"Parents? Those who grow up on the streets of Moscow don't have parents, Sofia. My mother was the Siberian winter, and my father was hunger. When I was seven, I saw my mother's frozen body lying on the ice. This tattoo... it was a pattern from a small handkerchief my mother used to carry. The first time I killed a man, I inked this butterfly on myself—to remind me that mercy does not exist in this world."
As Dimitri spoke, his voice trembled slightly. Sofia felt the abandoned, orphaned child hiding behind that monstrous strength. But she didn't forget that this was the same man who had been humiliating her moments ago. Sofia placed one hand on the muscles of Dimitri's back as if offering comfort—while her other hand continued to feel for something sharp beneath the sheets.