Lily Rizk
Shark Hunt 1

Part I

Chapter 1

«Spartacus to the ring!» echoed the voice of the announcer.

In the middle of the trampled-down field, surrounded by a rough crowd, stood a man nearly two meters tall, warming up his massive frame. He looked to be about thirty-five, with a powerful build and a sharply trimmed beard. Cracking his knuckles, the fighter stared unblinking into the eyes of his approaching opponent. Everything about him screamed predator—merciless, calculated—missing only the tiger's roar.

Across from him stood Spartacus. He was smaller in build, though his muscular body was solid and battle-ready. Shaking out his arms, he clenched his fists and stepped forward. Both men lowered their stance, ready to fight. The makeshift night ring was set far from the city, in a desolate clearing lit by the headlights of surrounding cars. The crowd—mostly men placing bets—buzzed with anticipation. It was nearly dawn. Time for the final round. The fighters already defeated had joined the spectators, their bruised faces watching in silence.

«Ironhead versus Spartacus! Place your bets, gentlemen!» the announcer—also serving as referee—called out. After a brief rundown of the fighters, he reminded the crowd: no rules in this fight.

«Come on, Spartacus!» someone yelled from the crowd. «I’ve got my money on you, bro—don’t let me down!»

Ironhead, Spartacus’s opponent, growled lowly, locking his eyes on him with open disdain.

Spartacus raised his fists to guard his face and began circling slowly, preparing to defend. His opponent mirrored him, following every step. Then, without warning, Ironhead lunged forward, delivering a long, straight punch aimed at Spartacus’s head. The blow knocked him sideways. A sharp pain pierced his eye, and swelling blurred his vision. Before he could recover, he was slammed to the ground—Ironhead’s leg striking the inside of his knee with a vicious snap. Spartacus collapsed.

Ironhead quickly moved to wrap his arm around Spartacus’s neck from behind, trying to lock in a chokehold. But Spartacus turned his head, jamming his face into Ironhead’s side, preventing the squeeze. Reaching behind with one free hand, he grabbed his opponent’s jaw and violently shoved it backward. Ironhead’s grip loosened instinctively.

In that moment, Spartacus pushed off with raw force, twisting out of the hold. At the same time, he landed a brutal punch straight into Ironhead’s liver. Ironhead staggered back, finally letting go.

Without wasting a second, Spartacus spun around and leapt—driving his knee into Ironhead’s jaw.

Ironhead hit the ground. Knockout.

Chapter 2

Sitting on the edge of a large, weathered tree stump—once a proud century-old pine—Spartacus stuck a blade of grass between his teeth and stared into the distance. Ahead lay a ravine, and beyond it, a small river flowed. Behind him, across the field, stretched the village where he was born and raised.

His sun-bleached hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. His broad, tanned back, slick with sweat like oiled leather, shimmered under the soft glow of the rising sun.

After jogging along the dusty, winding paths and working out at his makeshift pull-up bar, he allowed himself a short break. His stomach already grumbled with hunger, but he wasn’t in a hurry to go home. Being alone with nature was his favorite time—especially in the early morning, when everything around was just beginning to wake. No one disturbed his thoughts, his dreams, or his inner peace. He sat there, letting the warm breeze of summer's end cool his overheated body. His mind drifted far beyond the horizon. So lost in thought, he didn’t notice someone approaching.

“How long are you gonna sit here?” came the high-pitched voice of his stepfather’s son, who had waddled all the way to the edge of the village, thighs jiggling with each step.

“What do you want?” Spartacus replied without turning, his deep bass voice clashing with the kid’s squeaky tone.

“Dad’s calling you. Says it’s important.”

“Did his junk car break down again?” Spartacus muttered, swinging his legs down from the stump.

He grabbed his shirt from a nearby bush—where he’d hung it the day before—and slung it over his shoulder, walking slowly toward the river.

“He says it’s urgent business or something,” the boy puffed as he tried to keep up.

“I’ll be there soon, Styopa,” Spartacus replied. “Let me take a dip first. And you better stay out of the water—you’ll sink again.”

“Then teach me how to swim, Spar!” the kid begged, voice filled with frustration.

“Later. I don’t have time now.”

Styopa dropped his head, muttered something under his breath, and trudged back toward the village.

At the riverbank, Spartacus stripped off his old jeans and underwear, wading straight into the water. Reaching the deeper part, he dove in, surfacing with a low moan of bliss. The cool water wrapped around his body, easing the heat from his muscles.

His strong torso, firm muscles, and piercing gray eyes made the local girls go wild. Every one of them wanted his attention. Even some older women longed for him with shameless hunger.

His mother constantly tried to fend off the many women chasing her son, but they always found ways to get close to him.

As if that wasn’t enough, Spartacus was involved in underground fights. His mother often had to nurse him for days after each brutal match. But no amount of tears or threats could make him quit.

“Why the hell did German name you that?!” she’d cry as she treated his wounds. “You trying to die like he did?!”

“Mama, relax. It’s just sport. We’re not really trying to kill each other,” he’d say, trying to calm her down.

And truth be told, it brought in good money. But that wasn’t the only headache. There was also a whole line of women practically following him around. And Spartacus didn’t exactly mind.

Sometimes Vera, a pretty young woman, would ask for help fixing her wiring, and he’d show up. Somehow, things would drag out till morning. Or Klavdia would call—something about a broken table. Same story. He was just too kind to say no.

“You keep it up, and one day your kindness will land you with a baby and a wedding you didn’t plan!” his mother scolded.

“I'm not stupid!” he'd reply, blushing and making a quick exit.

“So, Uncle Pasha—what’s this about?” Spartacus asked, taking a seat at the dinner table. He hadn’t seen his stepfather that morning, so the conversation was pushed to the evening.

“Let’s eat first, then we’ll talk,” the older man replied, scooping up fried potatoes from the big skillet at the center of the table, then reaching for a plate of roasted chicken.

“Can I help Spartacus too?” Styopa asked with his mouth full.

“No, you can't,” Spartacus answered before his stepfather could.

“It’s not about fixing something, son,” the man said, ignoring the boy.

“What is it, then?” Spartacus’s mother asked nervously, glancing at her husband.

“Men’s business, woman. Stay out of it,” he replied curtly.

She sighed, looking at her son. Spartacus lifted his eyes and slowly blinked, signaling her not to worry.

After dinner, they stepped outside. The stepfather sat on a bench by the gate; Spartacus stood before him, ready to listen.

“You still dreaming of getting out of here?” the older man asked.

“So?”

“You’ll never save enough from those street fights for even a one-way ticket, son. And it’s dangerous. Your mother’s losing sleep over you.”

Spartacus frowned, annoyed. Is he giving me a lecture now? He thought.

“So what are you suggesting?”

The man hesitated, choosing his words.

“There’s a very rich man,” he began. “He’s got a daughter. She made him angry, and he kicked her out.”

“You want me to find her and bring her back?” Spartacus guessed.

“No. The opposite.”

“Come again?”

“We need to teach the father a little lesson,” the man said quietly, leaning in.

“What do you mean, ‘a lesson’? Can you just speak plainly for once?”

“She’s here… in the village. He kicked her out, and she ended up… well, in the wrong place.”

“Where?”

“At Volodya’s barn.”

Spartacus stared at his stepfather in disbelief. He’d always thought the man was smart.

“You kidnapped a rich guy’s daughter?!”

“She came on her own.”

Spartacus chuckled dryly and shook his head. “Nope. Not my kind of job. Thanks. I’m out.” He turned to walk away, but his stepfather grabbed his arm.

“Wait. You don’t get it. You’re supposed to take her back and be the hero,” the man said, switching tactics.

Spartacus turned, brow furrowed. “Uncle Pasha… have you lost your damn mind?”

The man sighed deeply, chest rising and falling. He muttered as if to himself, “Fine. Either you do it, or we dump her in the woods and let her figure it out.”

That hit the nerve he was aiming for. Spartacus stood frozen. His gut rejected being part of something so wrong. But his heart wouldn’t let him abandon a possibly helpless girl.

Half an hour later, they arrived at an old house on the village’s edge. Volodya, Uncle Pasha’s nephew, was often away working in Moscow, so the house was usually empty—except when relatives needed to use it. This time, it served a darker purpose.

Spartacus was furious. The first thing he wanted to do was get the girl out. They crept to the barn and peeked through a gap in the wooden door. A dim light flickered inside, casting soft shadows. A girl sat near the wall, hugging her knees. Her black hair was tied in a loose bun, revealing a beautiful round face with large dark eyes and thick eyebrows. She looked no older than twenty-five. Spartacus stepped away from the door and walked quietly toward the gate. His stepfather followed.

“How long has she been there?” he whispered.

“Since morning.”

Spartacus lifted his head and whispered a prayer of thanks.

“Uncle Pasha, give me the keys to your UAZ,” he said, hand extended.

“Right now?” the man asked in disbelief.

“No, let’s wait until the cops show up. Of course right now. Hand them over.”

The man shoved the keys into Spartacus’s palm, glaring at him. Spartacus ignored it and returned to the barn. He quietly unlocked the door and stepped inside, ducking slightly under the frame.

The moment the girl saw his tall, broad-shouldered figure, she stood and backed away in fear.

“Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly, hands held forward. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Did my father send you?”

“Almost.”

“What do you mean, ‘almost’?”

“He doesn’t know where you are. I want to take you to him myself.”

“Why should I trust you?” she asked.

“Why else would I be getting you out of here?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then she nodded slightly and motioned for him to step outside.

Spartacus did. Uncle Pasha had vanished. As if he was never there.

“How did you find me? And who are you?”

“Just a village guy passing by. Heard a noise,” he replied, eyes fixed on the road as they drove out of the village.

“I didn’t make any noise,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “And you said my father didn’t know where I was.”

“Look, I don’t even know your name,” he said with growing impatience. “You’ll be home soon—what more do you want?”

“Maybe I don’t want to go home!”

He slammed on the brakes and turned to face her fully.

“Then we can go back to that barn, and I’ll disappear like I was never here.”

“Or maybe you could just drop me off in the city and disappear?” she snapped, not breaking eye contact.

“No,” he said calmly. “I’m taking you home. Where do you live?”

“Chicago.”

“Shit,” he muttered, tightening his lips and turning the wheel to make a U-turn.

“Hey! Where are you going?” she asked, alarmed.

“Where I need to. Why am I even dealing with you and your problems? You wanna play cat and mouse? Go ahead.”

“My name is Nadya,” she blurted out. “I really did come from the States. My father’s trying to marry me off to some friend’s son, and I don’t want that. That’s why I ran away. Please… believe me!”

Her tone shifted, and he suddenly felt a pang of sympathy. He stopped the car and rubbed his forehead, then looked at her.

“So what’s your plan—keep hiding in the woods?”

“I want to go back to America.”

“Do you have your documents?”

“Just my Russian ID. I grabbed it just in case. My passport’s back home.”

He gave a slight smirk. “Well, that’s probably for the best. Saves you money on a ticket. They’ll grab you at the airport the moment you show up. So your options are… limited.”

She leaned back in the seat, studying him closely. Then, with a click of her tongue, she said in a husky voice, “There is one foolproof option.”

“You’re looking at me real weird, Nadya…”

“I, um… I don’t have much money right now, but I swear I’ll repay you well if you help me. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Spartacus,” he replied.

“Spartacus? Really?”

“Really.”

“Pretty unusual name for a village guy… though you are a bit different from the rest.”

He smirked again and turned away. “My father named me after the guy in the book. The Thracian. He loved that story.”

“I should probably read it sometime,” she murmured.

He glanced at her, paused, then asked, “So what now? It’s getting late.” He looked at his watch.

“Spartacus, marry me.”

“What?!”

“Not for real,” she straightened in her seat, “just… on paper.”

“This day just keeps getting weirder. Nadya, that’s a terrible plan. I can’t help you like that. Sorry.”

“Come on, I’ll go back to America, and we’ll get divorced. My dad will forgive me, and I’ll pay you—lots. You’ll finally be able to leave this place, start fresh. Or… I’ll take you with me to the States?”

“Or I’ll end up in prison for fraud,” he cut in dryly. “Sorry. That’s not happening.”

She fell silent, turning away in disappointment. “How long is the drive from Rogosovka to Krasnodar in your junker?”

“About two hours.”

“Wake me when we get there.”

She closed her eyes and got comfortable. Spartacus shook his head slightly and started the engine. As they neared the city, he called out, “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

“I was.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Whatever. Where to next? It’s past midnight. I still have to drive back.”

“Do you know Krasnodar well?”

“Well enough.”

“Then take me to a decent hotel. I’ve got money.”

“Hold up. What hotel? Give me your home address and quit messing around.”

“Honestly, I don’t think your ‘vehicle’ will make it.”

“Where is it? Forget Chicago for a second. I’m serious.”

“My father lives in Moscow. I came here by train… and I’ll leave the same way. Tomorrow,” she finished softly.

Spartacus pulled over and slammed the door behind him, pacing and cursing under his breath. He kicked the car’s tire hard.

“Damn that bastard of a stepdad! He’s dead when I get home!”

Nadya sat up, startled by his outburst. A few minutes later, Spartacus returned and stood silently, staring at her. She flinched, thinking he was about to hit her, and shielded her head with her arms.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

“I don’t want to marry that guy! He disgusts me!”

“And what about the rest of us, huh?! Tomorrow your father will be here. He’ll find you—and me. Guess who’s taking the fall?!” Spartacus nearly shouted, then turned away and punched the steering wheel. The UAZ honked loudly in response.

“I didn’t ask for this. Those jerks who invited me over got all the info out of me, then locked me in that damn barn.”

Clenching his jaw, Spartacus tried to think, searching for a way out. Pasha would pay—he just needed to get home first. But what to do with the girl? How to protect himself—and her? Why did he get involved at all? Stupid soft heart…

With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his battered old phone.

“Give me the number.”

“Whose number?”

That question made him finally glare at her.

“Your father’s!”

“I don’t have it. I don’t know it by heart… and I lost my phone,” she admitted, blushing.

“You’re kidding me,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“I swear. And don’t try to call him, please! I don’t want to live with him!” She buried her face in her hands and started crying.

Her tears hit him hard. In that moment, she didn’t look like a grown woman—just a helpless little girl. And if there was one thing Spartacus couldn’t handle, it was a woman crying.

He tossed the phone aside, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes, muttering under his breath.

“…Fine,” he said after a long pause.

She stopped crying immediately and looked up.

“Fine what?”

“I’ll be your husband.”

“We’ll stay at a hotel tonight. First thing in the morning, we go to the civil registry office,” he said wearily, starting the engine. “How much money do you have on you?”

She reached into her bra and began pulling out crumpled bills.

“I’m afraid to ask where you keep your passport,” he said, eyes still on the road.

“Probably best not to,” she replied, laying the cash on the dashboard.

“Even got dollars, huh,” he muttered, glancing sideways.

“Yeah. Two hundred fifty bucks and three thousand rubles.”

“Give me a hundred,” he said, holding out his hand.

Nadya handed him a $100 bill.

“That’s for the registration. Put the rest back,” he ordered, tucking the money into his pocket.

By 1 AM, they were already asleep in separate hotel rooms. Spartacus had no energy left to think. Marriage? Fine. At least now he had a reason to be responsible for this crazy girl—as her husband.

At exactly 9 AM, they stood at the door of the civil registry office in the district center. Spartacus had called an old army buddy at dawn, and through a few connections, got everything arranged fast. Then he woke his blissfully unaware bride, and they rushed back over.

The hundred dollars weren’t enough, so he threw in another bill, and they were registered. The only requirement was a pregnancy certificate to justify the urgent marriage.

When he heard that, Spartacus almost backed out. But Nadya pulled him aside and promised him it wouldn’t come to that.

“It better not,” he grumbled with suspicion.

An hour later, they were officially declared husband and wife and handed a marriage certificate.

In worn jeans and a slightly grubby blouse, the bride still looked stunning. Spartacus caught himself staring at her for a moment, then shook his head and walked toward the car.

“Never thought my bride would walk out of a wedding in jeans and a ponytail instead of a veil…”

“Phew! You’re my angel, my savior!” Nadya cheered, hopping into the old UAZ.

Perfect outfit. Fancy car. What a day, he thought, smirking as he started the engine.

“Where are we going now?” his new wife asked.

“To my house,” he said, shooting her a look. “Time to meet your in-laws.”

“You’re serious?!”

“What, you want your father to think something’s off?”

“No, of course not… you’re right. But what am I supposed to do there?”

“Live.”

“For real?”

“For real. As my wife. And get ready to work, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna let you lay around doing nothing.”

“You’re kidding, right? This isn’t a real marriage!”

“Only for us. Everyone else will think it’s the real deal,” he said. “Either that, or we get divorced, and I go straight to your father with everything I know—his name, address, the whole package.”

“No! No, please don’t do that!” Nadya panicked. “Let’s just agree on what we’ll tell him—how we met, when, all that…”

“Good idea,” Spartacus nodded. “When did you get back from the States?”

“Over two months ago.”

“Did you stay overnight anywhere during that time? With a friend or something?”

“No. Just visited my mother’s grave.”

He looked at her and quietly offered his condolences.

“Thanks. She died when I was ten.”

“What from?”

“Pneumonia.”

He sighed heavily and gently touched her shoulder. Nadya looked at his hand, and he quickly pulled it away.

“My father died when I was that age too,” he said.

“But you said I’d be meeting your father-in-law…”

“I’ve got a stepdad.”

“Ah, I see. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, truly,” she said gently. “What happened to your dad?”

“There was a fire at our house. He got my mother and me out, then went back in to save the animals. A burning beam fell on him. Everything burned down. My stepdad took us in after that.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I’m neutral. He treats Mom well, and that’s enough for me.”

“Did he treat you like a son?”

“Not really,” Spartacus said, squinting as he tried to remember. “My boxing coach was more of a father to me—but he passed a few years back too. Uncle Pasha never pushed me, so I didn’t complain. He taught me a lot though.”

“Like what?”

“Fixing cars. He worked as a mechanic all his life. Taught me to build stuff, take care of the house. He doesn’t drink. Just a regular guy. Got his flaws, sure… don’t we all?” he added with a crooked smile.

They pulled up to a modest estate with a tall, even fence. Over the top, lush green branches spilled down, showing a well-tended garden.

“Welcome home, wife,” he said, stepping out and opening her door.

She blushed slightly and placed her hand in his, following him toward the gate.

“For everyone else, we’re a real couple. So don’t flinch if I touch you,” he murmured as he pushed open the gate.

“Mama, is Uncle Pasha home?” Spartacus called out to his mother, who was hanging laundry in the yard.

“Hello,” Nadya said timidly.

The woman froze mid-motion, mouth slightly open, her eyes darting down to the joined hands of the young couple.

“Mama, meet Nadya. She’s my wife,” Spartacus said quickly, already heading toward the house. “So, is he home or not?”

“Son, what are you talking about?” his mother asked, confused.

“I asked if Uncle Pasha’s home.”

“No, he’s not,” came a groggy voice from the porch. Styopa rubbed his eyes as he stepped outside, clearly just waking up.

“Who is this?” his mother asked, walking closer.

Nadya instinctively moved behind Spartacus, seeking cover.

“This is Nadya. My wife,” he repeated casually, like he was introducing a dog or a new motorcycle he’d just picked up.

“Wife?” his mother echoed, circling them. “You never told me you got married! And why am I seeing her for the first time?”

“It just happened. Sorry,” he said, wrapping an arm around Nadya. “We got married this morning. She’s pregnant, so we had to hurry.”

He regretted saying that the moment it left his mouth, because his mother immediately smacked him across the back with the wet towel she was holding. He let go of Nadya and bolted, shielding his head.

“How many times have I told you to stay away from girls?! And now you got one pregnant?!”

“I love her!” Spartacus yelled, sprinting toward the street.

Nadya stood frozen in the middle of the yard, unsure of what to do next.

“You’re not bad looking…” Styopa said, walking down the steps and giving her a long, curious once-over.

Nadya hugged herself and shrank slightly under his stare. But moments later, she felt Spartacus’ strong arms around her again. He pulled her close and started leading her toward the house.

“Know your place, kid. She’s my woman,” he growled, gently shoving his stepbrother aside as he led Nadya up the stairs.

Their mother shook her head in disapproval as they disappeared into the house.

Chapter 4

Two days later, guests arrived—along with Uncle Pasha, who had been absent all that time. Nadya instantly recognized her father and his loyal assistants.

“Well, hello there, daughter,” greeted a man who looked to be in his early fifties. He carried himself with undeniable authority and wealth. Even his cologne swept down the street like a royal announcement.

“Hello, Papa,” Nadya replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Is it true, what I’ve been told?”

“Yes,” Spartacus answered before she could. He stepped up beside Nadya and pulled her into a firm embrace.

Uncle Pasha’s eyes bulged. Spartacus shot him a cold, sharp look.

“And this… this is who you chose instead of the well-educated and promising Sergey?” her father said with clear disdain, nodding toward Spartacus, who was covered in dirt from cleaning the animal pens.

“I love him,” Nadya said softly, repeating Spartacus’s words. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet her father’s gaze.

“So that’s how it is?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well then, let’s see how much he loves you,” the man declared. “I’m cutting you off from the inheritance. That includes the apartment in Chicago. I’m freezing all your bank accounts too.”

“But Papa—!” Nadya gasped. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, I most certainly can.”

“But some of that money belonged to Mom!”

“You can check her will with the notary. Everything she owned was left to me, personally. I control all joint assets.” He leaned in and hissed through his teeth, “Understand me? If it’s true love,” he straightened again, locking eyes with Spartacus, “then let him take care of you now.”

He turned sharply and headed for the door. As he stepped over the threshold, he tossed a curt farewell over his shoulder to Spartacus’s bewildered mother: “My regards.”

Nadya collapsed into a chair, her arms limp in her lap. What now? She hadn’t just created a mess for herself—she’d dragged an innocent guy into it. Spartacus stepped closer and sat beside her, chuckling under his breath.

Nadya looked at him with sad eyes. Everyone else had left. They were alone now.

“Well, you really stirred the pot, didn’t you?” he said with a faint smirk.

But she wasn’t in the mood to laugh.

“You know what I think?” she said at last.

He looked at her curiously.

“I’ll reach out to some friends—ask them for help,” she nodded to herself, deciding out loud.

“What kind of help?”

“Financial, of course.”

“And?”

“They’ll help me leave.”

“And then?”

“What do you mean ‘then’?” Nadya frowned.

“Where are you going? Who do you have? What are you running from now?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

“I’ll go back to America. I’ll figure it out. Doesn’t matter who or where. I’ll just go.”

“And a young woman traveling into the unknown—that’s your plan?” he asked, eyebrows drawn tight.

“What are you, my father now? Why do you care?”

Spartacus clenched his jaw but said nothing. Why did he care, really?

She stood and walked to their room. He stayed seated for a moment, staring at the floor—then followed her.

“If you’ve decided to go your own way, I won’t stop you,” he said at last.

“Thank you. I don’t have another choice. And… I’m sorry I dragged you into all this,” she added quietly, brushing her hair.

“Yeah, sadly, you did. And that’s exactly why I can’t just let you run off wherever you feel like.”

She stood at the mirror with her back to him. She turned sharply, confused.

“What did you say?”

“Running off alone is not an option,” he said, standing firm, planting his fists on his hips.

“And what are you gonna do—chain me up?! I’m not your wife, remember?! This is all just a game!”

“Yeah? Well, my life isn’t a game!” he snapped. “You think if something happens to you, I won’t be held responsible? No, sweetheart, not happening. You do nothing without my say-so—or I call your father and hand you over. End of discussion.”

“You bastard!”

“Call me what you want. I play it safe. Now give me your passport,” he said, holding out his hand.

“You’ve got some nerve! What’s next, turn me into your slave?!” she cried, scrambling for the drawer where she kept her things.

In a single stride, Spartacus closed the distance and grabbed at the passport. She jerked away and tried to flee, but he caught her instantly, spinning her around. She lost her balance and yanked him down with her. They crashed onto the bed—once his parents’—which had been given to them as newlyweds. Spartacus usually slept on the floor, while Nadya, as a lady, had claimed the bed. Now they lay there together, tangled up. He hovered over her, his gray eyes darkening as he gripped her wrists, pinning her beneath him.

“Get off me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Snapping out of it, he immediately pulled back—but not before snatching the passport from her limp fingers.

“I said what I said. Period.” He was breathing heavily—from anger… or something else. “You’ve got a choice. Go back to your father—or we figure this out together.”

“I should’ve just married that slimy Sergey,” Nadya muttered angrily, rubbing her wrists. “Then poisoned him on the wedding night and become a rich widow. Would’ve saved me from running from one tyrant to another.”

Spartacus chuckled and shook his head.

“Do you really think only decent people cross your path? You’re wrong, sweetheart. You might run into anyone—psychos, maniacs—and then even my so-called tyranny would feel like tender love.”

She stared at him, eyes sharp. He didn’t look away.

“So what’s your brilliant plan, then?” she snapped.

“Make peace with your daddy.”

“Impossible.”

“Why? You’re his daughter. He won’t abandon you.”

“He’s got better things to do than worry about me,” she said bitterly.

Spartacus studied her for a moment, then sighed and lowered his head.

“Then you need to make him worry about you.”

“What, hang myself? Leave a suicide note that says ‘It’s all Daddy’s fault’? Actually, not a bad idea. Thanks for suggesting it.”

“I suggested what now? Don’t talk nonsense.”

“I don’t know… Maybe he just needs time,” Spartacus said, voice softer. “No matter who he’s got in his life, he won’t completely abandon his own child. You saw how fast he found you?”

He flashed her a crooked smile. “Didn’t I tell you? And I’m telling you now too—listen to me.”

Nadya just shrugged and rested her head on her arms.

After a pause, Spartacus said calmly, “I’ve got to get to work.” He reached out and handed her passport back. “If you run off, I’m screwed. I’ll end up in jail.”

Nadya had come to accept her fate and continued playing the role of a loving, obedient wife to a village guy—hoping her father would soon soften and take his rebellious daughter back. Or at the very least, restore the comforts she once had.

For now, she endured her new life with surprising grit. At twenty-six, she was learning everything a woman in the countryside was expected to know. Household chores felt like divine punishment for disobeying her father. Sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she'd grab a broom or a mop and get to work.

But it didn’t end with cleaning the house—her mother-in-law dragged her out to the barn with the cows and goats. The stench of manure and who-knew-what-else nearly drove her mad. The first time, she vomited. Styopa found it hilarious and shadowed her like a puppy—until she started assigning him tasks. Then he’d vanish as quickly as he came. Eventually, he stopped getting in her way altogether.

Katerina Alexandrovna, Spartacus’s mother, slowly began to warm up to Nadya. Despite her early stubbornness and delicate hands, the girl grew on her. Soon enough, Nadya started receiving gifts and going on visits with her mother-in-law. The woman boasted about her daughter-in-law to every neighbor, especially to the young women she used to chase away from her son.

One month passed. Then came autumn.

“You know, I’m done sleeping on the floor—it’s getting chilly,” Spartacus said one evening as they entered their bedroom.

Nadya glanced at him but said nothing. He was slightly surprised but didn’t press her. Fluffing his pillow, he lay down on one side of the bed. She quietly lay down on the other, turning her back to him.

“Good night,” he said softly.

“Good night. Sleep well,” she replied.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. What lingered instead was the quiet realization that she was trying—really trying—to fit in. She made no demands, held no grudges, never once complained.

And all this from a girl raised in luxury—used to bossing around maids and giving orders to drivers—who had now turned into a real-life Cinderella.

It wasn’t easy for her. Everyone saw it. At first, she would collapse onto the bed and pass out from sheer fatigue. Even Uncle Pasha, perhaps feeling guilty, would bring her little gifts now and then—scarves, a dress or two, sweets he’d split with Styopa. She started tying her hair with headscarves like her mother-in-law, mimicking her gestures.

And the house… it changed with her in it. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the table, washed fruit in a bowl, a certain warmth and quiet joy in the air. The only downside was the food—when she cooked, that was still a gamble. But the men ate, forcing down whatever came out of the pot, pretending it was the best thing they’d ever tasted.

She’d watch them nervously, asking, “Is it okay? Maybe a bit burnt… or undercooked? Too salty?” They’d smile and nod, chewing bravely.

But no one was more grateful than Katerina Alexandrovna, especially on days she didn’t have to cook. At last, she had weekends off.

Time passed, and Nadya began to adjust—to the house, to the family. Spartacus watched her slender back as she lay beside him and thought: maybe this… could actually work. Maybe it didn’t have to be about money or America. Maybe there was something real here.

He reached out a hand toward her—but it stopped mid-air. He couldn’t bring himself to touch her. After a few seconds, he let his arm drop and closed his eyes with a heavy breath.

By the end of December, Spartacus was turning thirty. He usually didn’t care much for birthdays, but this time, the household insisted on a little celebration. Especially Nadya—she was getting the hang of cooking, and her pastries were starting to turn out surprisingly well. She promised to bake a cake, and Katerina Alexandrovna vowed to help her with everything.

Spartacus now worked in an auto shop in a nearby village. He had quit the underground fights and had to work hard to support the family. Slowly, he was saving up, planning to eventually move to the city. But lately, he was no longer sure that’s what he wanted. More and more, he realized that home—this home—was pulling him back.

Vera, Klavdiya, other girls… they no longer mattered. He didn’t even notice them anymore. He kept thinking about her. About Nadya. His wife.

“Oh, great… just what I need,” he muttered under his breath with a sigh.

At work, the guys forced him to put out some drinks to celebrate. They teased him about the wedding, so he had to shell out a bit. By the time he came home, he was already a little tipsy—though he tried not to show it.

Nadya had decorated the house with balloons and flowers, starting from the gate. He hadn’t expected anything special, but as soon as he stepped through the door, confetti popped and streamers filled the air. The family—and a few invited neighbors—burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday!”

He stood there, stunned. Nothing like this had ever happened in his life. The dark winter evening lit up with colorful lights and music. The feast was fit for royalty. He started to sweat from the attention.

And then Nadya walked up to him—dressed in a simple but lovely dress, her jet-black hair falling loose around her shoulders. After the group greeting, she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. But Spartacus bent toward her, wrapped an arm around her waist—and kissed her on the lips instead. The alcohol had made him brave enough to finally do what he’d been dreaming of for months. It was a short but burning kiss. Nadya’s eyes flew open, wide with surprise. But Spartacus didn’t pull away. He kept his arms around her, watching for a reaction—expecting a slap, a scolding, anything.

Instead, the guests burst into applause, shouting “Kiss again! Kiss again!” as if it were a wedding.

Nadya blushed and turned away, smiling—but she didn’t pull back or try to escape. Her reaction lit a fire in him. Spartacus leaned in once more, gently lifted her chin—and kissed her again. This time slower, softer, tender.

And after that…

The taste of her lips, the scent of her skin—it haunted him all evening. He couldn’t think straight until they were finally alone. During dinner, Uncle Pasha, already tipsy, brought up the sorest subject of all: kids. He turned to the couple, slurring a little, and asked when they were planning to have children.

“We’re not in a hurry yet, Uncle Pasha,” Spartacus mumbled, slightly embarrassed. He hadn’t drunk much—he didn’t want alcohol on his breath in case tonight went… where he hoped it would.

“If you wait another year, he’ll be ten when you’re forty-one,” the old man insisted, holding up a finger like he was delivering sacred wisdom. “Think with your head. You gotta raise a kid, teach him a trade. Although—look at that one!” He waved a hand at his own son, snoring on the couch, and poured himself another shot.

Spartacus gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Styopa’s still young. There’s time. And as for us… we don’t want to crowd you here. We need our own place first,” he added, glancing at Nadya.

She looked startled, but when he winked, she relaxed and nodded gratefully.

“We’ll build something right here in the yard,” Uncle Pasha said, waving toward the window. “No need to go anywhere.”

He stumbled out to the yard, humming to himself. Spartacus scratched the back of his head. Things were getting serious. No one but him and Nadya knew their marriage was a lie. And the worst part? He didn’t want it to be a lie anymore. He wanted her. All of her. Forever. The party died down. His mother shooed Nadya off to her husband, then grabbed a neighbor to help clean up.

Nadya entered the bedroom, feeling oddly nervous—like it really was her wedding night. Spartacus was already on the bed, waiting. The moment she stepped in, he rose and walked straight to her. He pulled her close and kissed her—this time with no hesitation. His lips moved from hers to her neck. She let out a quiet gasp as he bent down, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to the bed. His eyes were wild with heat. He undressed her quickly, shedding his own clothes just as fast. She shifted, trying to pull away in embarrassment, but he immediately drew her back in, his hands firm on her hips. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissed her lips, then her neck, whispering soft words against her ear. And when he felt her body begin to relax under his touch, he looked into her eyes and said quietly,

“Be my wife. For real, Nadya. I love you.”

The next morning, he slid a wedding band onto her finger. He showed off his own with a grin. Nadya smiled in surprise at the gesture. Wrapped in only a sheet, she lay on the bed, while he was already dressed in his home pants. Spartacus laid back down beside her and kissed her lips.

“I always thought you’d had other guys before,” he said warmly. “I’m so glad I was wrong.”

“With my father? That would’ve been impossible,” she replied.

“Well then… next time I see him, I’ll thank him properly,” he said, and kissed her again—slowly, deeply, as his hands began to roam across her body.

Chapter 6

From then on, they no longer hid their happiness. Spartacus couldn’t pass by his wife without a kiss—or at least a gentle touch, a caress, a glance. Nadya’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Katerina Alexandrovna, in her own way, decided to honor her daughter-in-law with something special—a family heirloom passed down for generations.

“I nearly sold it once,” she confessed, holding a small velvet box. “When the fire happened… Spartacus was ten, and we had nothing left—no home, no husband.”

She sighed deeply. They were sitting on the couch, and Nadya gently took her hand.

“Thank God I didn’t,” Spartacus’s mother added with a warm smile, stroking Nadya’s cheek. “Now it’s going where it belongs.”

“Thank you… it’s an honor,” Nadya replied softly as she accepted the gift.

“It’s emerald with diamonds,” the older woman explained. “It’s worth a good amount of money, but I want you to sell it only if there’s absolutely no other choice.”

“Don’t worry, Mama. We won’t sell it. One day, we’ll pass it down to our children,” Nadya promised, earning a proud tear in return. They hugged like true family.

New Year’s came with laughter and fireworks. And during the holiday break, Spartacus and Nadya made a decision—they would buy a car.

A big trip no longer appealed to either of them. They had enough saved for a decent vehicle. They went to Krasnodar and returned behind the wheel of their new Kia Optima.

Spartacus looked great driving it, and with the rest of the money, they bought clothes—both for themselves and for the whole family. Now, Nadya sat in the passenger seat with a half-smile tugging at her lips. Spartacus reached over and took her hand.

“Hey… What are you thinking about, my love?”

“I was just remembering that first trip to Krasnodar. That night.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“A night that changed everything.”

“Yeah… and when I saw your stepfather, I realized he was the one who sent you to me.”

“True. But does it matter now? We did want to help you.”

“I know. Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the neck.

Spartacus immediately wrapped an arm around her as they kept driving. It was one of those peaceful, perfect moments that feel like they’ll last forever.

But when they pulled up to the house, they noticed several cars parked outside the gate. Nadya’s smile faded.

“It’s my father,” she said, her voice a mix of dread and disbelief.

Before she could rush out, Spartacus grabbed her hand. She turned to him with questioning eyes.

“Promise me you won’t leave me?” he asked quietly, almost pleading.

She didn’t answer. She just gave him a faint smile and shook her head.

Spartacus stayed in the car. Something bitter stirred inside him. He didn’t want to go inside. Not now.

“Hello,” Spartacus said, finally entering the house.

Guests were already seated in the living room—Nadya, her mother-in-law, and her father. Uncle Pasha and Styopa had gone to work.

“Hello,” her father replied, cold and composed. Nadya sat beside him, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” Spartacus asked, concern tightening his voice.

“Because her illusion of happiness has come to an end,” her father replied before she could speak.

“That’s not true,” Spartacus shot back. “She’s my lawful wife. You have no right—”

He caught the man’s eye and noticed a paper on the table. He walked over, picked it up, and began to read. A statement. From a doctor. Claiming he had threatened her to issue a fake pregnancy certificate. Spartacus went pale.

“I never threatened anyone,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“You can read it yourself. And soon enough, medical experts will confirm if she was ever pregnant. Tests, scans… I know how to get answers,” Nadya’s father said, rising to his feet.

“Why are you doing this?” Spartacus asked quietly. “We love each other. Isn’t that enough? Maybe she is pregnant now!”

The man stepped closer, towering over him.

“She leaves with me—now, or later, after I have you locked up. Your choice.”

“Dad!” Nadya cried, falling to her knees before him. “Please, don’t hurt him! It’s all my fault! I forced him to marry me!”

“What?” her mother gasped for the first time, breaking her silence.

“I’m sorry!” Nadya sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

Spartacus stepped forward.

“It doesn’t matter how it started. We’re a real couple now. We have feelings. We live like husband and wife. Whoever tries to tear us apart is making a huge mistake.”

“Get up,” her father said, reaching down and pulling her to her feet. “Go to the car. We’re done here.”

Nadya looked back at her husband through tear-filled eyes—then walked out the door.

Spartacus lowered his head.

“And you,” the man said, his voice sharp, “go to the registrar’s office tomorrow. File for divorce. They’ll tell you when to come pick up the certificate. Your role in my daughter’s life is over.”

He turned to leave, but then looked back one last time.

“And if you ever try to contact her again… I won’t be merciful.”

Then he was gone.

Spartacus stood frozen. A crushing silence settled on the house, thick and suffocating. His mother was crying, speaking—maybe pleading—but he didn’t hear a word. His chest was heavy, like someone had dropped a mountain onto him. His fists clenched. His jaw locked tight. You can’t be too happy. The higher you soar, the harder you fall. And the fall… Hurts like hell.

He tossed the car keys onto the table.

“They’re in the car. Gifts for you and the others. Nadya and I picked them out.”

His mother watched him in stunned silence as he turned and walked into their bedroom. A few minutes later, she followed him, worried. He stood by the window, hands resting on the sill.

“Did you get the stuff from the car?” he asked without turning around.

“I… I haven’t yet,” she replied, her voice unsure.

Spartacus glanced at her, then sighed.

“I’m not weak, Mama. People who take their own lives… they’re the weak ones. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, son… I really got scared. You’re just so calm.”

“I’m not crazy, Mama. I promise.”

She gave him a trembling smile.

“Everything will be fine. I know she loves you.”

“I know too,” he said softly.

She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Did she take the brooch with her? The one from my mother?”

“No. It’s in the drawer,” he said, nodding toward the dresser.

“Good,” she whispered and stepped out, gently closing the door behind her.

Spartacus stared ahead, jaw tight, thoughts spinning. He opened the drawer and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside lay the brooch—and his Swiss wristwatch. He turned the brooch in his fingers, studying the emerald and diamonds, the careful design. Then he placed it back, locked the drawer, and hid the key. Nadya. On her knees. In tears. At that bastard’s feet. He wanted to scream.

What am I doing just standing here? He walked outside and slid into the driver’s seat. He had to do something. Anything. Sell the car? Go after her? Hide out in the woods with her? File a report against her father?

“God… what am I thinking?” he muttered, rubbing his face.

He gripped the wheel tighter and pulled onto the road. The deeper the silence got, the more it ate away at him. She’d been ripped from his hands. And he had just stood there. No. Never. He wasn’t going to that divorce office. Not tomorrow. Not ever. He was going to Moscow. Now.

He called his stepfather and asked him to tell his mother not to worry. Something urgent came up. By early morning, he was near Voronezh. Exhaustion clouded his brain. He couldn’t remember why he was even driving anymore. What’s the point? They won’t even let me near her. They’ll have me arrested. Framed. Destroyed. But he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t live like he used to. Not now. Not after her. Maybe… maybe he could reason with her father again. Surely the man was human, wasn’t he?

Suddenly – headlights caught a dark figure stepping onto the road. He swerved. The world spun. The car hit a tree with bone-rattling force. Metal screamed. Then darkness. Voices. Hands. Sirens. Someone screaming—a woman’s voice, full of panic and pain. Flashes of red and blue lights. Blurred faces. Ringing in his ears. His whole body ached. And then… one word in his mind. Clear. Loud.

“Nadya…”

Chapter 7

He finally came to. His head and chest were wrapped in bandages. Spartacus looked around. The room he was in was surprisingly neat and well-equipped, unlike any typical hospital ward. Feeling a remote next to him, he picked it up and pressed a button. Two seconds later, a smiling nurse walked in and greeted him:

«Hello, Spartacus. How are you feeling?»

«Hello,» he croaked. «Okay, I guess. Tell me—where am I?»

«You're in a private clinic. There was an accident, and you were brought here.»

«Mmm…» he groaned and tilted his head back, eyes shut. The memories started returning—those final moments before losing consciousness… and everything before that. Nadya…

«How long have I been here?» he asked.

«Two days,» she replied.

«Damn it!»

«Don't worry. You didn’t sustain any major injuries. You have a mild concussion and a bruised collarbone.»

«Is the car wrecked?»

«I can't say for sure,» the nurse replied. «You should ask Valeria Igorevna when she comes in.»

«Who’s Valeria Igorevna?» he asked, glancing at her.

«The woman who brought you here.»

«Got it.»

He drifted back to sleep.

«Hi there,» a woman’s voice said softly.

Spartacus opened his eyes with effort and saw a pretty blonde woman with her hair pinned at the back. She looked to be around forty, with a fresh face, sea-colored eyes, and full lips. Slightly slim, but it suited her. She sat near the bed, offering him a guilty smile.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Who are you?” he said instead.

«My name is Valeria. You can call me Lera,» she replied gently.

«Nice to meet you, but that doesn’t tell me much.»

«Spartacus… you got into an accident because… well, because of me…» She seemed to struggle for words.

And then it hit him.

«You’re the one who stepped onto the road in front of me that night?»

«Yes.»

He sighed and shut his eyes. What an idiot.

«I'm so sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was drunk.»

«Fantastic,» he said bitterly. Thanks to this reckless woman, he’d probably lost every chance to fix things with Nadya.

«I’ll cover the cost of your car and whatever else. The doctors say you’ll be discharged in a few days,» she said cautiously.

«You can’t return what I probably lost because of you,» he muttered without looking at her.

«I’m sorry. Truly. I was in a terrible mental state. Honestly… I was trying to take my own life.»

«What?» He stared at her.

Valeria turned away, nervously brushing her hand through her hair.

«Yes. I know—it was stupid. Divorce, heartbreak… you know. But you… you chose to save me, risking your own life.»

He wanted to yell something sharp and cruel. Fury burned in him. He would never—never—understand people who threw their lives away without caring about the pain and chaos they’d leave behind. It was the lowest act imaginable. But instead, he just stared at her silently. Valeria stood and walked to the window, only a few steps from his bed. Her white coat, casually thrown over her shoulders, didn’t hide her slender figure beneath the fitted suit. She stood with her back to him, and silence settled in the room.

«I need a phone,» he said at last.

«That’s… the hard part,» she sighed and turned to face him with lowered eyes.

«What do you mean?»

«We tried calling the last numbers you dialed—from your phone—to inform your relatives…» she began.

Spartacus shot up, his strength returning with anger. «Who asked you to do that?!»

His fury surged. His poor mother was probably having a heart attack by now. He covered his face with his hand. What kind of punishment is this?!

«We told them you were fine,» Valeria said gently, guessing his worry. «No one’s panicking, if that helps you feel better…»

Then she added in a whisper, «But tragedy didn’t strike you, Spartacus… at least, not yet.»

His breath caught in his throat. He froze.

«Your wife, she…»

«What about my wife?»

«She’s… gone.» Valeria covered her mouth. «She fell from the fifth-floor window.»

«Nadya?» he rasped.

«Yes…» she nodded, her face contorted with sorrow. «You’re still too weak for this news, but it can’t be hidden.»

«Who the hell are you, damn it?! Did her father send you here to poison me with this nonsense?! Get out!» he shouted, jumping out of bed.

Enough. This was too much. So she wanted to die? Great—he’d help her now!

He lunged at her, but orderlies were already rushing in. More staff joined them. No one could restrain him—he tossed them off with brute force, thrashing like a man possessed, aiming to reach the lying suicidal woman.

Then a nurse, with surprising precision, jabbed a needle into his arm. He kept fighting, swearing, punching—until the sedative took effect. His movements slowed, the world blurred, and he slumped into the arms of the men in white coats.

When Spartacus finally lifted his heavy eyelids, he didn’t see Valeria or the nurse. Instead, a stern male face hovered above him, expressionless.

“Is he awake?” the man asked someone.

“He’s coming around,” the nurse answered.

Spartacus turned his head and saw the familiar gleam of a needle in her hand, ready for round two.

«Don’t you dare drug me again,» he muttered. «Just leave me alone.»

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rudov,” the man said, opening a badge in front of his face.

Spartacus blinked at the ID.

“I’m a prosecutor. Spartacus Germanovich Rudov, you are under investigation. You are being charged with driving citizen Nadya Vladimirovna Klimova to suicide through psychological abuse.”

Spartacus shot up.

“No!” he yelled, his eyes bloodshot. “You’re lying!”

His fists clenched.

“Unfortunately, I’m not,” the prosecutor said more gently. “I’m sorry for your loss, but it’s the truth. Your wife jumped out of a window and died on the scene.”

He covered his face with both hands and howled. He screamed like a madman. The moment they tried to calm him, the nurse injected him again, and everything faded to black.

Chapter 8

“I’m your attorney. My name is Dmitry,” the man introduced himself, pulling a folder from his briefcase.

Spartacus looked at him blankly, then lowered his eyes.

“Your late wife's father has pressed charges against you,” the lawyer began as he took a seat across from the accused in the empty interrogation room.

“How much time am I facing?” Spartacus asked in a lifeless voice.

“A lot. More than fifteen years. But thanks to Valeria Igorevna, you won’t serve a day.”

“She a magician?” Spartacus muttered bitterly.

“You shouldn’t be sarcastic. She spared no expense to prove the evidence against you was fabricated.”

He sighed and looked at the lawyer. “What kind of evidence did Nadya’s father bring?”

“He brought in people who claimed you hired them to kidnap her, intending to use her for blackmail.”

Spartacus shook his head and groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“These people are now on our side. Don’t worry. They’re going to retract their statements.”

“Is my stepfather among them?” Spartacus asked.

“Yes, he is.”

Spartacus raised his head, stunned.

“You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Dmitry replied grimly. “I’ll tell you more—he was the one who called your father-in-law the day after you got married.”

Spartacus’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“That can’t be…”

“I even found out what motivated him. Want to hear?”

Spartacus nodded silently, too stunned to speak.

“There’s a woman in your village—Klavdia Dyankova.”

At once, Spartacus recalled the young woman he’d had several heated nights with.

“What does she have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you get it?”

“No.”

“Your stepfather was in love with her. It’s all very simple.”

“So how was I getting in the way of a man who was married and in love?” Spartacus asked, incredulous.

“He wasn’t married. But as long as you were single—or divorced—you were a threat.”

Spartacus covered his face with both hands, pressing his fingers against his eyes, and let out a muffled groan.

“What a nightmare…”

Dmitry silently nodded, watching the stunned man across from him.

“Does my mother know about this?”

“Yes,” the lawyer replied quietly. “She knows everything, unfortunately. Though even if we hadn’t told her, it would’ve come out. You know how fast gossip spreads in small towns.”

Spartacus stood in silence for several minutes, trying to collect himself. He walked over to the wall, leaned his forehead and palms against it, stood that way a moment, and then returned to his seat.

“I understand, everything hit me all at once—and it’s insane. But I’ll pull myself together,” he finally said. “My mother’s staying at Valeria Igorevna’s house, right?”

“Yes. She’s taking good care of her, don’t worry. But she needs you.”

“Please thank Valeria for me,” Spartacus said sincerely.

“I will. She wanted to come visit you, but she’s afraid.”

“I owe her a huge apology,” he muttered. “I didn’t believe her.”

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