Shark Hunting. Spartacus

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!»