She keeps her hands folded over her chest.
A strange silence hangs on her face.
Alia speaks in a slightly trembling voice,
"Yes, everything's fine."
Victor slowly walks toward her.
There's a soft smile in his eyes—but something hidden beneath.
Maybe, deep down, he senses that something has changed.
He pulls Alia close to his chest.
She hesitates for a moment…
But instead of pulling away, she places her lips on his—
A gentle, yet deeply emotional kiss.
The moment freezes.
Alia is about to say something,
But Victor leans in for another kiss.
She lightly pushes him back and says—
"What are you doing? Are you crazy?"
Victor stops.
His eyes grow darker, clouded with emotion.
His voice trembles—
"I can't hold myself back, Alia.
When I'm near you… I want to forget everything.
You have no idea… how much I—"
He suddenly stops.
The words get stuck in his throat.
As if to say them now would change everything.
Alia steps slightly away from his chest.
She looks into his eyes—
There's a storm within her, but her face remains still.
With a shadow of monsoon in her voice, Alia says softly,
"You know about my family… what my mother and father were."
Victor looks at her with trust and curiosity.
Alia's voice deepens, burdened—as if revealing a secret long buried.
"I was born in Bangladesh, into a noble royal zamindar family.
My father was a renowned businessman, recognized as a state-level trade diplomat.
And my mother… she was Russian—descended from the KGB.
Her blood carried secrets, politics, and the cold shadows of the Cold War."
She pauses, then continues—
"My ancestors were freedom fighters, rulers, and politicians.
To be born into this family was not just an honor, but a burden—
A crown of responsibility that never leaves your eyes.
My life was different from the start—strict training, extreme discipline—
All of which shaped me into one of the world's top agents."
"They call me a ghost agent because no one can track me.
When I went to America, all my data was wiped. I was made that way."
Victor's eyes fill with awe and respect.
He realizes the royal identity hides a harsh reality—
One that Alia had to face and prepare for every single day.
He looks into her eyes and slowly says—
"You stand before a mafia lord… and you're not afraid?"
Alia lets out a soft smile, courage gleaming in her eyes.
"Only those fear who have something to lose.
I've already lost everything. Now, I just know how to survive."
Victor leans in and whispers in her ear—
"Margaret…"
Then he suddenly kisses her neck, holding her tight.
"Maybe in the end, you won't be mine.
Maybe you'll be Margaret's…
But she's not good, Alia.
She works for me—she's a mafia boss.
And now… she's working with the FSB too.
She's obsessed with you.
I heard that from your Korean teammate, Yash."
Alia flinches, her voice shaken—
"Yash wasn't supposed to say that! He's my colleague. He's someone I trust."
Victor gives a hard smile—
"I scared him a little… so he spoke.
I can't bear it when someone mentions you in front of me."
Alia steps back.
Her eyes blaze.
Hurt and betrayed, she says—
"You threatened him?
You dared to speak on my behalf like that?
Victor, do you even realize—you're doing the exact thing you always say you don't!"
The air goes still.
Victor's smile fades.
In Alia's eyes—pain, fury—deeper than even love.
Alia slowly lowers the collar of her shirt.
Victor's gaze locks on her chest—
Where once there was a phoenix tattoo, burning with fire.
Now… only a faded mark remains. The tattoo is gone.
Alia meets his eyes.
"You once told me to rise again from the fire…
That's why I inked the phoenix.
But now it's gone.
I erased it—for you.
Because I wanted a new beginning. With you."
Victor remains silent for a moment.
Then, he slowly unbuttons his shirt.
On his chest was once a great owl—a symbol of wisdom, a mark from his old life.
Now it's half-erased, the color faded.
Victor's voice is heavy:
"I didn't want it either.
I'm a different man now.
You know I accepted Islam. Took a new path…
But still—I don't want to lose you.
And I don't know if I even deserve you."
Tears form in Alia's eyes. She steps closer.
Her voice shakes—with rage, grief, and love:
"What kind of man are you, Victor?
Do you even know what you want?
You say you love me—but you threaten my team.
You changed your faith for me—yet you stand here unsure!"
Silence.
Two broken souls, standing side by side…
Love exists. But no answers.
"That Margaret girl… she's not good.
I know she's obsessed with me—I saw that fire in her eyes.
But I didn't know she was a mafia boss!"
Her voice suddenly cracks.
"And Anashia… she knows nothing.
She doesn't know who Margaret really is.
She doesn't know the danger she's falling into!"
Victor's eyes show a flicker of crisis—
He realizes this isn't just a love triangle. It's a game of life and death.
Alia, trembling, says—
"Anashia is a spy now.
She's busy with her own missions—I never told her anything.
I thought she was safe.
But now I see… she's surrounded by fire."
She pauses, eyes filled with tears.
"Should I tell her everything?
Or stay silent—as if I know nothing?"
Victor walks toward her, his gaze soft—rarely seen.
"Whatever you do, Alia… do it carefully.
Your decision won't just change your life—it could change many.
And I'm with you.
Even if you're not mine… I'm here."
Victor speaks slowly—
"I was a psycho as a kid… I killed my own father."
His eyes are heavy with pain and fear.
"My father was a cruel mafia lord—
He turned our family into sacrificial lambs.
My mother… she was Ukrainian.
But I don't even know where she is now. She's been missing for years."
He pauses.
"They kept me chained—so I'd have no hope, no dreams."
His voice cracks.
"Your father and mine… they were once best friends.
Like souls tied together. Loyal and good men once."
Alia suddenly laughs—a strange, broken laugh.
"You're not alone, Victor.
I'm a psychopath too.
I still can't control myself.
Once… I killed someone.
And I laughed like a madwoman as they died."
"They locked me in a room after that—
To keep me from hurting anyone else.
Dad sent me to America.
He said it was for my good.
But really… I was running from the monster inside me."
Her eyes look into the distance.
"Do you remember?
Many years ago—you, me, and our families went to a city in Korea.
I wore a traditional hanbok…
You did too—more beautifully, more perfectly than anyone.
Your hair was long then…
I pointed a toy arrow at you, just playing.
And you turned red with embarrassment."
Victor looks into her eyes and says softly,
"Yes, I remember.
You had the arrow… but so did I.
Your eyes burned then—just as they do now."
He steps closer.
"You can run, hide, laugh…
But I know—I live inside you too.
After all the madness, we are mirrors of each other."
Victor stops in front of her. He stares into her eyes.
Then…
He suddenly lifts her into his arms.
Alia tries to speak but stays silent—
Her head resting on his chest.
Victor's voice turns tender,
"You're broken. So am I.
Come, let's rebuild—together.
And if we burn… we burn as one."
He kisses her forehead—a deep, reassuring kiss.
Victor gives her a soft smile and says,
"Let's go to the party tonight. You and me.
I'll introduce you to everyone...
But one thing—no one will know you're CIA."
Alia looks surprised, slightly tense, but a wild glint of excitement flickers in her eyes.
She doesn't say anything—just nods.
**She wears a white Marmet gown with a soft satin overlay.
Beneath it, subtle shimmering fabric glows under the lights.
Her hair is loose—falling in natural waves.
Honey-colored lenses, nude lips.
A thin diamond necklace around her neck She looked like a princess… yet a warrior.
Victor appeared in his black suit—
without a shirt or tie, carrying a kind of modern, rugged elegance.
He took Alia's hand and opened the door of the Rolls Royce for her. Flashback. MOSCOW APARTMENT, BEDROOM – NIGHT
A view of the tranquil, silent Moscow night through the huge apartment window. The room is filled with soft, warm light. VICTOR is in a deep sleep. The exhaustion from a difficult life and the recent, extreme self-sacrifice is evident on his face.
From the adjacent living room or dressing room, a sweet, familiar sound drifts in—the sound of a violin. The melody is calm yet passionate, like the peace found at the end of a long wait.
The sound gently wakes Victor. He opens his eyes, slightly disoriented at first. Then, a faint smile touches his lips. This melody belongs to no one else; it is ALIA'S.
Victor quietly gets out of bed and peeks from behind the wall. Alia stands alone in the middle of the room, her violin in hand. She is wearing comfortable, loose clothing. Her hair is down, flowing in waves over her back, painting a picture of a woman entirely different from the stern Alia of the frozen tundra or the powerful political figure.
She is not just playing; she is dancing to the rhythm of the music. It is not a formal dance, but a spontaneous, personal rhythm that releases all the pent-up emotions within her. Her eyes are closed, her face showing deep contentment and a smile of liberation. In this moment, she seems to live only for music and love.
Victor leans against the doorframe, watching her intently. There is no calculation of an empire in his eyes, no thought of seizing power, only deep love and peace.
Alia opens her eyes and sees Victor. She does not stop playing; her smile grows brighter. She looks at Victor and continues to play the violin with even greater emotion.
Victor moves forward silently. He doesn't ask Alia to stop playing when he reaches her. Instead, he gently runs his hand through her loose hair. VICTOR No one can create a melody as beautiful as you, Alia.
Alia nods while playing, planting a silent kiss on his forehead.
(Alia's violin continues to play. Victor's eyes well up with tears. Tears stream down his face, but a peaceful smile remains on his lips. He cries, but with a laugh. These are not tears of sorrow; they are the tears of a victor—the joy of defeating death, the ultimate satisfaction of seeing Alia alive.)
Victor unconsciously whispers, his voice choked with emotion. Alia opens her eyes, sees the tears in Victor's eyes, yet does not stop playing. Her smile becomes even more radiant. She knows these are not tears of pain; they are the tears marking a new beginning for their relationship.
Alia motions with her eyes to reassure Victor that she is well, that they are safe now.Alia's violin continues to play. Victor wipes his eyes and laughs. In the play of light and shadow, this new, peaceful chapter of their love begins. They smile at each other—the smile of starting a new story A memory from one day—an old one.
Red light fractured across the bathroom mirror. Alia, wearing a red dress, poured water over her hands, slowly wetting her fingers. Beside the mirror, on the counter, lay a golden-colored gun—cold, silent, a warning in its stillness.
A sound came from the door behind her.
Victor entered. He was wearing a three-piece suit, his hair slightly long—neat, yet restless. Alia sensed his presence in the mirror but didn't turn around.
Suddenly, Victor stepped forward and embraced her. Alia gasped in surprise.
In the next moment, Victor pressed a brief, unexpected kiss to her lips.
"Victor—?"
Alia's voice was full of astonishment.
In Victor's hand was the golden gun. He said nothing—only a universe of words in his eyes.
The scene ended there.
A short while later, both were sitting on the sofa. The air in the room was heavy. Alia had one leg up, scrolling on her phone in a composed attempt to regain control. Victor noticed.
"Finish your work first," Victor said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Alia didn't lift her eyes. "I am."
"That's not enough," Victor said, his voice low and tense.
Alia looked at him.
"You want everything your way."
Victor's jaw clenched.
"Because I pay for mistakes," he said.
In an instant, the dam of their tempers broke. Words escalated, voices rose. Accusations, counterarguments—all came out at once.
No one won.
It was clear—there was fire between them, and it would not be extinguished easily.
Sitting on the sofa, the tension continued to spike between them. Alia's eyes burned with defiance—Victor's voice carried suppressed anger.
"You want everything your way!" Alia said, gripping her wet phone tightly.
Victor's voice rose. "Because I pay for mistakes!"
Alia bared her teeth. "Everything under your control? Do you ever think of me?"
Victor's jaw tightened further. He leaned toward the sofa, his eyes sharp with disdain and aggression—but in the corner of those eyes was a flicker, showing emotion beneath the anger.
"You think you can get out of this?" He didn't shout, yet the weight of his words shook the room.
Alia lowered her phone and met his gaze. "I won't give up—I'm not someone who can be tossed around easily like you."
Amid their words, the physical tension grew—light pushes, touches, restless gazes.
The room fell silent for a moment, then filled with sound again.
Both knew—this anger, this argument, this tension, was not just a fleeting moment.One day, Alia was hosting a party. She wore a Chinese traditional dress, a perfect combination of red and gold silk. The party lights were soft, yet dazzling.
Victor was in a crisp white shirt, sharp and composed, surrounded by old friends—including Zhenkha. Alia sat at the table near the sofa, holding a cigarette, casting side glances at the crowd.
Victor quietly came to sit beside her.
Before anyone could speak, he pressed a brief, deep kiss on Alia's lips—as if silencing all the lifeless noises of the party.
Zhenkha gasped, her face turning red.
"Oh—" she whispered.
Victor tilted his head slightly and said, "She's my wife." His gaze locked on Zhenkha, steady and unyielding—there was not a trace of gentleness in it.
Alia held the cigarette in her hand, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Don't be jealous," she said.
For a moment, Victor and Alia's eyes found each other. Amid the chatter of the party, the intensity of their emotions, control, and the influence of their relationship was clear.
Zhenkha could say nothing. She simply met Victor's unwavering gaze.
In this party, the lights, the outfits, and the social pressure highlighted the tension, the control, and the playful yet charged connection between Victor and Alia.
The party lights were soft, the crowd's noise distant.
Zhenkha continued to stare at Alia, a mix of embarrassment and astonishment, her face flushed.
Alia, seated on the sofa, pulled a light smile and winked—playful, subtly challenging.
Victor stood beside her, his fingers lightly near her hand. His eyes were calm, yet commanding.
Zhenkha grew even more uncomfortable, realizing the clear bond and strength between Victor and Alia.
Alia's wink was a silent signal—a playful display of confidence and her influence over Victor.
In this brief moment, the room was filled with tension, power, and emotion—even amidst the bustle of the party. That Night—When Alia No Longer Seemed Ordinary
The night was unnaturally silent.
The city's towering buildings stood illuminated, but there was no warmth in that light—only surveillance.
Alia walked slowly, the sleeves of her shirt still not properly pulled down, her breathing heavy inside her chest.
She was returning from a fight.
But this was no ordinary brawl.
This was a battle of power and control—one where no one screams, yet someone breaks from the inside.
The fire was still burning in Alia's eyes.
Her hair fluttered in the wind, but she paid it no attention.
There was something in her gait that made it seem—
This girl has gained something tonight… or lost something forever.
Suddenly, a man noticed her from a distance.
He stopped.
Because Alia's body language was unnatural.
Her shoulders were straight, her head held high—but her eyes?
There was a depth in them, as if she had seen all the darkness this city had to offer.
The man felt it then:
She didn't just come back from a fight—she survived one.
Alia placed her hand on an iron rod.
In the reflection of the light, one side of her face glowed, the other drowned in shadow. And at that very moment, a strange smile appeared on her lips—
A smile, but not of joy.
A smile, but not of madness.
It was the kind of smile that appears only when
someone has decided they will never fear anyone again.
Her teeth looked a little too sharp in the light.
The man's chest trembled.
For a moment, it felt as if Alia's jaw was unnaturally strong—
as though she could crush someone's courage with a single bite if she wished.
Alia lifted her gaze.
One second.
And in that single second, the man understood—
This girl is not prey.
This girl is a ruler who has walked out of war.
Alia said nothing.
She only tilted her head slightly
and then walked away into the darkness.
The city fell silent again.
But the one who saw her—
he knows.
Tonight, in the darkness of this city,
a new name was born.
Alia.
The Mafia Godmother. A black luxury car stood by the roadside.
Alia approached, dressed in a pitch-black three-piece suit.
Tall bodyguards followed her like shadows.
She got into the car.
Beside her sat a mysterious man.
As soon as she settled in, Alia lit a thick cigar.
She exhaled the smoke toward his face and asked with a cryptic smile,
"Why are you so nervous?
Are you an agent?"
The man began to sweat.
Stammering, he replied,
"No—no, I'm not an agent."
Alia's voice turned ice-cold.
"Listen carefully.
I am the Godmother of the CIA—
and the Mafia Godmother of the underworld.
Do not even think about going after my husband.
He is a ruthless mafia lord.
Taking him on is far beyond your capacity."The Hotel Scene
A while later, they arrived at an elite hotel.
Every person there was drawn to Alia, captivated by her presence.
She took out another cigarette.
The man hurriedly pulled out his lighter and leaned forward to light it for her.
But the moment he looked into Alia's eyes,
his face flushed red with embarrassment—and fear.
Alia gently winked at him, leaned close to his ear, and whispered,
"Don't be afraid.
I'm Russian."
His heart skipped a beat.
In that instant, he understood exactly whose territory he had stepped into. The lighter nearly slipped from the man's hand the moment he heard the words, "I'm Russian."
In that instant, he understood—he wasn't standing before just another mafia boss, but in front of an international power, a force that operated far beyond borders.
Alia calmly took a long drag from her cigarette and exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling. Then she leaned closer to him and said quietly,
"Take out the recording device in your pocket. Recording our conversation won't be of much use to you."
The man froze completely. He had never imagined Alia would uncover his true intent so quickly. With trembling hands, he pulled a small device from his pocket and placed it on the table.
Alia's Terms
Alia signaled to one of her bodyguards. The man stepped forward and placed a black briefcase in front of him.
Alia spoke, her voice steady and absolute:
"From today onward, you work for me.
As a double agent.
You will tell your department that Alia could not be located.
And if you betray me—"
She reached inside her suit and pulled out a small golden dagger, driving it hard into the table.
The Final Shock
Alia stood up. She adjusted her black suit once, then leaned close to his ear and whispered her final words:
"Tomorrow morning, my people will be waiting for you on the shore of the Caspian Sea.
Don't be late."
With firm, confident steps, Alia walked out of the hotel.
Left behind was the helpless man, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
He knew it now—there was no escape from the grip of this Godmother.Then… the war inside the room
The night had grown deep.
As Alia entered the house, she saw Victor sitting on the sofa.
The lights were dim, and an unnatural silence filled the room.
Alia said nothing.
She walked straight to him and wrapped her arms around him,
pressing herself against his chest—
her eyes fixed forward, as if she was looking nowhere, or perhaps deep within herself.
A faint smile touched Alia's lips.
Victor lifted his hand and kissed her forehead.
For a brief moment, every war came to a halt.
Then Alia slowly stepped out onto the balcony.
The city lights burned below,
but in her eyes—there was a different kind of darkness.
Victor came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her,
resting his chin against her shoulder.
In a calm voice, Alia said,
"I met Anashia today."
Victor's body stiffened for a moment.
Alia continued,
"I told her everything.
She was scared."
Victor stepped back slightly, disbelief clear in his eyes.
"Anashia?"
After a pause, he said,
"Say it again."
Alia repeated the name slowly.
Victor's voice hardened instantly.
"Be careful, Alia.
Don't go near her."
Alia turned to face him.
Victor said,
"She's a Korean spy."
The air inside the room grew heavy.
Then, in a softer voice, Victor asked,
"You tell me everything, don't you?"
After a pause, he added,
"I'm a mafia lord.
And you… are the godmother."
Alia nodded.
"Yes."
She returned to the sofa and sat down,
burying her head in her hands.
There was exhaustion in her eyes—but no fear.
In a whisper, she asked,
"Victor…
am I doing something wrong?"
Victor stepped closer.
Without hesitation, he said,
"Yes."
Alia slowly lifted her eyes.
Her voice softened.
"Sorry…
what I said wasn't right."
Victor didn't respond.
He simply took Alia's face in both hands
and pressed a deep, slow kiss to her lips.
It wasn't an ordinary kiss.
It was forgiveness,
a pact,
and a silent vow before war.
Alia closed her eyes.
She knew—
standing beside this man,
she wasn't just a godmother.
She was unstoppable.
Outside, the city was calm.
But inside this room,
two rulers' hearts
were preparing for the same war.
Alia tried to pull away slowly.
Victor caught her hand and pulled her back.
"Don't go."
His voice was firm,
but fear hid beneath it.
Alia froze.
And then
time shattered.
Then… childhood
Everything flooded in with soft light.
Two small children sat side by side—
one was Alia,
the other Victor.
Neither spoke.
Yet their shoulders touched,
as if they were separate—but never apart.
Suddenly, a man appeared—
their father.
His face was stern,
but his eyes carried a strange resolve.
He took both of their hands
and led them away together.
No one asked questions.
Because at that moment,
their fate had already been sealed.
Another vision… darker
The light vanished.
Victor was bound with ropes.
His hair was long and white
his face tired, yet unbroken.
A white cloth covered his eyes.
The silence was terrifying.
Then Alia stepped forward.
She was different now
fire in her eyes,
a ruthless decision on her face.
Victor couldn't see,
but he recognized her by her breath.
Alia wrapped her arms around him.
A tight embrace.
Not fear
but shelter.
Their hands met
both stained with blood.
But that blood wasn't death.
It was an oath.
It was the moment
when love and darkness
were born together.
Present
Alia suddenly opened her eyes.
She was back in the room.
Victor's hand was still holding hers.
In a whisper, Alia said,
"We were never apart, were we?"
Victor kissed her forehead.
Hard truth in his eyes.
"No.
We just grew up at the wrong time."
Outside, the city remained calm.
But inside them—
those two children from the past
were still holding hands.
In blood.
In darkness.
And inside each other.Then the two of them are sitting. As the silence in the room grew deeper,
Victor's phone suddenly rang.
He glanced at the screen, then answered.
In Japanese, he said calmly,
"Naruhodo… kenmei na handan da."
"Ah… that's truly a clever decision."
Alia lifted her gaze, tilting her head slightly.
The corner of Victor's lips curved faintly before he spoke again into the phone:
"Odoroita yo."
"I'm truly surprised."
Alia's fingers lightly brushed over the back of his hand.
Victor's voice followed, steady and controlled:
"Yaru ne, bōya."
"Well done, boy."
A faint smile appeared on Alia's lips.
Victor's tone softened yet remained powerful:
"Zuku zuku shite kita yo."
"I'm feeling truly excited."
Finally, in a low, gentle voice, he said:
"Ii ko da ne… anshin shinasai."
"You're a good boy… don't worry."
A strange light flickered in Alia's eyes.
She leaned toward Victor's ear and whispered,
"You really know everything… even Japanese."
Victor smiled quietlyonly she could hear it.
No matter how brightly the city lights burned outside,
the words from that phone call—those sounds
could never break the invisible bond between them.
Their hands met again, firm and unyielding.
In this moment, the Japanese words, blood, darkness, and destiny
merged together, binding them even more tightly.
The call ended.
Yet the strange light still burned in Victor's eyes,
as if the words from the call were still alive within him.
He stepped slowly toward Alia.
Suddenly, he leaned close to her ear and whispered in Japanese,
"Kimi wa ore no mono da… zettai ni hanasanai."
"You are mine… I will never let you go."
A soft tremor ran through Alia's body.
Strength resonated in Victor's voice, control in his tone
and in his eyes, a deep, unsettling fire.
He spoke again, slowly, in Japanese:
"Yami no naka demo, kimi o mamoru."
"Even in darkness, I will protect you."
Alia smiled faintly and rested her face against Victor's chest.
Their hands intertwined—
meeting amid blood, darkness, fire, and silence.
Victor's arm wrapped around Alia's waist.
Two rulers, now bound as one—
war, love, control, and desire merging together.
Outside, the city lights flickered dimly.
But inside this room,
between Victor and Alia,
the roots of their dark romance sank even deeper.