It was 1:00 AM. The entire royal palace was drenched in silence, save for the whistling sound of the snowstorm outside. Victor stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling window of his study. In one hand, he held a glass of vintage red wine; the other was shoved deep into his pocket. The crimson liquid shimmered like blood in the moonlight.
He stared out into the darkness with a sharp, brooding gaze. In the dim light of the room, Victor took a sip and began muttering to himself in a low, raspy voice:
"Everyone thinks I've returned out of greed for the throne... they don't realize how insignificant this empire is to me now. Dimitri thinks he can be the boss? My eldest brother thinks he can pull the strings? They forget I have returned from a hell where death whispered in my ear every single day."
He swirled the wine in his glass and gave a mirthless smirk. He continued to mutter:
"Father was right; a tiger's cub never becomes a cat. But when a tiger senses danger approaching his family, he ceases to be a hunter and becomes the Angel of Death. Alia... this palace is as toxic as it is beautiful. I know they cannot stomach your presence. But as long as there is a single drop of blood in my veins, this Mafia Lord won't let anyone even touch your shadow."
Just then, there was a faint, rhythmic knock on the door. Victor knew exactly who it could be at this hour.It was late at night. After finishing his wine, Victor returned to their bedroom. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp. Alia had just stepped out of the shower; she had no clothes on, only a thin sheet wrapped around her body as she stood before the mirror, drying her damp hair.
Victor froze at the sight. He set his wine glass on the table and walked silently toward her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close against the sheet. A moment of intense intimacy was building between them Victor's lips were just brushing against her shoulder.
Right then, there was a sudden sound at the door, and Victor's mother walked in without waiting for an answer.
She had likely come to say something urgent, but she stopped dead in her tracks at the scene. Alia, paralyzed with embarrassment, clutched the sheet even tighter. Victor straightened up, his expression one of pure annoyance.
His mother was briefly caught off guard, but she quickly regained her royal composure and said:
"Have you no shame? Did you forget to lock the door? I didn't realize you were so... busy. Victor, your father is waiting for you downstairs. You must go now; there is urgent news."
She glanced at Alia for a second her eyes held both a reprimand and a strange, hidden smile. She muttered to herself, "My daughter-in-law is undeniably beautiful, but one must understand the timing!"
After she left, the room fell silent again. Alia stood with her head down, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. Victor let out a long sigh and pressed a lingering kiss on Alia's forehead.Victor had no choice but to answer his father's summons. After giving Alia a reassuring look, he left the room. Alia stood there, still caught between the lingering embarrassment and a growing sense of unease. Just then, the door creaked open, and their youngest child wandered in, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
Alia's motherly instinct kicked in immediately. She picked him up in her arms, and the little one snuggled into her chest, finding comfort in her warmth. To Alia, this innocent child was the only source of peace in this suffocatingly grand palace.
Suddenly, a shattering roar echoed from downstairs. A fierce argument had broken out between Victor and his father. The patriarch's thunderous voice clashing with Victor's sharp, defiant tone vibrated through the palace walls. It sounded like a battle of wills over a monumental decision.
Clutching the child tightly to her chest, Alia rushed to the balcony. The freezing Moscow wind and snow hit her, but she didn't care. She looked down toward the lights of the grand hall, listening to the echoes of the conflict. She could hear the conviction in Victor's voice he was fighting for her, for their family, and for the right to rule on his own terms.
Alia's heart hammered against her ribsAs Alia listened from the balcony, she realized the argument wasn't just a minor disagreement. It was a brutal war of principles between Victor and his father.
The Father's Demand:
The old Lord bellowed, "If you want to be the true Mafia Lord of Russia, you must erase your 'Alaskan life'! Alia can stay in the palace, but she will never be recognized publicly as your Queen. You must marry a Russian noblewoman of our choosing to solidify our mafia alliances!"
Victor's Roar:
Hearing this, Victor kicked a glass table, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He screamed, "Don't forget who I am, Father! I am Victor! I am no one's puppet. Alia is my first and my final Queen. If sitting on that throne means betraying my love, I will kick that throne to dust! I haven't come to rule by your mercy; I've come to rule by my own power."
The Father's Counter-Threat:
"Then remember this, Victor if you break our traditions for that girl, your brothers Dimitri and the eldest will not stay silent. They will look for any chance to eliminate you. Do you want to start a blood war with your own kin?"
Alia trembled on the balcony, the child in her arms whimpering at the sound of Victor's fury. She realized that because of her, Victor was standing alone against his entire family. She was struck by the depth of his love he was willing to burn his empire just to keep her. Victor's words brought a deathly silence to the grand hall. His father, who had been erupting in rage just moments ago, stood frozen like a statue. Victor stepped closer to him, his voice low but cutting like a blade as he reminded him of the truth they had all conveniently forgotten.
Victor said:
"Why do you keep calling Alia an ordinary girl, Father? Have you forgotten whose daughter she is? The woman you consider 'ordinary' comes from a powerful lineage of landlords and royal blood, just like us. Her father is no common man; he is the one who controls the entire state from behind the scenes. You were his close friend have you forgotten that?"
Victor stepped back with a mocking smirk and continued:
"You know her father better than anyone. One signal from him can change the entire political landscape of Russia. Alia didn't come to this palace seeking refuge; she came as the rightful Queen of this empire. Insulting her means insulting the very power you yourself fear to cross."
Up on the balcony, Alia heard every word. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn't expected Victor to use her heritage as a shield to protect her dignity so fiercely. Victor's father couldn't utter a single word; his grip on his cane trembled. He seemed lost in some old memory, perhaps a secret pact he once made with Alia's father.Victor's final words sent an electric shock through the hall. He looked his father dead in the eye, throwing down a challenge that brooked no argument. His voice held a level of pride that had never been seen before.
Victor stepped forward and said in a heavy tone:
"You are making a mistake by seeing her only as a Queen, Father. Alia isn't just the daughter of a landlord or a leader she is the 'Mafia Godmother'. Behind the scenes, she is the master strategist who knows exactly how to turn empires to dust and who to crown as King. Do you understand now, Father?"
His father stood paralyzed. The woman he had deemed weak was now revealed as a formidable force that changed the entire equation. Victor continued:
"In those lonely days in Alaska, I didn't just survive on her love; I sharpened my power through her intellect. With Alia by my side, this Russian throne won't just be a family legacy it will be the nerve center of the global mafia network. Before you disrespect her, think: do you really want to go to war with a 'Godmother'?"
Up on the balcony, Alia was stunned to hear her identity revealed in such a grand manner. She hadn't realized Victor would place her on such a pedestal. Below, Dimitri and the eldest brother exchanged looks of genuine fear. They realized that Victor and Alia had formed an unstoppable power couple.Victor's words acted like molten lead, searing through his father's pride. The old Mafia Don's arrogance was shattered into a thousand pieces. The woman he had intended to dismiss as a mere housewife was now revealed to be a name synonymous with invincible power.
Victor didn't wait for a response. His eyes burned with a mixture of raw hatred and stubborn resolve. Before his father could utter a single word, Victor swung his leg and kicked the massive royal chair with immense force. The heavy oak crashed against the marble floor with a deafening thud that echoed like a gunshot through the hall.
Without a backward glance, he stormed out, brushing past Dimitri and his eldest brother, whose faces had turned as pale as stone. The rhythmic thud of his boots against the floor sounded like a declaration of war and an announcement of his absolute sovereignty.
Up on the balcony, Alia watched as Victor ascended the stairs with the grace of a predator. Every step he took signaled that from this day forward, no one in this palace would ever dare to command him or her again. When Victor reached the doorway, he found Alia standing there, still holding their youngest child.
Victor stopped in front of her, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving. He reached out and pulled both Alia and the child into a crushing, protective embrace. The fire in his eyes softened the moment he touched her. He leaned in and whispered into Alia's ear:
"I've endured enough. No more. From this moment on, every brick in this palace will know exactly who you are. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way again, I will turn this city of Moscow into a graveyard."
Downstairs, the father sat in a stunned, hollow silence, while the two brothers finally realized the truth: Victor was no longer just their sibling he was a ruler who could no longer be contained.As the echo of the chair crashing against the floor faded, the old Don's blood boiled with humiliation. Trembling with rage, he gripped his cane and, without a word to his other sons, stormed directly toward his wife's room.
He threw the door open with a bang. Victor's mother was standing before the mirror, calmly removing her jewelry. Seeing her husband's furious reflection, she remained unfazed.
The old Lord roared:
"Did you see your son's insolence? He kicks a chair in my presence! He lectures me on how to run this mafia empire! And that girl Alia he wants to crown her as a 'Godmother' right before my eyes! Why are you silent? Is this how you raised him?"
Victor's mother turned around slowly, a mysterious, regal smile playing on her lips. She looked him in the eye and spoke in a chillingly calm voice:
"Why are you so angry? Isn't this exactly what you wanted? You wanted an heir who was stronger than you. What Victor did today is a reflection of your own blood. And as for Alia? A true Lord deserves a 'Godmother' by his side. Have you forgotten that when you seized this city 30 years ago, I was the one standing right beside you?"
Her blunt words momentarily silenced his fury. She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't fight your son. He is no longer the little Victor who follows your orders. He is a hungry lion now. If you try to stop him, you will destroy this entire family."
The father didn't reply, but his breathing remained heavy. He looked out the window and noticed the Moscow sky looked a lot more crimson tonight.