The blood-soaked chaos of the night had vanished, replaced by the soft, golden hues of a St. Petersburg morning. Inside the Petrov mansion, the kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling pancakes.
Alia looked completely different from the "Silent Death" persona of the previous night. She had traded her blood-stained silk for an oversized, light pink cotton shirt. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and she hummed a soft tune as she flipped pancakes, looking like the picture of domestic peace—as if she hadn't shattered a skull with a crystal vase just hours ago.
Suddenly, two powerful arms wrapped around her waist from behind. It was Victor. He was dressed casually in black silk trousers, his shirt unbuttoned halfway. He pulled her back against his hard, muscular chest, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Victor pressed a lingering, warm kiss onto her throat, his stubble grazing her soft skin. Alia shivered, a small smile playing on her lips. She tried to wiggle out of his grip, nudging him with her elbow.
"Ugh, Victor! Stop it... let me go," she said in a playful, sweet voice. "The pancakes will burn. Is your romance starting this early in the morning?"
Victor didn't budge. Instead, he tightened his hold, inhaling her scent—a mix of vanilla and expensive soap. He whispered against her skin, his voice deep and raspy:
"I don't care if the whole city burns, let alone a pancake. The way you smoked that cigarette last night while holding that sniper rifle... believe me, Alia, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The devil inside me has fallen for you all over again."
Alia turned off the stove and spun around in his arms. She looked up into his intense eyes, straightening his collar with her delicate, steady hands.
"Then remember this, Lord Petrov," she teased, her eyes flashing with a hint of her lethal side. "I can make you pancakes, but I can also rip out the hearts of your enemies. Now, be a good boy and take your coffee."
Victor smirked, pulling her even closer until there was no space between them. In the quiet morning light, the violence of their world felt miles away, replaced by a dangerous, magnetic love that only two predators could understand.The romantic atmosphere in the kitchen instantly shifted into a moment of raw, intense tension. Victor's embrace was no longer just about affection; the primal, dark side of him had fully awakened. Alia's words had only provoked him further.
Keeping one hand gripped tightly around Alia's waist, Victor reached down with the other. With a sudden movement, he undid the zipper of his trousers. The metallic sound of the zipper echoed through the quiet kitchen, sending Alia's heart racing.
Alia realized that Victor's mood had moved far beyond playful flirting. Caught off guard, she whispered breathlessly:
"Victor... no! Not now... the children could come downstairs at any moment!"
But Victor wasn't in the mood for excuses today. He pressed her firmly against the kitchen counter, his hot breath fanning her ear. In a low, intoxicated voice, he said:
"I want what's mine before they arrive. I've been waiting for this moment since I saw you standing there in those blood-stained clothes last night. You are my Queen, Alia... and this mansion, this morning it all belongs to us right now."
Alia could feel the heat radiating from his body. Pressed against his muscular frame, she felt vulnerable yet overwhelmed by a strange, magnetic attraction. Steam rose from the coffee cups on the table, but the heat inside the room was far more intense.
Victor reached under the hem of her oversized shirt, his touch setting her skin on fire. Alia closed her eyes, her resolve slowly dissolving under the weight of his absolute dominance.Victor was beyond the point of reason. The scent of Alia's skin and the adrenaline from the previous night's bloodshed had driven him into a frenzy. In one swift motion, he lifted her and sat her on the kitchen counter. Her shirt buttons strained against his chest.
Spreading her thighs wide with his powerful hands, Victor moved in flush against her. With his trousers unzipped, his burning hardness pressed directly against her waist. Alia gripped his shoulders, a soft moan escaping her lips:
"Victor... oh God! You've gone mad..."
Victor didn't reply. He bunched her oversized shirt upward and nipped at her inner thigh with his teeth. Alia's body arched like a bow. His hand slid inside her lace, applying intense pressure to her most sensitive spot.
With the skill of a predator, Victor brought her to the brink within seconds. Alia was gasping, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. She fisted her hands in his hair. Victor didn't wait any longer; gripping her waist, he thrust deep inside her in one powerful motion.
Alia took a sharp breath, her nails digging into his back. The glassware on the counter rattled with every rhythmic impact. Every movement of Victor's was dominant and forceful, the hallmark of a true Mafia Lord.
He hissed into her ear:
"You are mine... this body, this soul, every scream you let out—it's all part of my empire."
In the quiet morning kitchen, only the sounds of their heavy breathing and the friction of their skin remained. Victor acted as if he wanted to merge her body into his own. Alia felt like she was drowning in a stormy sea, with Victor as her only anchor.
Just as they were both reaching the peak of climax, the sound of the children laughing and running down the stairs echoed from above.
Alia's eyes snapped open in panic, but Victor didn't stop. Instead, he quickened his pace, finding a dark thrill in the looming danger.Every thrust from Victor was as powerful and relentless as thunder. Alia's body slammed against the counter, and with every impact, a sharp, suppressed cry escaped her lips— "Ahhhh... Victor... mmm...".
She dug her nails into Victor's muscular back, unable to withstand the overwhelming wave of agonizing pleasure. Victor tried to stifle her moans by biting down on her lips, but Alia's body was no longer under her control. She wrapped her thighs even tighter around his waist.
Victor's pace was like a violent storm. He growled into her ear, "Tell me who you belong to! Tell me you are this devil's slave!"
Alia was drenched in sweat, her vision dancing between darkness and light. She could only manage to choke out, "I'm... I'm yours... only yours... Ah!"
At that exact moment, the sound on the stairs grew closer. The voice of her eldest son, Aryan, echoed— "Mom? Where are you? We're hungry!"
In a strange cocktail of terror and peak ecstasy, Alia's body began to quiver from within. Sensing the danger, Victor didn't stop; instead, with a few final, deep, and crushing thrusts, he released everything inside her. Alia's entire body spasmed like an electric shock, and she buried her face in Victor's shoulder, muffling her final scream— "Ahhhhhhhh!"
Victor held her motionless for a heartbeat. Then, with lightning speed, he pulled away. He zipped up his trousers and yanked her shirt down to cover her.
Two seconds before the children reached the kitchen door, Victor calmly picked up a coffee mug and looked toward the stove, saying in a deep, composed voice, "I think the pancake is a bit overcooked, Alia."
Alia was still panting, her face flushed and her hair a mess. She quickly scrambled off the counter and turned toward the stove so the children wouldn't see her crimson face.
The kids burst into the room. Aryan looked at them suspiciously. "Dad, why is your forehead so sweaty? And Mom, why are you shaking?"
Victor gave his signature cold smirk and patted Aryan's head. "The kitchen is just very hot, Champ. Go, sit at the table."
Alia thought to herself Victor truly is a terrifying actor. And living with this devil meant walking on fire every single day. The plot took a dangerous and unexpected turn.
Luka, the honeytrap boy, wasn't just a pretty face. He was a cunning hacker and informer for an international crime syndicate. After barely escaping Victor's wrath the previous night, his obsession grew. Using the dark web, he bypassed Victor's security and pinned the exact location of the Petrov Mansion.
Luka's Intrusion
Disguised as a delivery boy, Luka reached the gates while the guards were momentarily distracted. He had a high-grade nerve-gas grenade in his pocket. He had no idea what was waiting for him inside.
As he peeked through the kitchen window, he saw Alia. She was still there, her hair messy and her face flushed from the intimacy of moments ago, plating pancakes.
Luka's Reaction
When Luka saw her, his heart skipped a beat. He had seen her last night at the club as a lethal sniper in a blood-stained dress—the personification of death. Now, he was looking at a stunningly beautiful, soft, and maternal woman.
As the collar of her pink shirt dipped, the dark, deep love bite Victor had left on her neck became visible. Seeing that mark, Luka's face instantly turned bright red with a mix of shame and jealousy. He was mesmerized. He whispered to himself:
"Is this the same girl who slaughtered ten men last night? She looks like a sacred angel right now. Victor Petrov... you are a lucky man."
Luka hesitated, his hand trembling over the grenade. Alia's 'after-sex glow' and her raw beauty had momentarily paralyzed him.
Alia's Instincts
But Luka forgot who he was watching. While flipping a pancake, Alia suddenly froze. She saw a pair of eyes reflecting in the window glass from the bushes outside. Her lethal instincts kicked in.
In one smooth motion, she dropped the spatula and grabbed a throwing knife from the drawer. She realized someone was outside, watching her with lustful eyes.