In the midst of the heavy silence at the dinner table, Victor suddenly leaned in close to Alia. Beneath the table, he gripped her waist tightly, his fingers digging into the silk of her gown. The intensity of his touch made it clear that his fury hadn't faded one bit.
Victor whispered into her ear, his voice low and dangerous:
"Do you remember what happens tonight, Alia? You'll have to pay for that little 'stunt' you pulled at the table and for your defiance today. You got too bold in that red dress. Let the night get darker... I'm going to break that pride of yours piece by piece."
There was a predatory sense of ownership in his voice. He wanted to remind her that no matter how much of a 'Godmother' she claimed to be, within these walls, she was his.
Alia looked into his eyes, showing no fear only a mocking glint of amusement. She reached out, straightened his tie with lingering fingers, and whispered back:
"I've been waiting for the night, Victor. But be careful red is also the color of fire. Are you sure you're strong enough not to get burned?Leaving the heavy air of the palace and its endless conspiracies behind, Victor and Alia set off for their destination: the legendary luxury hotel in St. Petersburg. This was to be the grand stage for Nikola's wedding a gathering not just of family, but of the world's most powerful mafia dons.Before leaving, Alia pulled her five children close. The three eldest stood tall, firmly holding the hands of their two younger siblings. For a fleeting second, tears glistened in Alia's eyes, but she suppressed them instantly. A Mafia Godmother could not afford the luxury of visible weakness.
She hugged the two youngest tightly, kissing their foreheads, before whispering into the ears of the older ones: "Watch over each other. Remember, everything we do is for your future." Victor watched from a distance; even his stone-cold heart felt a strange, haunting melancholy at the sight of this farewell.
The Journey Begins
After waving one last time from the car window, the gates closed behind them. As the private car sped through the snowy roads toward the royal lights of St. Peters, Victor placed his hand firmly on Alia's waist once more. This time, the touch wasn't just anger it was a restless, suffocating possessiveness.
Leaning in so close his lips brushed her ear, Victor murmured, "You've said your goodbyes, Alia. Now, there is no one left between us. From the moment we step into that hotel, you belong solely to me. Remember, the walls of St. Peters are as beautiful as they are stained with secrets and sin."
Alia stared out at the dark, frozen landscape, her voice like ice. "We are all witnesses to sin, Victor. But let's wait and see... at the end of this night in St. Peters, who is left smiling, and whose throne is turned to dust."
As the car vanished into the dark, racing toward the glittering lights of the hotel, a new and final chapter began one of high-stakes Engagement with destiny.As the car pulled up to the Grand Hotel in St. Petersburg, a massive operation unfolded. Two rows of armed bodyguards stood at the entrance, clad in black suits with earpieces, their gazes cold and unblinking. As Victor stepped out, they bowed their heads in unison.
But the real spectacle was for Alia. A line of maids stood ready, dressed in crisp black-and-white uniforms. Their job wasn't just to serve; it was to cater to every whim of the Mafia Queen.As Alia stepped out in her blood-red gown, four maids rushed forward to lift the heavy train of her dress from the snowy pavement. Marcus, the head of the security detail, stepped forward and bowed. "Madam, your floor has been cleared. We are at your command."
Victor pulled Alia's hand onto his arm, smiling at the display of power. He whispered, "Do you see? These maids, these guards they wait for your signal. But remember, while they serve you, they are also my eyes and ears."
Alia glanced at the maids, sensing that beneath their mechanical expressions, some might be spies perhaps sent by Olga (Selana). She adjusted her diamond necklace and addressed the guards coldly: "Whether you are guarding me or imprisoning me, time will tell. Let's go, Victor. I've never liked crowds of servants; I prefer to handle my business myself."The moment Alia entered the luxurious suite, she exhaled a heavy breath. Leaving the guards and maids behind, she stood in the center of the room. The golden chandeliers gleamed, but to her, it was just another gilded cage.
Alia stood before the mirror. Her trembling fingers reached for the zipper at the back of her red gown. As the heavy silk began to slide off her shoulders, she saw a shadow emerge from the darkness in the reflection Victor.Victor paused for a second, his eyes tracing the line of her bare shoulders. Then, he moved closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind. His grip on her waist was firm and possessive. His hot breath brushed against her neck.
Burying his face in her hair, Victor spoke in a deep, gravelly voice:
"The right to take this dress off belongs only to me, Alia. I've waited the entire night for this moment. There are no guards here, no children, not even Nikola. Tonight, it's just you and your defiance and I intend to break it myself."
Alia stared at his reflection in the mirror. There were no tears, only a toxic coldness. Instead of pulling away, she placed her hand over his. She spoke steadily:
"You can touch my body, Victor, but you killed that 18-year-old girl long ago. Tonight, the woman you are holding is a fire of vengeance. Are you ready to burn?"
Victor let out a low, dark laugh, his teeth grazing the side of her neck. "I told you before, Alia... I love playing with fire." It was 1:00 AM. The freezing St. Petersburg air outside couldn't touch the suffocating heat inside the luxury suite. The chandeliers were dimmed, and the flickering candlelight cast long, haunting shadows against the walls.
Alia lay across the bed, her skin bare except for the glistening diamond anklets around her ankles. In a moment of intense, overwhelming sensation, she was biting down hard on the silk bedsheet, stifling her cries— "Ummm... Hummm..." Her knuckles were white from gripping the fabric so tightly.
Victor was behind her, his powerful, unclothed frame pressed against hers. He held her waist with a crushing grip, his fingers digging into her skin as if to claim every inch of her existence. His sweat-slicked chest rose and fell against her back in a rhythmic, primal intensity.
Victor leaned into her ear, his voice a dark, rough whisper. "Where is your pride now, Alia? The defiance of your 18-year-old self, the power of the Godmother... they are all trembling under my touch. Tell me, is this the fire you promised I'd burn in?"
Alia bit the sheet even harder, a single tear escaping her eye and soaking into the pillow. Yet, even in this state, her mind wasn't broken. Amidst the physical surrender, she was calculating thinking of the Black Ledger, her children, and the revenge that was yet to come.
The room was filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing and Alia's muffled groans. This night in St. Petersburg was no longer just about passion; it was a battleground where two souls were trying to destroy and possess each other simultaneously. Victor's obsession reached a breaking point. As Alia lay trembling, biting the sheets to stifle her cries, his eyes fell upon the diamond anklets circling her ankles—the symbols of her status and her defiance.
In a surge of violent possessiveness, Victor grabbed the anklet and pulled it with brutal force.
The delicate metal dug deep into Alia's skin, the diamonds scratching her ankle until a thin line of blood began to seep out. Alia couldn't hold back anymore. A sharp, pained cry escaped her throat "Ahhhh, Victor!"
Victor didn't let go. He used the anklet to drag her closer to him, whispering darkly into her ear, "This anklet will remind you who you belong to. Every step you take from now on, you will feel this pull. Tonight, I mark both your body and your soul as my property."
Alia was pale with pain, but through the agony, she looked him dead in the eye. A haunting, bitter smile touched her lips. She whispered, "You can't hold me with a chain, Victor. This scar... it will be the very thing that destroys you."
The night in St. Petersburg became a testament to a love that had fully transformed into a war of possession.Victor's obsession had turned into a dark, violent spectacle. As Alia struggled on the bed, Victor showed no mercy. He grabbed both of her legs, pinning them together with a crushing force. His powerful grip squeezed her ankles, driving the sharp edges of the diamond anklets deeper into her flesh.As Victor pulled her legs toward him, the anklets grated against each other with a metallic screech. Alia's fair skin, torn by the constant friction, began to bleed, the crimson drops staining the pristine white silk of the sheets.
Alia's Agony:
Alia could no longer hold the sheet between her teeth. Her body arched in pure agony as she tried to kick her legs free, but Victor only pressed down harder, twisting her ankles in his grasp. Her muffled groans turned into broken sobs— "Let me go, Victor... please... I can't take it anymore!"
Victor's Cold Command:
Instead of stopping, Victor ran his fingers over the blood-stained diamonds of her anklets. His eyes held a terrifying glint of satisfaction. Looking straight into her tear-filled eyes, he whispered:
"This is the sound I wanted to hear, Alia. These anklets are your shackles now. Every step you take will remind you of who owns you. This night in St. Petersburg will be etched into your skin forever."
Realizing that pleas were useless, Alia suddenly went still. The tears continued to fall, but she looked at Victor with a chilling, hollow smile. Gasping for air, she whispered, "Victor... you may have chained my feet today... but remember... my hands are still free. This blood... it won't be forgotten."
By 1:30 AM, the candles in the room flickered out. The only sound left was Victor's heavy breathing and Alia's broken whimpers, as the frozen St. Petersburg night watched over the scene of destruction.