The music in the hall was soft, but the tension was deafening. Lord Marcos stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Alia's exposed back. He looked at Victor and smirked, "Victor, enough with the possessiveness. Can I have one dance with your Queen? Just one round, with the music and the drinks."
A deadly silence fell over the hall. Alia gripped Victor's arm, praying he would say no. But Victor let out a booming, deep-voiced laugh.
"Fine, Marcos," Victor said, his tone turning ice-cold. "You can dance with her. BUT..."
Victor paused, his eyes narrowing like a predator's. "But remember this—you will not touch her bare skin. Your hands stay only on her hands. If your fingers so much as graze her back or her waist during the dance, you won't be leaving this hall with that hand. I am giving you permission, but she stays under my watch, right in front of my eyes."
Alia's heart hammered against her ribs. Victor was using her to play a high-stakes psychological game. He was letting her dance only to humiliate Marcos with the fact that he could never truly have her.
Victor whispered into her ear, "Go, Alia. Show them how untouchable the Queen of St. Petersburg is. I'm right here, watching."
Marcos extended his hand with a mocking grin. Trembling, Alia placed her hand in his. Victor stood inches away, his muscles tensed, watching like a vulture ready to strike.Inside the hall, the tempo of the violin intensified, mirroring the rising tension. Marcos gripped Alia's hand, spinning her into the rhythm of the dance. Victor stood directly in front of them, his eyes reflecting a strange, icy detachment.
But then, to everyone's shock, Victor flipped the script. He reached out and grabbed the hand of a stunning woman nearby—perhaps one of Dragunov's elite bodyguards or a high-society socialite—and stepped onto the dance floor. As Victor placed his hand firmly on the woman's waist, his gaze remained anchored to Alia. He wanted her to see that just as she was in another man's arms, he too could take whoever he pleased.
The Forbidden Moment
Marcos was becoming intoxicated, not just by the wine, but by the proximity to Alia and her scent. He began to forget Victor's lethal warning. At a particular dip in the music, when the melody turned low and sultry, Marcos slowly slid his palm onto Alia's bare back.
Alia shuddered. His crude touch felt like a sear of fire against her delicate skin. Her eyes darted to Victor, wide with terror, expecting him to lung forward and sever Marcos's hand right then and there.
But Victor did nothing.
He continued to dance with his partner, his movements fluid and calm. He watched Marcos's hand slide lower down Alia's spine, yet his face remained a mask of demonic tranquility. It was as if he were testing her would she endure this humiliation, or would she find the strength to defend herself?
Marcos leaned in, whispering against her ear, "See that, my Queen? Your husband is busy with someone else. While he's distracted, I'm tasting the silk of your skin. He won't do a thing, because tonight is about showing who has the real power."
Tears welled in Alia's eyes. She realized Victor had abandoned her to these wolves just to prove a point about his own dominance. Marcos's hand began to venture even further, emboldened by Victor's silence.
Suddenly, mid-dance, Victor spun his partner away and let out a chilling, hollow laugh. He looked directly at Marcos and spoke:
"You're a fine dancer, Marcos. Keep going. But remember... when a tiger is silent, he isn't sleeping. He's simply calculating exactly how to snap his prey's neck."
Alia couldn't take it anymore. The shame, the red-hot embarrassment, and the realization that she was a mere pawn in this sick game broke her. Her face flushed a deep crimson, and she began to struggle, trying to tear herself away from Marcos's grasp. The fire of humiliation blazed within Alia. Victor's chilling silence and Marcos's crude touch had pushed her to the ultimate breaking point. She finally realized that in this game of men, she was being treated as nothing more than a puppet.
As Marcos's hand attempted to slide even lower down her exposed back, Alia summoned every ounce of her strength and wrenched herself away from his grasp with a violent jerk.
The Unthinkable Slap
The entire hall fell into a deathly silence. The violins cut off mid-note. Alia stood tall, staring directly into Marcos's eyes—the fear that had lived there was gone, replaced by a burning, lethal hatred. In a split second, her hand swung through the air with the speed of a gale, landing a thunderous slap across Marcos's cheek.
"SLAP!" The sound echoed through the Obsidian Hall like a gunshot.
Marcos froze, his head snapped to the side. He held his cheek, staring at her in pure disbelief. Lord Dragunov and the other Lords stood with their mouths agape—how could a woman have the audacity to slap a Mafia Lord in front of everyone?
Alia roared, her voice trembling but fierce: "Don't you ever dare touch me again! You might call yourselves Lords, but in my eyes, you are nothing but animals!"
Alia's Departure
She then turned her gaze toward Victor. He was still standing there with his dance partner, that same mysterious, infuriating smirk plastered on his face. With tear-filled eyes, Alia addressed him:
"You are just as cruel as they are, Victor. You wanted me to defend myself? Congratulations, I did. Now, I won't stay in this filthy place for a single second longer."
Alia didn't wait for a response. Grabbing the skirt of her red gown in both hands, she held her head high and sprinted through the center of the hall. Her long hair billowed behind her like a silk cape. She ran straight for the massive exit; the guards, seeing the raw fury in her eyes, didn't dare to step in her way.
Victor's Reaction
After Alia left, the atmosphere in the hall turned electric and deadly. Marcos, shaking with rage, reached for his gun, but in a flash, Victor was in front of him. The icy coldness in Victor's eyes had transformed into a boiling volcanic lava.
He grabbed Marcos by the collar, his deep voice vibrating with a lethal threat:
"She was right, Marcos. She is my Queen, and you desecrated her. She only gave you a slap; if it were up to me, I would have severed your hand. Now get out of here before the soil of St. Petersburg turns red with your blood!" As Alia stormed out of the hall, she was suddenly intercepted by five massive bodyguards. But they didn't stop her to hurt her. Instead, they bowed deeply in unison. One of them draped a black velvet coat over her bare back to shield her from the cold and the prying eyes of the Lords.
Suddenly, the guards shouted in a thunderous tone:
"The Mafia God-Mother is leaving! Clear the path!"
Victor, Dragunov, and the others rushed out of the hall only to find Alia surrounded by the "Elite Five" the most feared assassins of the underworld. Alia looked back at Victor one last time, her eyes glowing with newfound power. As she entered the lead car of the convoy, the guards chanted, "God-Mother!" and sped away, leaving the shocked Mafia Lords standing in the dust. Marcos was shaking with fury. Being slapped by a woman was one thing, but being threatened by Victor in front of the other Lords was the ultimate insult.
"Victor! " Marcos roared, shoving Victor's hand away from his collar.
He stepped into Victor's personal space, his face turning purple with rage. "You're raising your hand against me for a mere girl? That slap didn't just hit my face; it hit the honor of the Pentagon Lords! You've put her on too high a pedestal, Victor. Look at her now—who were those five bodyguards? Who has she been talking to behind your back?"
Marcos spat on the floor. "You've been nursing a viper, Victor. She's no longer your pet; she's an enemy to us all now. Either you put her down yourself, or I swear by the rising sun, I will walk over your dead body to get to her!"
Victor stood his ground, his muscles tensing. He saw the other Lords aligning with Marcos. He let out a dark, deep-voiced laugh.
"You want to end her?" Victor whispered, his eyes flashing with a murderous intent. "She is my Queen. And to touch her, you'll have to go through me first. You want a war? Then a war is exactly what you'll get."The five bodyguards who took Alia away are not ordinary humans. In the dark world of the mafia, they are known as "The Shadow Guardians."
Here is the chilling truth about them:
Their Origin: They were once the personal elite assassins of Victor's father (the former Mafia King). After his death, they vanished into thin air, refusing to serve anyone else—until now.
Why Alia?: It turns out Alia carries a bloodline or a secret title that even Victor was unaware of. These guards only swear fealty to the true "God-Mother" of the organization.
Their Lethality: They are "Shadows" because they move undetected. Each one of them is trained to take down an entire squad without using a single firearm.
The Vow: By bowing to her, they have declared that Alia's life is now more important than the Mafia code. If Victor tries to force her back, these five will stand against him without hesitation.
The Rise of the God-Mother
As the cars speed away, Alia looks at the leader of the guards. He hands her a customized gold-plated burner phone. On the screen, a message is already waiting from a hidden contact:
"The throne is waiting, My Queen. Your move."
Alia wipes the last of her tears, her gaze turning cold as ice. She is no longer the victim of the Pentagon Lords. She is their nightmare.