Marcos pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, absentmindedly flicking it as he locked eyes with Alia. In the dim light of the room, those grey, cat-like eyes of his seemed to glow with an even sharper intensity.
Marcos: "You want to know my full name? Very few people have the courage to ask that. My full name is—Lord Marcos Valentino."
Alia was slightly taken aback by the prestige of the name. The Valentino name was legendary, carrying immense weight in the history of the European Mafia.
Alia: "Valentino? Which country's Lord are you?"
Marcos: (In a low, smooth voice) "I am of Italian descent. My ancestors built the mafia empire in Rome. But these casinos and drug routes here in Pentagon City? That is a heaven I built with my own hands. I rule both the elegance of Rome and the darkness of this city."
Marcos's New Proposal
Marcos leaned forward, closing the distance between them. A few strands of his silver-streaked hair fell over his forehead, adding to his mysterious charm.
Marcos: "Alia, I am Italian. And we Italians understand two things perfectly—business, and beauty. From the moment you walked in this morning in that green gown, I stopped caring about my casinos and started caring about the spell you've cast. Do you really want me to sign?"
Alia steeled herself, her voice firm. "It is Victor's order. You have to sign."
Marcos: "I won't sign on Victor's command. But if you ask me and in exchange, gift me that blushing smile of yours just one more time... I might just sign over my entire empire to your name."
Alia realized then that Marcos wasn't just a Lord; he was a master strategist. He wasn't trying to survive as Victor's enemy; he was trying to secure his place in the Pentagon by becoming someone dear to Alia.At Alia's question, Marcos paused for a moment, his crooked smile still lingering. He tucked his lighter away and settled more comfortably into the sofa.
Alia: "Are you married? Do you have a wife? Was that really your wife whose picture you shared in the group last night?"
Marcos nodded calmly, his grey eyes steady. "Yes, Alia. She is my wife. The Queen of Lord Valentino. Why? Did it bother you to see her like that?"
Alia grimaced in disgust. "You should be ashamed. Didn't your heart tremble to dishonor your own wife in front of everyone? Don't you love her?"
Marcos let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Love? Alia, you're forgetting which world you've entered. In the mafia world, a 'wife' is often just a status or a means to continue the bloodline. I married her because of a deal between our families. She has beauty, but she lacks your fire. She only knows how to obey."
He stood up and took a step toward her. "Sharing her picture wasn't meant to insult her, but to diminish Victor. But I was wrong. I didn't know Victor had a woman by his side whose brilliance makes every other image fade away. I feel no obsession for my wife, Alia... but I feel a very strong pull toward those fierce eyes of yours."Marcos stood dangerously close to Alia, the air in the room thick with tension and the sharp scent of his expensive Italian perfume. As he reached out to touch a stray lock of her hair, Alia recoiled instantly, her eyes blazing with furyThe absolute contempt Marcos showed for his own wife had sickened Alia to her core.
Alia: (Screaming) "Stop! Don't take another step. You think you're some great Lord, don't you? But in my eyes, you're nothing but a low-life coward. How can a man dream of ruling the world when he can't even respect the Queen in his own home?"
Marcos froze. His cat-like eyes narrowed in shock. No one had ever dared to speak to him with such raw defiance.
Alia: "Your wife might be a 'deal' to you, but she is a human being. Last night, you treated her like cheap pornography for the dark web. Your Italian nobility is only in your clothes, Marcos—it's certainly not in your blood."
The Reaction of Marcos
The smirk vanished from Marcos's face. Alia's words pierced through his ego like molten lead. He slowly unbuttoned his coat and leaned in, his voice low but lethally sharp.
Marcos: "Brave words, Alia. But does Victor really respect you? To him, you're just a trophy. He's using you to flaunt his power, just like anyone else. Tell me, what is the real difference between you and my wife?"
Alia met his gaze with unwavering intensity, a contemptuous smile playing on her lips.
Alia: "The difference? Victor stood me up before the world as his Queen, while you locked your wife in a bedroom to sell her dignity. Victor gave me power, while you stripped yours of hers. That, Marcos, is the world of difference between a man like him and a coward like you."Marcos burst into laughter. "You've turned Victor into a saint, Alia! But do you even know who you're standing amongst? The deal Victor is discussing outside with those three isn't just business."
He turned to her, his eyes glinting. "You already know Victor is a Russian Mafia Lord. His blood is as cold as Siberian ice. But do you know the others?
Dragunov is a Serbian butcher; he controls Europe's arms smuggling.
Lucian is a Romanian drug lord; his labs produce poison that can destroy worlds.
Nikolai is also Russian, but he is the king of underground hacking and information."
Marcos whispered, "Victor is making deals in your name with these international lords. He made you 'Administrator' to use you as a shield. Russians never give up a throne without a motive. Are you sure you have his heart, or are you just the beautiful face of his empire?"Before Alia could even process what was happening, Marcos moved with lightning speed. He grabbed her from behind and slammed her against the wall, pinning her firmly (Wall-pin). Alia's back hit the cold, hard surface, trapped by Marcos's powerful frame. He placed one hand lightly against her throat not to cause pain, but to keep her stillwhile his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her closer.
Alia was in total shock. She tried to struggle, but Marcos's strength was overwhelming. He leaned his face in, his lips inches from her ear, his warm breath fanning across her neck.
In a low, spine-chilling whisper, Marcos said:
Marcos: "Let Victor discuss his deals with the Russians outside. In here, the deal is between just you and me. You were so proud to say Victor made you a Queen, weren't you? Then look how easily this Italian Lord can take control of you. Do you have any idea, Alia? You look even more beautiful when you're angry. Victor might want to rule you, but I... I want to conquer you."
Alia could feel the piercing gaze of his grey, cat-like eyes fixed on her. This audacity left her burning with rage, yet forced her into a surreal and dangerous confrontation.
The Climax
As Marcos spoke, the silence of the room was suddenly shattered. The handle of the door turned violently, and the wood groaned under immense pressure.
Alia: (In a strained whisper) "Let go of me, Marcos! If he sees you like this, he won't just kill you he'll erase your entire bloodline!"
Marcos didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked, his eyes dancing with a suicidal bravery. "Then let him watch. Let the Russian bear see what an Italian fox can do."The atmosphere in the room shifts from chaotic violence to a haunting, surreal stillness. The power struggle, the threats, and the screams of the Lords outside seem to have faded into a distant echo.The room is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of expensive tobacco and the lingering tension of what just transpired. Alia is no longer the fierce woman in the royal green gown. Now, she sits alone on the velvet sofa, draped only in a pure white sheet that clings to her frame like a shroud of mourning and majesty combined.
She holds a lit cigarette between her fingers. She takes a slow, deep drag and exhales, blowing the smoke upward. Her head is tilted back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as the grey wisps of smoke spiral into the shadows. The emerald tiara—the symbol of the power Victor forced upon her lies discarded on the floor, its green stones glinting like the eyes of a fallen predator.
In this moment, Alia looks neither like a captive nor a Queen. She looks like a woman who has seen the true faces of the monsters she lives among and has decided to stop fearing them. She is a silent observer of her own tragedy.takes a dark, forbidden turn. As the smoke rings drifted upward, Marcos emerged from the shadows once again. He wrapped his arms around Alia from behind, his body drenched in sweat the heat of his skin seeping through the white sheet draped over her.
What had transpired within those locked doors was now evident in the heavy air and their disheveled state. Marcos lowered his face to her neck, his voice deeper, filled with a dark satisfaction. "It's easy to be Victor's Queen, Alia. But escaping the obsession of this Italian Lord is impossible. Are you still thinking of the Russian? Or has this heat made you forget everything?"
Alia didn't resist. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling. The cigarette smoke seemed to veil the sin and the conspiracy blooming between them. Marcos's grip tightened around her waist. This wasn't just a deal for empires or casinos anymore; it was a deal of the flesh, of seduction, and ultimate betrayal. Marcos knew he had taken Victor's greatest prize, and Alia knew she had stepped into a fire from which there was no return.The scorching nights of Pentagon City have been replaced by a desolate, snow-covered landscape in Italy. It is 2:00 AM. A pin-drop silence hangs in the air, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath Alia's boots.Alia walks alone, draped in a long black wool coat. The freezing cold bites at her cheeks, yet her body radiates a strange, nervous heat. In her arms, she cradles a small infant, shielding the child with desperate care as if trying to protect it from the entire world.
She is speaking into her Bluetooth headset, but surprisingly, not a word of Bengali or English escapes her lips. Instead, she speaks fluent Italian a language she likely mastered under the tutelage of Lord Marcos Valentino.
Alia: (Whispering in Italian) "Sì, Marcos. Il bambino è al sicuro. Victor non lo saprà mai. È il nostro segreto, il sangue dei Valentino."
(Yes, Marcos. The baby is safe. Victor will never know. It is our secret the Valentino bloodline.)
On the other end, Marcos's familiar, heavy voice resonates with a sense of diabolical joy.
Marcos: "Brava, mia regina. Victor thinks he is ruling the Pentagon, but he has no clue that his Queen is holding the heir to the Valentino empire. Soon, I will come to take you away from there."
Alia stops in her tracks. She looks up at the snowy sky and lets out a heavy sigh. The innocence that once defined her eyes is gone; she is now the epicenter of a terrifying conspiracy. She knows that if the Russian Mafia Lord, Victor, ever discovers she has betrayed him and is raising the child of the Italian Lord, both Italy and the Pentagon will be drowned in blood.
The Turning Point
Suddenly, the silence of the night is shattered by the distant sound of a heavy engine. Headlights cut through the falling snow, illuminating the path ahead. A black armored SUV approaches the signature vehicle of Victor's private guard.