Alia and Lord Marcos sat in a posh roadside cafe. Inside, the air smelled of strong coffee while the snow fell outside. Marcos took Alia's hand in his, his golden-toned skin and green cat-eyes weaving a web of temptation around her.
Marcos: "Alia, why go back to that ice-cold Victor? He will keep you in a cage. Come with me to Italy... let our child have his father's name."
Just as Alia began to waver, a tall shadow fell across the cafe entrance. It was Alia's eldest son. He was built exactly like Victor—tall, muscular, and imposing. He carried Victor's royal cruelty in his gaze. As he approached the table, the atmosphere turned freezing.
Marcos looked up with his Honey Ice eyes—a gaze that was as golden as honey but as transparent as ice. But it paled before the fire in the boy's eyes.
Alia's Son: (In a deep voice, just like Victor's) "Lord Marcos, remove your 'golden' hand from my mother this instant. Or you won't have a hand left to carry back to Italy."The tension in the cafe shifted into curiosity. The tall and powerful boy—Isravna Pritov—stood by the table. While Alia was desperately telling him to leave, Isravna ignored the chaos and focused on the 6-month-old baby in her arms.
Isravna Pritov: (Looking at the baby with a surprisingly soft tone) "Oew... what a cute baby! Let me see, Mom... give him to me for a moment."
Alia and Marcos were stunned. Isravna, who carried Victor's ruthless blood, was looking at Marcos's child not as an enemy, but with affection. He touched the baby's tiny fingers. For a moment, the cruelty of the "Dark Lord's son" vanished, replaced by a brotherly warmth.
Isravna: (Glancing at Marcos) "The kid is quite something. Mom, can I take him back to the palace with me?"Inside the cafe, a strange familial atmosphere took hold. On one side sat the Italian Lord Marcos with his mesmerizing eyes, and on the other, Victor's eldest son, Isravna Pritov, was deep in conversation with his mother. Alia's mind was heavy with worry for her other children.
Alia held the baby protectively, keeping him away from Isravna's reach, and asked, "No, forget about taking him to the palace. Your father will kill him the moment he sees him. Just tell me, how are my other four children? Are they alright?"
Isravna Pritov gave a faint smile, one that carried Victor's signature elegance. He replied, "Mmm, everyone is fine, Mom. But I am a bit worried about your eldest daughter."
Alia looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "Why? What happened to her?"
Isravna: "Your eldest daughter has fallen in love!"
Alia paused for a moment, then responded with the ease of a modern mother, "What's the problem with love? A little romance is expected at this age. But who is the boy? What does he do?"
Isravna Pritov turned toward the window, watching the falling snow with a serious expression. He knew that if Victor found out, he would set all of Moscow ablaze. He spoke in a low voice:
Isravna: "The boy is an underground musician, but his true identity is the son of a powerful opposition leader in Russia. He's fast with his hands—he can play the guitar just as well as he can pull a trigger."
Alia grew deeply concerned. For Victor's daughter to be in love with the son of a political rival was a death sentence. Marcos, who had been listening silently until now, couldn't resist chiming in.
Marcos: "It's in the blood, Alia! Your daughter is bound to be as brave and rebellious as you. Just as you fell for me while being Victor's wife, she too is playing with fire."
Isravna Pritov shot a lethal, fiery glare at Marcos. In that instant, his eyes turned identical to Victor's icy blue and deathly cold Alia's maternal warmth instantly cut through the heavy tension of the cafe. She reached out to her eldest son, calling him with a soft, affectionate voice.
"Oh, my crazy boy, I'll deal with all that later," Alia said. "Come here to me... come close, my son."
Isravna Pritov, despite his massive frame and intimidating presence, bowed his head and leaned into his mother. He pulled her into a deep, protective embrace. With pure devotion, he kissed her on the forehead and cheeks. In this moment, he didn't look like the son of a terrifying Mafia Lord; he was simply a son who had found his way back to his mother's soul.
As Alia held Isravna, she was struck by his physical presence—the scent and the sheer power of his build. She thought to herself, "My boy is exactly like his father!"
Isravna's height, his broad shoulders, and even his way of speaking were a carbon copy of Victor's. If they stood side by side, they would look like twins. Victor's royal aura and ruthless elegance flowed through Isravna's veins. Alia realized that even though Victor wasn't physically there, his presence was being felt every second through their son.
Meanwhile, Lord Marcos sat to the side, watching this scene. A flicker of envy and melancholy crossed his green cat-eyes. He realized just how deep Victor's influence ran over Alia and her children.
Isravna glanced at the small baby in Alia's arms, then leaned in and whispered very slowly into her ear:
Isravna: "Mom, Father has returned to the penthouse. And he didn't believe your story about just 'going out for a walk' for one second."
Alia's heart thudded against her chest. She knew a massive storm was waiting for her.. Alia realized the situation could spiral out of control at any moment. She didn't want her son to become a target of Victor's fury.
Alia: (In a firm but low voice) "Isravna... my son, go now. Listen to what I'm saying, go back to the palace or to your own place. But don't stay here."
Isravna stood his ground with a stubborn gaze just like his father's. He didn't want to leave his mother's side.
Isravna: "Mom, I won't leave you alone with this man (Marcos). And if Father is angry, it's better if I stay."
Alia: (Placing her hand on his cheek) "No, my dear. Your father won't hurt me. But if he sees you, he won't be able to control himself. I know how to calm him down. Go now. This is my command."
Isravna fell silent. He couldn't disobey his mother. He shot one last look of pure hatred at Marcos, kissed Alia's forehead, and walked out. His tall frame disappeared into the falling snow.
Marcos shifted in his seat, a crooked smile forming on his face. "Your son is exactly like Victor. I might not have dared to take you if he stayed. Now that he's gone, Alia... let's escape this hell."
Alia looked at him calmly. "You're wrong, Marcos. Just because Isravna is gone doesn't mean I belong to you. I sent him away because he doesn't have the strength to handle his father's rage yet but I do."The silence in the cafe was broken by the baby's sharp cry. The 6-month-old child was hungry, his face turning red. Alia didn't care about the world or the enemies surrounding her. She used her shawl to shield herself and pulled the baby close to her chest.
As Alia began breastfeeding the child, the baby found peace and let out a satisfied "Hummm..." sound. Even Marcos was stunned into silence by this sacred moment of motherhood.
However, at that exact moment, a dark shadow appeared outside the cafe window. Victor was standing there. He didn't enter, but through the glass, he saw everything Alia feeding the child of his greatest rival. His ice-cold blue eyes flared with a murderous rage. He slowly pulled out his revolver, his jaw tightened in fury.
Alia looked directly into Victor's eyes through the glass. She knew a storm was coming, but she didn't stop. She continued to comfort the child.Alia, seeing Victor outside with a gun, hurriedly pulled the baby away and handed him to Marcos. Her hands were trembling.
Alia: "Marcos! Take your child and run now! If you don't leave, Victor will kill us all. He won't spare this innocent baby. Go, I'm telling you!"
The baby started crying loudly again as he was separated from Alia. Marcos took the child but remained standing, his green eyes filled with stubbornness.
Marcos: "But Alia, I don't want to leave you. I won't leave you in the hands of this monster. I'm not a coward!"
Alia: "You don't understand, Marcos! He has his whole army outside. If you die, what happens to this baby? Think of me, think of my children! Please, just go!"
Outside, Victor raised his revolver, aiming straight for Marcos's forehead. Alia desperately tried to push Marcos behind a table for cover.The atmosphere inside the cafe was suffocating. Outside, the Russian winter seemed to freeze in anticipation of the bloodbath about to unfold. Marcos stood tall, his grip tightening on the crying infant, his golden skin glowing with a defiant sweat.
Marcos: (In a booming, prideful voice) "Alia, look at me! I am the Lord of the Italian Mafia. I don't run like a dog. My family rules the Mediterranean. I have the power to crush anyone who stands in my way!"
Alia's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked at the glass window—Victor hadn't moved. He was like a statue of death, his finger hovering over the trigger.
Alia: (Desperate, tears streaming down her face) "Your titles mean nothing here, Marcos! This is Russia! You are an Italian Lord, but Victor is the Russian Mafia Lord. This is his soil, his snow, and his rules! He is more dangerous than anything you've ever faced. He's not just a man; he's a demon when he's betrayed. Go, I'm begging you... for the sake of the baby!"
Marcos glanced at the window, meeting Victor's icy blue gaze. He saw the cold, calculated madness in Victor's eyes—a look that said he was ready to burn the whole world just to punish them.
Alia: "He has snipers on every roof, Marcos. If you don't leave through the back door right now, you won't even make it to your car. Save our child! Let me handle the monster I married!"
Just then, the sound of a heavy metallic click echoed from outside. Victor had cocked the hammer of his gun. The silence that followed was even more terrifying than the baby's screams.