The interior of the cafe had transformed into a live powder keg. On one side stood Victor, a towering figure of Russian steel, with his army of black-clad, armed bodyguards flanking him. On the other side stood Marcos, his Italian bodyguards drawing their weapons in a synchronized motion. In the middle stood Alia, her heart shattering as the 6-month-old baby let out another piercing cry.
Victor's eyes burned with a lethal fire. His gloved hand held his revolver steady, aimed directly at the center of Marcos's forehead. His men had their automatic rifles leveled at Marcos's crew one twitch of a finger, and the cafe would turn into a slaughterhouse.
Victor: (In his deep, guttural Russian tone) "Marcos, you come to my city and show bravado in front of my wife? Do you realize that in my territory, your bodyguards are nothing but walls of sand?"
Marcos did not flinch. He raised his own revolver, aiming it squarely at Victor's heart. His Italian pride had turned into sheer defiance.
Marcos: "I have my most loyal warriors behind me, Victor. If you pull that trigger, remember I won't go down alone. And you will never lay a finger on this child."
Alia felt like she was being crushed between two colliding mountains. She realized both sides were ready to paint the walls red. She screamed with every ounce of strength she had left:
Alia: "Stop! Do you both want the blood of this innocent baby on your hands? Victor, if you ever loved me, put the gun down! And Marcos, if you care for your son's life, leave this instant!"
A cruel, twisted smile played on Victor's lips. He glanced at Alia for a split second. "Love? Alia, the betrayal you have committed can only be washed away in blood."Seeing Alia's tears and silent plea, Marcos realized that staying would only endanger the baby. He slowly lowered his gun, but his eyes showed no sign of defeat.
Marcos: (In a sharp, defiant voice) "Fine, Alia. I am leaving for now because you asked. But Victor... if you think I'm running back to Italy in fear, you are mistaken. I am staying right here in Russia. I will be watching every breath you take."
Victor remained stone-faced as he watched Marcos retreat with his guards toward the back exit.
Marcos: (Looking back one last time) "Alia, I am close. Very close. Whenever you or my son need me, I will appear like a shadow."
After Marcos left, a terrifying silence filled the cafe. Only Victor and Alia remained. Victor holstered his revolver and began walking toward her with predatory slowness.
Victor: "Now Marcos is gone, Alia. It's just you and me. Are you ready for the punishment I have prepared for your little 'walk'?" Victor's rage had transcended human limits; he had become a living inferno. He dragged Alia out of the cafe, ignoring her pleas. He flung her into his black Lamborghini, slamming the door with a force that rattled the luxury car.
Inside, Victor punched the steering wheel, the engine's roar echoing his internal fury. He pushed the car to 200 km/h, ignoring the snow and traffic. Within minutes, they arrived at the penthouse.
Victor dragged Alia toward the private elevator. His expensive overcoat was tossed carelessly on the floor.
Alia: "Victor! You're hurting me! Let go!"
Victor: (Viciously) "Hurt? You haven't seen hurt yet. You betrayed me, Alia. From now on, these four walls are your entire world. No sun, no sky... and no Marcos."
He threw her into the bedroom and locked the door from the outside. As Alia collapsed in tears, Victor barked orders to his guards: "Surround this room. Not even a fly should get in or out. From today, Alia is the most expensive prisoner of this penthouse."Victor entered the room after an hour. His silence was more terrifying than his screams. He slowly unbuckled his expensive leather belt. The metallic clink of the buckle hitting the floor echoed through the room.
Alia: (Trembling) "Victor... what are you doing? Stop! Don't do something you'll regret."
Victor whipped the belt in the air once, making a sharp whistling sound. He approached her with predatory calm.
Victor: "Regret? You're the one who will regret it, Alia. When you gave your breast to that illegitimate child of Marcos, did you think of me? You dragged my honor under that Italian dog's feet."
He stood over her, his massive shadow looming. "I kept you like a queen. But your blood still yearns for that low-born Italian. Today, I will erase every trace of him from you."
Just as he raised the belt, a thunderous bang came from the door. Isravna Pritov roared from outside, "Father! Open the door! To lay a hand on my mother, you'll have to go through me first!" The penthouse walls seemed to tremble under the weight of Victor's divine fury. As he turned his gaze toward his own son, Isravna, his eyes were no longer human—they were the predatory glare of a starving wolf.
Isravna Pritov stood like a shield in front of his mother. But Victor lashed his leather belt against the floor with a thunderous crack. The echo of that strike paralyzed the entire room.
Victor: (Lowering his voice to a level that sounded even more terrifying) "Isravna... move out of my way. If the Angel of Death himself stood before me today, I would shove him aside. You are my own blood, so I am warning you one last time. Move!"
Isravna, despite being a Mafia Prince and a fearless warrior in his own right, saw a level of devastation in his father's eyes for the first time that shook him to his core. A lethal aura seemed to radiate from Victor's very body.
Isravna: (His voice trembling slightly) "Father... Mother only—"
Victor: (Roaring) "I said MOVE! Do not test my patience, Isravna. Do you want three corpses in this room today instead of two?"
Isravna was struck by a chill of pure terror. He realized that at this moment, Victor was not acting as his father; he was the ruthless Russian Overlord who could not stomach such a profound blow to his honor. Isravna saw Victor's hands shaking with rage, and his eyes were brimming with moisture it wasn't just anger; it was the searing burn of ultimate betrayal.
Feeling helpless, Isravna backed away, step by step. He cast a sorrowful, desperate look at his mother, but in the face of Victor's icy, overpowering presence, he could not utter another word.
Victor turned back toward Alia. The leather belt was gripped tightly in his fist. Isravna stood by the door, trembling, as Alia watched her last spark of hope fade into darkness. Victor slammed the heavy door shut, locking the world outside. He tore open the buttons of his shirt, revealing his muscular, tattooed chest that seemed to glow in the dim light. Without a word, he lunged toward Alia.
Before she could retreat, he swept her off her feet, lifting her into his arms. He tossed her onto the bed with a force that made the springs groan. As she landed, the diamond anklets (Nupur) on her feet chimed loudly—a sharp, rhythmic sound that only fueled the beast inside Victor.
Victor hovered over her, his hand gripping her ankle where the anklet sat.
Victor: (In a low, gravelly voice) "These anklets were meant to chime only for me, Alia. But you wore them to meet him. Today, every sound they make will bear witness to your betrayal."
He pinned her wrists above her head. The rhythmic jingling of her jewelry mixed with the sound of his heavy breathing, creating a haunting melody of possession and pain.A fierce and intense struggle of emotions broke out on the bed. Victor's rage and Alia's helplessness created a toxic yet overwhelming atmosphere.
Victor lunged at Alia with all his strength and sense of possession. This wasn't ordinary love; it was a Mafia Lord asserting dominance over his most precious "property." As Victor united with Alia with all his cruelty and raw emotion, a long cry of pain escaped her lips— "Ahhhhhh...".
The diamond anklets on her feet continued to chime frantically, each jingle echoing Victor's intensity. Tears and sweat mingled as Victor whispered into her neck, "You are mine, Alia. Even in death, you belong to me."
The night in the locked room became a primal display of a Mafia Lord's revenge and obsession, while the snow outside fell in silent witness.After that brutal union, when the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence, Victor leaned close to Alia's ear and flashed that toxic smile. There was no love in that smile—only the cold, sharp edge of a devastating truth.
Victor brushed away the disheveled strands of hair from Alia's face and began to speak in a low, haunting voice. Each word felt like a poisoned arrow piercing her soul.
Victor: (With a toxic smirk) "Did you really believe you got into the CIA headquarters so easily based on your own merit? No, Alia... you are nothing but a pawn on a grand chessboard. You have no idea what secret your father and mine have buried deep beneath the earth."
Alia stared at Victor, her eyes wide with shock. The exhaustion in her body vanished instantly, replaced by a wave of pure terror.
Victor: "Your blood doesn't belong to just one nation. You found a place in American Intelligence so easily because you were born in America. you hold three citizenships, making you one of the most powerful and mysterious assets in the world."
Victor touched her cheek and leaned even closer, his breath cold against her skin.
Victor: "One identity is Russia, where you are my Queen. Another is your motherland, Bangladesh, the place that holds the longing in your eyes. And the most dangerous of all is your American identity, which paved the way for you to walk into the CIA. Your father and mine used this triple identity to pull the strings of global politics."
Alia sat frozen, stunned into silence. She realized her life was no coincidence; it was a massive blueprint drawn over decades. She wasn't just Victor's wife or Marcos's lover she was the epicenter of an international conspiracy