When Victor moved so close to Alia, it felt as if the breath had been sucked out of the room. He sank to his knees before her, pulling her into a desperate, powerful embrace. He pressed a long, lingering kiss upon her forehead and her blood-stained lips, his tears mingling with the grime on her cheeks.
For a heartbeat, Alia went still under his touch. But then, a violent shiver coursed through her body. Resting her head on Victor's shoulder, she began to laugh softly. It wasn't the manic screaming from before; it was low, rhythmic, and utterly terrifying.
She began to whisper in his ear once more in that Ancient Russian tongue, her voice sharp and ice-cold.
Alia: (Whispering in Russian) "Ty dumal, chto potseluy mozhet razrushit' proklyatiye? Ty vsegda byl durnem, Aleksandr." Did you think a kiss could break the curse? You were always a fool, Alexander.
Still laughing, she threw her arms around Victor's back, clutching him tight. The rattling of her chains echoed off the medical bay walls like a death knell. She leaned into the crook of his neck and took a deep, shuddering breath, as if she were inhaling the very scent of his blood.
Alia: (Laughing) "Smert' pridet za toboy v oblichii lyubvi.". Death will come for you in the guise of love.
Victor pulled away, stumbling back a step. He looked into her eyes and saw no trace of the woman he loved only the glimmering joy of an ancient predator. Alia stopped rubbing her nose; instead, she used her finger to wipe the blood from Victor's lip and smeared it onto her own tongue with a sickening smile.
Marcos: (Screaming from outside) "Victor! Get out of there! That isn't Alia! She's going to end you!"
But Victor remained transfixed, staring at her as if hypnotized. Alia continued to laugh, chanting an ancient song of victory in that forgotten language, her chains clashing violently against the stone as she thrashed with newfound, unholy strength. Shifting her gaze from Victor, Alia looked toward Marcos, who stood trembling behind the glass partition. The smile on her blood-stained lips widened, as if she were savoring the raw terror radiating from him.
At that precise moment, Alia's eldest son burst into the room from behind the door. He was too young to comprehend the horror of the chains, the blood, or the macabre atmosphere. He saw only one thing: his mother—the woman he had been waiting to call out to for so long—was finally awake.
Ignoring every barrier, the boy let out a piercing cry—"Ma!" He ran and threw himself onto the chained Alia, embracing her with all his might.
In an instant, the ancient shadow and the demonic laughter vanished. Her pupils returned to their natural state. Like a woman possessed by a different kind of madness—the madness of a mother—she cupped her son's face with both hands. Blood trickled from her wrists where the chains chafed against her skin, but she felt nothing.
She began kissing her son's forehead and cheeks repeatedly. Her affection was frantic, desperate, as if she couldn't believe her child was actually standing before her.
Alia: (Crying and laughing simultaneously) "Baba... my boy! My golden boy! You've come? You've come to your mother?"
She buried her face in his hair, rubbing against him and pulling him into her chest as if she wanted to merge their bodies. The woman who, moments ago, was intoxicated by the urge to kill was now nothing more than a lost, desperate mother.
Alia: (Whispering to her son) "They are holding me here, Baba... they've bound me with chains. Won't you take me away from here? They are very bad people!"Victor and Marcos stood like statues, frozen in shock. What Victor's obsession and Marcos's tears couldn't achieve, the single cry of a child had doneAs Alia's son clung to her, the atmosphere shifted from maternal warmth to a dark, suffocating intensity. Marcos, still wiping tears from his eyes, believed for a moment that the "real" Alia had returned. He leaned in, intending to comfort her, but in a flash of lightning speed, Alia reached out and grabbed Marcos by his tie, jerking him toward her with terrifying strength.
The sudden force sent Marcos stumbling, his face inches away from hers. Amidst the clashing of chains and the soft whimpering of the child, Alia pressed her face against his neck and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent with a feverish desperation.
Alia: (In a low, hauntingly melodic voice) "My heart... Love me?"
She stared into Marcos's eyes with a gaze that felt like a hypnotic trap. The blood-stained smile on her lips and the primal fire in her eyes had merged into a single, terrifying expression. Marcos froze, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and raw emotion. He couldn't tell if this was a confession of love or the next phase of her ancient vendetta.
Alia: (Whispering) "Do you love me, Marcos? Or are you just like Alexander... only knowing how to keep me in a cage? Tell me... do you love me?"
She twisted the tie tighter around her hand, nearly cutting off his breath. Standing nearby, Victor watched the scene, his blood boiling with a toxic cocktail of rage and jealousy. His hand moved instinctively toward the hilt of his weapon. Even as Alia stroked her son's hair with one hand, her entire focus was locked onto Marcos's throat.
Alia: "Everyone speaks of love... but no one breaks my chains. Love me... love me like a God!"
Marcos reached out with a trembling hand and touched her bloodied wrist. He realized then that Alia was trapped in a psychotic loop she was simultaneously a grieving mother, a desperate lover, and a vengeful spirit. She wasn't asking for affection; she was demanding worship while being treated like a prisoner.The clock struck 2:00 AM. The mansion was submerged in a sinister silence, but inside the VIP medical suite, the atmosphere had shifted from a scene of recovery to one of dark coronation.
The lights were dimmed, leaving only a cold, blue hue reflecting off the medical monitors. Alia sat leaned back against the headboard of her bed, looking less like a patient and more like a monarch on a throne of thorns. One of her hands remained chained to the wall, the cold iron clashing against the bedframe as she moved.
In her free hand, she held a high-end cigarette. She took a long, deep puff, the tip glowing bright orange in the dark, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke that veiled her face like a ghostly mask. The maternal softness from earlier was gone; her eyes were now sharp, ancient, and predatory.
She gestured toward the shadows. Marcos, drawn by an irresistible and terrifying pull, stepped forward from the corner of the room. Without a word, Alia reached out and grabbed Marcos by his tie, jerking him down toward her.
Marcos stumbled, falling to his knees beside her bed. Alia leaned in close, blowing the bitter smoke directly into his face. Her voice was no longer a whisper; it was a low, vibrating growl of absolute power.
Alia: (In a voice of cold thunder) "Did you think that feeding a child made me soft? Did you think that Alia was weak? That woman is dead, Marcos."
She tightened her grip on his neck, pulling him so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She spoke right against his ear, her words dripping with a deadly pride.
Alia: "Victor and you... both of you are playing with toys. But remember who I am. I am the Mafia Godmother. My veins carry the ice and fire of ancient Siberia. I am Russian... and a Russian never learns how to lose."
She held the smoldering cigarette inches away from Marcos's chest, the embers reflecting in his wide, terrified eyes. There were no more tears in her gaze only the burning fire of a vendetta centuries in the making.
Alia: "From tonight, this game follows my rules. Alexander (Victor) can chain my body, but he cannot chain my soul. I am coming... for my empire."
She took one last long drag of the cigarette, the smoke curling around them both. In that darkness, Marcos realized that the woman he loved had evolved into a living volcano, ready to bury the world in ash.Under the hypnotic weight of Alia's gaze, Marcos lost all sense of caution. Driven by a mixture of fear and obsessive devotion, he pulled the key from his pocket. With a heavy click, the iron cuffs snapped open.
As the chains hit the marble floor with a deafening clang, it felt as though a centuries-old curse had finally been lifted. Alia rubbed her bruised, reddened wrists, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face.
Alia: "This is exactly what you should have done from the start, Marcos. Now... get out."
Once the room was cleared, Alia stepped into the bathroom. Under the scalding spray of the shower, she washed away the dried blood, the sweat, and the remnants of her perceived "madness." The steam filled the room, carrying away the scent of iron and replacing it with the fragrance of expensive soaps.
When she emerged, she was no longer the broken, chained captive. She was a weapon forged in fire. She selected a floor-length black silk gown from her wardrobe a dress that clung to her like a second skin, radiating power and elegance. Seeing Victor stunned by her sudden transformation, Alia stepped toward him. The rhythmic click of her high heels against the marble floor sounded like the ticking of a countdown. She stopped just inches away from him, the rustle of her silk gown and the scent of her expensive perfume filling the space between them.
Alia reached out and straightened Victor's tie with a slow, deliberate motion, looking at him with a wicked, knowing smile.
Alia: (In a low, sharp voice) "What's the matter, Victor? Why are you standing there as silent as a grave? Are you afraid of me now, or are you just surprised by the masterpiece you've created?"
Victor faltered for a moment. He was a man used to being in total control, but in the face of Alia's newfound confidence, he felt an unfamiliar wave of unease.
Victor: (Trying to hide his discomfort) "Oh... it's nothing. Just... you look very different in that dress. I didn't expect you to return to yourself so quickly."
Alia let out a condescending smirk. She stared directly into his eyes, as if reading the secret fears hidden in his mind.
Alia: (Firmly) "Return to myself? I've only just begun. Listen to me, Victor. We have that meeting tonight, don't we? The one with the top Russian syndicate bosses. I know you were planning to go alone."
Victor's eyes widened. This was a classified summit; Alia wasn't supposed to know the details of the underworld agenda.
Alia: "Don't look so shocked. I am attending that meeting tonight. And I won't be there as your trophy wife. I will be there as the Godmother of this empire. Beside your 'Alexander' image, they need to see the heir of an ancient Russian bloodline someone who will make those old dons think twice before they speak."
Victor realized then that the board had been flipped. The woman he had tried to keep in chains was now the one giving the orders.