The chaos of the night had settled into the cold, sharp reality of the morning. Sunlight flooded the Lord's Room, reflecting off the gold accents and the scattered remains of their passion. Alia, ever the strategist, knew that while the night belonged to the heart, the morning belonged to the crown.
She rose from the bed, her movements graceful yet commanding. Draping a heavy silk robe over her shoulders, she didn't hide the faint marks on her neck—they were symbols of a pact sealed in fire. With a sharp pull of the velvet bell cord, Alia called the maidservants (Alia called the maidservants).
Within moments, a line of maids stood outside the heavy oak doors, waiting for her word.
Alia: (In a voice of cold steel, directing who would work) "Enter. I want this room restored to its absolute perfection within ten minutes. Replace the silk sheets—immediately."
The maids hurried in, heads bowed low. They moved like ghosts, their eyes carefully avoiding the sight of the broken wooden frame of the bed and the forcefully pulled bedsheets on the floor. They knew better than to look at the Mafia Lord, who was still reclining against the headboard, watching the scene with a dark, satisfied smirk.
Alia's Instructions:
The Room: "Ensure the scent of sandalwood replaces the smell of the storm. I want no trace of last night left behind."
The Breakfast: "Prepare the grand dining hall. Lord Victor and I will break bread together today."
The Son: "Go to the library. Tell my son to close his books and meet us at the table. He has a new father-figure to learn from."
The maids worked in frantic silence, terrified yet mesmerized by Alia's aura. Even after a night of such intense vulnerability, she stood before them as the undisputed Godmother, her authority unshaken.
Victor watched her, his eyes tracing the golden butterfly chain that still hugged her thigh beneath the robe. He realized that this was her greatest power: she could surrender like a queen in his arms and then rule like an empress before the world, all without losing her soul.The heavy, disciplined atmosphere of the morning was shattered in an instant. While the maidservants moved like terrified ghosts and Alia stood like a statuesque queen giving orders, Victor decided to break the tension in his own signature style.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers sliding across the screen with a smirk. A second later, the high-end surround sound system of the Lord's Room vibrated with the heavy, rhythmic bass of Justin Timberlake's "SexyBack."
"I'm bringing sexy back... Them other boys don't know how to act..."
The beat was infectious, pulsing through the walls of the ancient mansion. Victor stood up from the bed, completely unbothered by his bare chest or the prominent, angry red "MINE" scratches etched into his Sexy Back. He began to move with a slow, confident swagger, synchronizing his steps to the beat.
The maids froze for a split second, their faces turning beet-red. They lowered their heads even further, scrubbing the floor and changing the linens with frantic speed, but the lyrics of the song seemed to echo their own hidden thoughts about the powerful man now ruling the room.
Alia, who was holding a porcelain cup of black coffee, turned around with a look of pure disbelief. She tried to maintain her "Godmother" mask, but the absurdity of the moment was cracking her resolve.
Alia: (Raising an eyebrow, trying to sound stern) "Victor! You know high-volume music and dancing are strictly forbidden during working hours in this house."
Victor: (Smirking, he glided toward her, his eyes locked on hers as he moved to the rhythm) "Rules are for people who aren't us, Alia. Besides... listen to the lyrics. I think I've officially brought it back, wouldn't you say?"
He turned his back to her for a moment, letting her see the marks she had left on him—a trophy of their midnight war.
Alia bit her lip, struggling to suppress a laugh. The cold, suffocating silence that usually filled her home was being replaced by Victor's wild, untameable energy. Even her elder son, still in the library, paused his reading. The muffled bass reached him, making him realize that the "Old Order" of his mother's house had just been permanently dismantled by a man who feared nothing—not even the Godmother herself.The morning transformed as if touched by a wild, electric magic. As the heavy bass of Justin Timberlake's voice filled the room, the invisible walls Alia had built around herself for years finally crumbled.
Seeing Victor moving with such effortless confidence, Alia set her porcelain coffee cup down on the marble side table. As the lyrics hit—"Go ahead, be gone with it..."—Alia caught the rhythm. She let out a soft, low laugh and started dancing (Alia started dancing) with a fluid, mesmerizing grace that Victor had never seen before. Her silk robe billowed around her like a dark cloud as she matched his energy, her eyes sparkling with a rare, untamed joy.
In the corners of the room, the maidservants froze, their hearts racing. At first, they were terrified, but seeing the "Godmother" laughing and the "Lord" spinning her around, their fear evaporated. They looked at each other, hidden smiles breaking across their faces, and they too began to sway. They started dancing along (Maidservants started dancing) while clutching their cleaning cloths, their feet tapping to the beat on the polished floors.
The speakers roared:
"Come to the back, go ahead, be gone with it... VIP, go ahead, be gone with it... Drinks on me, go ahead, be gone with it..."
Victor laughed loudly, his voice booming over the music. He glided toward Alia, caught her by the waist, and spun her around like a whirlwind. Alia threw her head back, her laughter echoing through the hallways—a sound of pure, unadulterated liberation. The maids, emboldened by the moment, began to clap in rhythm.
At the far end of the corridor, Alia's elder son stood by the library door, his book forgotten in his hand. He watched the scene in stunned silence. He had seen his mother as a warrior, a leader, and a mourner—but he had never seen her as a woman in love, dancing in the light of day. He realized that Victor hadn't just occupied their home; he had breathed life back into a graveyard.
Victor pulled Alia close to his chest, his breath hot against her ear as the song reached its peak.
Victor: "See that, Godmother? Your entire kingdom is dancing to my rhythm now!"
Alia: (Looking deep into his eyes, breathless and smiling) "Then let this rhythm be our only law from now on, Victor."Amidst the intoxicating pulse of the music, a calm but formidable presence appeared in the room. As Alia and Victor were losing themselves in the rhythm, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Alia's elder son stepped into the light.
The dancing stopped abruptly. Victor's gaze froze as he looked at the teenager standing in the doorway. It was like looking into a portal to his own past—he was staring at a younger version of himself.
Though the boy was still in his mid-teens, he was exceptionally tall, standing at a staggering 6.5 feet (Alia's son is around 6.5 ft). His lean, muscular build and the way he carried himself with effortless authority were identical to Victor. From a distance, they looked like twins (Looking like twins) separated by time. The sharpness of their jawlines and that cold, predatory gaze were a perfect match.
Stunned, Victor reached for the controls and lowered the volume of the music. He let go of Alia and walked toward the boy, measuring their heights with his eyes.
Victor: (His voice filled with disbelief) "Alia, am I standing in front of a mirror? Is he truly your son, or is he some lost reflection of my own soul?"
The boy closed his book, holding it firmly against his chest. Because of his height, he was able to look Victor straight in the eye—a feat few men dared to do. His voice held a haunting gravity, echoing the same command as his father's.
Son: "I was trying to study, but my mother's laughter and this... music... drew me here. I've never heard this house make so much noise before."
Alia stepped forward, her hand gently stroking her son's hair. She too was struck by the sight. Standing side-by-side, Victor and her son felt like a trick of time—one, the Emperor of the present; the other, the Don of the future.
Victor placed a heavy, firm hand on the boy's shoulder. There was no fear in the boy's eyes, only an unstated recognition of power. Victor realized in that moment that this boy wasn't just Alia's child; he was the next "Raktabeer" (The Blood-Seed) of the empire.
Victor: "You've inherited my height and my face, it seems... now let's see if you have the heart to match."
Alia smiled secretly. She knew that beneath her son's calm exterior lived a wild tiger, just as restless and dangerous as the man standing beside him.