The city of Rome glittered under the late afternoon sun, the cobblestone streets echoing with the footsteps of countless lives. But high above, in the private halls of the Volkov estate, the air was colder than winter itself.
Nicolas Volkov moved silently through the corridors, his black jacket brushing against the polished marble. Portraits of ancestors — men and women whose eyes seemed to judge and haunt — lined the walls. Each one was a reminder: the Volkov family commanded power across Europe, stretching into finance, politics, and, hidden beneath the gilded surface, organized influence that no one outside the family dared whisper about.
At the heart of it all was Lorenzo Volkov, Nicolas's father. He sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, his sharp eyes cold, calculating, and void of warmth. A man who valued only money, power, and legacy. He barely glanced at his son, yet Nicolas felt the weight of his gaze like a blade slicing through steel.
"You're late," Lorenzo said, his voice smooth but sharp. "Time is not yours, Nicolas. Remember that."
Nicolas bowed slightly. "I know, father."
Lorenzo waved a hand dismissively, returning to the pile of documents before him. "Your mother's charities, your investments in France, the deals in Austria… you're distracted. And in this family, distraction is fatal."
Nicolas's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He had learned long ago that speaking too much in this room was dangerous. In the Volkov family, appearances mattered, but control mattered more. And though Lorenzo was the face everyone respected, the true power lay elsewhere — in Nicolas himself, in the blood and secrets he carried.
Meanwhile, across the city, the Meng estate radiated wealth in a different style — the elegance of stone and steel, the success of construction empires. The head of the family, Moretti Meng, was a man whose influence was as far-reaching as it was public. The Mengs were the top in Italy's construction and architectural industry, their projects spanning continents. But their eyes were always on power, and alliances were the currency they valued most.
Alisa Meng moved gracefully through the halls, her red gown flowing like liquid fire, but behind her smile lurked calculation. She had been warned: the Volkov family's reputation was untouchable, and their legacy was not for outsiders. Yet for her father, this was a strategic chess piece.
"Alisa," Moretti's voice rang from the study, deep and commanding. "Your role is clear. Nicolas Volkov is ours to ally with. You must be the bridge that strengthens our family's future. Do not fail."
Alisa bowed, her expression calm, but inside, a storm brewed. She knew her father expected her to charm, to manipulate subtly, and to claim the man everyone feared, even if Nicolas himself did not yet see her as a threat — or as an opportunity.
"What about Scarlett Rose?" she asked softly, almost innocently.
Moretti's eyes hardened. "Do not concern yourself with her. You are the Meng heir. This is your path."
And yet, Alisa had seen her — the quiet, unassuming girl who had walked into the ballroom and stolen Nicolas's glance. That moment of curiosity had been enough to ignite jealousy so deep it clawed at her chest. Alisa clenched her fists, the fine silk of her gloves stretching slightly.
Her father had a vision: a union between Alisa Meng and Nicolas Volkov would merge construction and influence with secrets and unseen power. Europe would watch, but no one would know the truth — that the Volkov mafia operations were run not by Lorenzo, the public patriarch, but by Nicolas himself, hidden in plain sight.
Alisa's mind raced. Joanna would be useful. Disrupt Scarlett Rose. Undermine her, and ensure she never interfered in what the Mengs had planned. But the girl had courage, a calm that unnerved even Alisa. She would have to be careful.
Alisa's eyes flicked toward the window. Across the city, Scarlett Rose was probably still glowing in her innocence, unaware of the storm waiting to sweep over her. But Alisa would prepare. Every move calculated. Every glance studied. And Nicolas Volkov would notice only her, or so she intended.
Power, legacy, jealousy — tonight, they would all converge in ways no one could predict.