The silence that followed Victor's accusation was deafening. Alia felt a cold shiver run down her spine not from the fever, but from the realization that the man she risked everything for was now looking at her like a stranger. She forced herself to sit up, her body trembling, her eyes locking onto his.
Alia: (Her voice cracking but sharp) "So, this is it? After everything we've built, you're looking at me with that much disgust? You're doubting me, aren't you, Victor? Victor didn't flinch. He walked over to the edge of the bed, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. The smell of expensive tobacco and cold fury radiated from him.
Victor: "Doubt you? Alia, I don't need to doubt. I have eyes. I see the marks he left on you. I heard the way you called for him. You stayed in his palace for three months. You didn't escape. You didn't kill him. You came back... broken, carrying his scent, and maybe his child."
Alia: (A bitter laugh escaping her lips) "I didn't kill him? I was a prisoner! I stayed there to keep you alive, Victor! Marcos didn't just want me; he wanted your head on a platter. I traded my body to save your empire, and this is my reward? You think I enjoyed being pulled by my hair? You think I wanted to be thrown into that pool?"
Victor: (Grabbing her chin firmly) "Then why didn't you send a signal? Why did you look so... comfortable in that VIP room? Isabella sent me clips, Alia. Clips of you sitting on his lap. Clips of you unbuttoning his shirt."
Alia froze. She realized that every move she made to "play" Marcos was recorded and sent to Victor by Isabella. It was a perfect trap. Isabella wasn't just Marcos's wife; she was a master of psychological warfare.
Alia: "Because it was a game! I was trying to get close enough to plant a tracker! I was trying to find out about the 5 Lords! If I hadn't played along, I wouldn't be here, and you would be dead!"
Victor: (Pushing her back onto the pillows) "Maybe I would have preferred being dead over being a laughingstock. Every Lord in the syndicate knows what happened in Italy. You've tainted the Romanov name."
He turned toward the door, his heart a battlefield of love and betrayal.
Victor: "Stay in this room. Until the doctor confirms whose child is in your womb, you are no longer the Godmother. You are just a guest in my house."Inside Victor's study, the air was cold enough to freeze blood. The doctor entered, holding a white envelope. Victor snatched it from his hand, his eyes scanning the technical terms until they landed on the final result.
The Report: "HCG Level - Negative."
Doctor: "Lord Victor, Alia is not pregnant. The symptoms she showed—the nausea and the missed cycles—were a result of extreme psychological trauma, malnutrition, and hormonal imbalance caused by stress. Her body was simply shutting down."
Victor stood frozen. A wave of relief washed over him, but it was immediately followed by a crushing weight of guilt. She wasn't carrying his rival's child. She hadn't lied about that. But the images of her with Marcos still burned in his mind, fueling a war between his heart and his pride.
The Toxic Call
Meanwhile, locked in her room, Alia's private phone vibrated on the nightstand. She reached for it with trembling fingers. An unknown Italian number flashed on the screen. She answered, her voice a mere whisper.
Alia: "Hello?"
A sharp, melodic, yet poisonous laugh echoed from the other end. It was Isabella.
Isabella: "Ciao, Alia! Or should I say... the fallen Godmother? How does it feel to be back in your golden cage, only to find the locks have changed?"
Alia: (Her voice hardening) "Isabella. You're the one who sent those videos. You're the one who poisoned his mind."
Isabella: "Oh, I didn't have to do much, darling. Men like Victor are fragile. Their ego is bigger than their love. I simply showed him what he feared most—another man claiming what he thinks is his. Did you enjoy the pool, Alia? Marcos told me you were... quite vocal."
Alia: "You're a monster. You claim to have loved Victor, yet you're destroying him."
Isabella: "I'm not destroying him; I'm reclaiming him. Now that he thinks you're tainted, he'll come crawling back to the only woman who never betrayed him. You were just a temporary replacement. Marcos got your body, and I'm taking back your life. Enjoy your loneliness, 'Godmother'."
Click. The line went dead.
The Sudden Signal
Alia threw the phone across the room, sobbing into her hands. But as she lay there, a faint, rhythmic beep came from her vanity mirror. It was the receiver for the microscopic tracking chip she had managed to plant on Marcos during their final struggle.
The red dot on the screen wasn't in Italy. It wasn't in Russia. It was moving less than five miles away from Victor's mansion. Marcos was here. And he had the baby.The air in the VIP lounge turned ice-cold. Alia leaned back, the smoke from her cigarette dancing like a ghost around her face. Isabella stood frozen, her eyes darting from Alia's blood-red lips to the five silent, handsome killers standing behind her like statues of death.
Alia: (Exhaling slowly, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel) "You look pale, Isabella. Is it the smoke? Or the realization that the 'broken doll' you tried to destroy just inherited the empire?"
Isabella: (Stammering, trying to find her voice) "You're delusional. Victor will never forgive you. Once he sees you like this—drinking, smoking, surrounded by these... boys—he'll hunt you down himself!"
Alia let out a dark, melodic laugh that sent shivers down Isabella's spine. She gestured to one of the boys, who immediately knelt and offered her a gold-plated lighter.
Alia: "Victor? Victor is a man who blinded himself with ego. While he was busy counting the bruises on my neck, I was counting the seconds until I could take his throne. He didn't lose me to Marcos, Isabella. He lost me to myself."
Alia suddenly leaned forward, slamming the broken bottle neck onto the table with a terrifying thud.
Alia: "And about Marcos... did you really think you were his queen? You were just his distraction. He's outside right now, not to save you, but to deliver a message. The '5 Lords' pact is over. I am the Sixth Lord now."
Isabella took a step back, her heart racing. "What do you want from me?"
Alia: (Grinning, a truly devilish look) "I want you to call Victor. Right now. Tell him you're at the Russian VIP room. Tell him you're scared. I want to see his face when he realizes that the woman he doubted is the one holding his ex-lover's life in her hands."
She took another long puff of her cigarette and blew the smoke directly into Isabella's face.
Alia: "Welcome to the new era, darling. Pick up the phone." The smoke from Alia's cigarette curled around her head like a dark, shifting crown. Isabella's hands were shaking so violently that her phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the marble floor. Alia didn't even blink. She slowly stood up, her red silk gown flowing like a river of blood, as her five handsome guards stepped aside to create a path of absolute authority.
Alia leaned down, her face inches away from Isabella's terrified eyes. The smell of expensive tobacco and expensive revenge was intoxicating.
Alia: (Her voice a haunting, melodic whisper) "You thought I was just a pawn in your game with Victor? You thought I was a trophy for Marcos to break?"
She took one last, deep drag of her cigarette and crushed the glowing ember out directly on the polished mahogany table. She looked straight into the security camera, knowing Victor was likely watching the feed from his monitors.
Alia: (Bursting into a chilling, maniacal laugh) "I am the Russian Mafia Godmother!"
The laughter echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the VIP room, cold and hollow. It wasn't the laughter of a woman who had found joy; it was the laughter of a woman who had burned her soul to gain the world.
Alia: "I don't need Victor's name to rule. I don't need Marcos's permission to breathe. From this moment on, every drop of blood spilled in this city belongs to me."
She turned back to Isabella, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light.
Alia: "Tell me, Isabella... does your 'Lover Lord' know that I've already moved his offshore accounts? Does he know that while he was doubting my loyalty, I was buying his soldiers?"
One of the handsome boys behind her stepped forward, handing her a glass of the finest vodka. Alia raised the glass as if toasted to her own reflection in the mirror.
Alia: "To the men who thought they could own me. May they enjoy the war I'm about to bring to their doorsteps."
She downed the drink in one go, slammed the glass down, and sat back on her throne, the devilish smirk never leaving her lips. She was no longer Alia the wife, or Alia the captive. She was the law. The atmosphere in the Russian VIP lounge turned suffocating. Alia leaned back into the arms of one of her handsome guards, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass with a deadly grace. She looked at Isabella—who was now trembling like a leaf—and then shifted her gaze to the doorway where Victor stood, his gun aimed directly at her heart.
Alia: (Her voice dripping with mockery and power) "Don't look so shocked, Isabella. You wanted him back, didn't you? You wanted the great Lord Victor? Well, look at him now. To the world, he is a king. But to me..."
She paused, taking a slow, deliberate puff of her cigarette before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling.To me, Victor is my slaveHe is nothing more than a broken man who couldn't even trust the woman who bled for him. He is a toy I play with when I'm bored, and a shadow that follows me when I command."
Victor's hand shook. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—shame. He had seen the five guards, he had seen Alia's cold, calculated transformation, and he realized he had walked into a trap of his own making.
Alia: (Laughing darkly) "Go on, Victor. Don't just stand there with that pathetic gun. Your ex-girlfriend here thinks you're still a hero. Show her. Put the gun down... and come here. Pour me my next drink."
The five handsome boys behind Alia stepped forward, their hands moving toward their holsters, but their eyes remained fixed on Alia, waiting for her signal to end Victor's life.
Isabella: (Screaming) "Victor! Kill her! Do something!"
But Victor didn't move to shoot. He looked at Alia—the woman he had doubted, the woman he had locked in a room—and he saw the Russian Mafia Godmother in all her terrifying glory. He realized that if he pulled the trigger, he would lose everything, including his life.
Alia: "I'm waiting, Victor. Or should I let my boys show Isabella how I treat a disobedient slave?"
One of the guards moved his hand to Alia's hair, stroking it provocatively, looking directly at Victor with a smirk. Victor's eyes burned, but slowly, agonizingly, he lowered his gun. He took a step toward the table, his pride shattering with every move.
Alia: (Evil grin) "That's a good boy. Now, pick up the bottle. Isabella, watch closely... this is how a Queen handles her past."