The air in the VIP lounge was so thick with tension it felt like a physical weight. Victor's face was a map of bulging veins and raw, jagged fury. His ego, the very foundation of his existence as a Lord, had been shattered into a thousand pieces by Alia's words.
Victor: (His voice a guttural roar) "SHUT UP, ALIA!"
With a violent motion, he raised his gun again. This time, he didn't just point it he stepped forward and pressed the cold, steel barrel directly against Alia's forehead. The metal was freezing against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the room.
Isabella gasped, ducking behind a chair. The five handsome guards reached for their weapons instantly, the sound of five hammers clicking back echoing like a death knell.
Victor: (His hand trembling with rage) "You think you can call me a slave? In front of her? In front of these boys? I made you! I can unmake you in one second!"
But Alia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She didn't even move her head back an inch. Instead, she took a slow, deep drag of her cigarette, the tip glowing a bright, angry orange. She looked straight into Victor's bloodshot eyes with a look of pure, icy boredom.
Alia: (Her voice calm, almost mocking) "Go on then, Victor. Pull the trigger. End the only woman who actually kept your empire from falling while you were busy mourning a ghost."
She leaned her forehead harder against the gun, forcing him to feel her pulse through the barrel.
Alia: "But remember one thing... if I die, my boys won't just kill you. They will take Isabella and give her to the lowest street gang in Moscow. And Marcos? He's five miles away with the only heir you'll ever have. If I don't send him a signal in five minutes, he'll disappear forever, and you'll never see that child again."
Victor's finger tightened on the trigger. The room was deathly silent.
Alia: (A devilish smirk spreading across her lips) "You don't have the guts, Victor. You're not a King anymore. You're just a man who's afraid of losing the only thing that makes him feel powerful—me."
She reached up, her fingers grazing the barrel of the gun as she slowly pushed it away from her head, as if it were nothing more than a toy.
Alia: "Now... I'm going to ask you one last time. Pour. My. Drink."
Victor stood there, his chest heaving, his pride warring with his desperation. He looked at the five guards young, strong, and completely loyal to the woman in front of him. He looked at Isabella, who was watching his humiliation with wide eyes.
Slowly, his hand dropped. The gun fell to his side.The tension in the VIP room reached a breaking point. Victor, the man who ruled the Russian underworld with an iron fist, felt his blood boiling. Being called a 'slave' in front of his ex-girlfriend and five young guards was a humiliation he couldn't swallow. But seeing the guns pointed at him and the cold, fearless smirk on Alia's face, he knew he had to play a different game.
Victor grabbed the heavy crystal bottle, his knuckles turning white. He poured the amber liquid into Alia's glass, the sound of the splash echoing in the silent room. He set the bottle down with a thud and leaned in close to her.
To Isabella and the guards, it looked like a moment of intimacy. But as Victor's lips brushed against Alia's ear, his voice was a low, vibrating growl—the sound of a predator about to strike.
Victor: (Whispering darkly into her ear) "You think you've won, don't you? You think these five boys and a fancy title make you the Queen? You're playing with fire, Alia."
He gripped the back of her neck, his thumb pressing firmly against the skin where Marcos had left his mark.
Victor: "Let's go home. Today, I'll show you the real 'fun' You've forgotten what happens when a Romanov is pushed too far. Tonight, I'm going to remind your body exactly who you belong to. By dawn, you won't be a 'Godmother'—you'll be begging me to stop."
Alia didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. Instead, she turned her head slightly, her red lips almost touching his ear as she whispered back with a chilling, devilish giggle.
Alia: "Oh, Victor... I'm counting on it. But remember, the house you're taking me to? I've already changed the codes. The guards you trust? They work for me now. Tonight, you aren't the master taking a wife home... you're a prisoner walking into his own cage."
She pushed him back with one hand and stood up, smoothing out her red silk gown. She looked at her five handsome guards and gave a sharp, clinical nod.
Alia: "Escort Lord Victor to the car. Make sure he doesn't get 'lonely' on the way. And Isabella? Lock her in the basement of this club. I'll deal with her once I've finished breaking my husband."
Victor's eyes were wild with rage as the guards surrounded him. He was a lion in a cage, but he was still a lion. As they walked toward the exit, the air between him and Alia was thick with the promise of a violent, passionate, and destructive night.The clock struck 1:00 AM. The master bedroom was dimly lit, the only sound being the rhythmic clicking of a mouse. Alia was reclining on the plush velvet bed, her eyes fixed on her smartphone, seemingly indifferent. Across the room, Victor sat at his mahogany desk, his expensive reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his gaze locked onto the glowing screen of his laptop.
He looked intense, focused, and disturbingly quiet. Alia felt a prickle of curiosity. Was he planning a hit? Was he transferring the billions she had threatened to take?
She silently slid off the bed, her bare feet making no sound on the Persian rug. She crept up behind him, peering over his shoulder at the screen. What she saw made her blood run cold, then boil with a mix of disgust and dark amusement.
Alia: (Her voice dripping with mockery) "Chi-chi-chi! Victor... you?!Victor stiffened, his hand hovering over the trackpad, but it was too late. He wasn't looking at bank accounts or maps of Moscow. He was watching high-definition, zoomed-in CCTV footage from Marcos's private villa in Italy. He was watching the moment Marcos had grabbed Alia by the hair in the VIP room. He was rewinding the clip, over and over, focusing on the way Alia had looked at Marcos—that defiant, yet intimate spark.
Alia: (Leaning in, her breath hitting his neck) "I didn't know the great Russian Lord was a voyeur. Watching your wife with another man at one in the morning? Through reading glasses? How pathetic, Victor."
Victor slowly closed the laptop, the click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. He took off his glasses, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a terrifying, predatory hunger. He stood up, towering over her, the scent of expensive whiskey and cold fury radiating from him.
Victor: (His voice a low, dangerous vibration) "I'm not watching for pleasure, Alia. I'm studying the damage. I'm looking at every place his hands touched you, so I can burn those memories out of your skin tonight."
He grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his hard chest. His grip was bruising, a silent reminder that despite her new guards, he was still the beast who owned the cage.
Alia: (Laughing right in his face, a devilish, haunting sound) "Study all you want, Victor. But the more you watch, the more you realize... he broke me in ways you never could. You're jealous, aren't you? You're obsessed with a ghost."
Victor: "Jealous? No. I'm reclaiming what's mine. You think those five boys downstairs can protect you from me in this room? Tonight, there is no Godmother. There is only my wife, and the lesson she's about to learn."
He threw his glasses onto the desk and backed her toward the bed, his shadow engulfing her. The cold laughter from Alia sliced through the silence of the room like a razor. As Victor tried to pin her against the bed, exerting his physical dominance, Alia didn't shrink. Instead, she placed her hands on his broad chest and pushed him back with a strength born of pure, cold-blooded confidence. She stepped away, her red silk gown trailing behind her like a regal shadow.
Victor: (Gritting his teeth, his voice a low snarl) "You think this little drama is enough to break me? Prove it, Alia. Prove this 'new power' of yours. In this mansion, in this bedroom, you are nothing but a prisoner!"
Alia turned toward the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the dark Moscow skyline where snow had begun to fall. A slow, devilish smirk spread across her lips. She reached into the hidden pocket of her gown and pulled out a small, sleek black remote.
Alia: "Power, Victor? You're still talking about the power that comes from the barrel of a gun. That's old. That's primitive. Real power... is owning the system that the gun belongs to."
With a sharp click of a button on the remote, the ambient lights of the bedroom flickered and turned a predatory crimson red. Suddenly, Victor's laptop, which he had just closed, hummed to life on its own. A live digital map of the estate appeared on the screen, glowing with thousands of moving data points.
Alia: "Look at the screen, Victor. See those green dots? Those are your 100 elite security guards stationed outside. In the last five minutes, exactly 10 million dollars has been transferred into each of their private offshore accounts. They aren't your soldiers anymore. They are my employees. Don't believe me?"
Alia yanked the heavy velvet curtains aside. Below, in the courtyard, Victor's most loyal commanders weren't patrolling—they were standing in a perfect, silent line, their backs to the gate and their eyes fixed on Victor's window. They weren't guarding him; they were containing him.
Alia: "And those five 'handsome boys' you saw at the club? They aren't just muscle. They are the world's top black-hat hackers. Your encrypted IP addresses, your Swiss vault codes, your black-market shipping routes—I own them all now. You were so busy watching old videos of me through your reading glasses that you didn't notice me dismantling your empire piece by piece."
Alia walked back to him, her steps slow and predatory. She reached out, her fingers tilting Victor's chin upward, forcing him to look into her icy, triumphant eyes.
Alia: "So tell me, Lord Victor... who is the slave now? If I send one single text, this mansion burns to the ground with you inside. Do you still want me to 'pour your drink'? Or are you ready to admit that the Russian Mafia Godmother is the only person in this room with a crown?"
Victor stood paralyzed. The realization hit him like a physical blow. While he was obsessed with his ego and his past, Alia had played a global game of chess and taken his King. The ground had shifted beneath his feet.
Victor: (In a hollow, broken whisper) "You... you betrayed me for the throne?"
Alia: "No, Victor. I simply followed your favorite rule: 'In the mafia world, trust is a weakness.' I just proved I'm the best student you ever had."