Chapter 2 - THE SHADOWS OF THE BRATVA MANSIONThe eastern wing of the Volkov estate was a labyrinth of vaulted ceilings, Persian rugs, and velvet drapes that kept the Manhattan sun at bay. For three days, Victoria was treated like a gilded prisoner.
No one locked her bedroom door, yet she knew escaping was an illusion. The windows were reinforced glass; the grounds outside were patrolled by armed men and Dobermans whose growls vibrated through the floorboards at midnight.
She spent those seventy-two hours charting every exit, cataloging every shadow, and weaponizing her grief into pure, unadulterated hatred. She refused the meals brought to her by a trembling maid named Marta. She refused the clothes delivered daily by high-end stylists. She wore the single black dress she had been given on day one, treating it like armor.
On the fourth night, the door opened without a knock.
Alexei entered, carrying a heavy leather-bound ledger. He looked tired, his jacket discarded, his shirt collar unbuttoned to reveal the pale column of his throat and a faint, jagged scar cutting across his collarbone—a souvenir from a past life.
"You haven't eaten," Alexei observed, dropping the ledger onto the mahogany desk.
"I don't have an appetite for captivity," Victoria snapped, not looking up from her post by the window, where she watched the rain lash against the glass.
"Stubbornness is a useful trait in business, Victoria. In survival, it’s a liability." Alexei walked over, stopping a few feet away. "I brought you a choice."
Victoria whipped around, her dark eyes narrowing. "I didn't have a choice when I woke up with your ring on my finger."
"True. But you have a choice now." Alexei pulled a sleek silver smartphone from his pocket and tossed it onto the sofa cushions. Unlocked. Connected to the network. "You can call the police. You can run to the nearest precinct. But before you dial, you should know what happens next. The moment you cross that gate, your aunt’s medical monitors are turned off. And the men who hunted her down for her debts will find her before the cops find you."
Victoria stared at the phone. Her fingers twitched. Every instinct screamed at her to grab it, to dial 911, to scream for help. But the icy grip of reality held her back. Alexei wasn't bluffing. Men like him didn't need to bluff; they simply executed.
"You're a monster," she whispered, her voice cracking for the first time.
"I am a realist," Alexei replied calmly, his eyes darkening. "Your aunt gambled your future away. I simply bought the ticket. Now, the annual Volkov charity gala is tomorrow night. New York’s elite, politicians, bankers, and underworld bosses will be in attendance. They expect to see my new bride standing by my side, smiling like we are a match made in heaven."
"And if I refuse?"
"If you refuse, you spend the rest of your life locked in this room while I run your aunt’s dialysis out of a basement clinic. But if you play the part—if you stand beside me, smile for the cameras, and pretend to be the devoted wife of Alexei Volkov..." He paused, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating off his chest. "...I will clear your aunt’s remaining debt, buy her a house in upstate New York where no one will ever touch her, and give you complete control over your own bank accounts."
Victoria’s breath caught. It was a deal with the devil. But looking into Alexei's unwavering winter eyes, she knew it was the only way out alive.
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"Deal," she hissed. "But don't ever touch me."
Alexei’s lips curved into a dangerous, approving smile. "A clever girl. Wear the emerald dress tomorrow night. It matches your eyes when you look at me with murderous intent."
