After that horrific moment at the dining table, Alia didn't stay for a second longer. She ran out of the hall, screaming, the echoes of her thirteen-year-old self still ringing in her ears.
Viktor stood frozen like a statue. His mind couldn't process what had just happened. He turned to his parents and almost shrieked
Viktor: "Father! Mother! What is going on? What is Alia saying? I don't understand anything! What night is she talking about?"
Viktor's mother, Anna Petrov, kept her head down. But Stepanovich remained perfectly calm. Instead of his usual gravity, a mysterious smile played on his lips. He slowly took the last sip of his coffee.
Viktor: (Screaming) "Why are you smiling, Father? She's calling me a killer! She's saying I... I never saw her before this marriage!"
Stepanovich: (In a cold voice) "Calm down, Viktor. You didn't see her, but I knew exactly who she was. In fact, that entire night was a staged act."
Viktor went numb. Stepanovich stood up from his chair and began to speak while looking out the window
Stepanovich: "Alia's father and I we both knew that to unite our empires, a great sacrifice was needed. What Alia perceived as a 'raid' was actually a joint 'Masterplan' between me and her father. To eliminate our mutual enemies and to mentally prepare Alia for this mafia world, that horror was necessary."
Viktor stared at his father with wide eyes. His body was trembling.
Viktor: "So you're saying... you sent me to that house yourself? And you knew what I would do to her?"
Stepanovich: "Yes. Because I knew only such a deep trauma would transform her from an ordinary girl into a Mafia Queen. And I wanted to test you as well to see how ruthless you could be. Alia was the biggest pawn in our game. Now that she knows the truth, it only benefits us now she will understand that in this world, there is no such thing as love; there is only politics and power."
Viktor punched the wall with all his might. He realized that he and Alia were both mere puppets in their fathers' hands. Their love, their passion everything was part of a calculated conspiracy.
As Alia wept alone in the snow outside, she had no idea that her own father had pushed her into the mouth of this hell. The dark secrets of the Petrov Palace have only just begun to unfold. Late at night, the silence of the room felt heavier than ever. There were no lights, only the pale moonlight filtering through the window onto the bed.
Alia lay there, completely unclothed, staring blankly at the ceiling. There were no tears in her eyes only a hollow, icy void. After learning the truth, her heart felt like it had turned to stone.
At that moment, Viktor approached her. He, too, was without clothes. He lay beside her and slowly leaned over. He pressed a long, deep kiss against the curve of her neck. His touch was as warm as always, but there was no joy in this union tonight.
They merged together, their bodies becoming one, but there was a total absence of words. No whispers, no laughter, not even a protest. The only sound in the room was the heavy rhythm of their breathing.
Alia continued to stare at the ceiling. Every touch from Viktor reminded her of that night thirteen years ago, but she didn't resist today. She seemed to have accepted her fate that she must remain forever imprisoned by the very hands that once destroyed her.
Viktor, too, was fighting a battle of deep guilt and agony. He knows he loves Alia, but he also knows he is her greatest nightmare. This silent intimacy built an impenetrable wall between them. Their bodies met, but their souls drifted further apart.
Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the ice frozen within this room showed no sign of melting. They were both losing themselves in the darkness a place where only flesh remained, and love had ceased to exist. Inside that silent chamber, Alia's stillness felt more terrifying to Viktor than death itself. As Viktor repeatedly sought intimacy as an escape from his own guilt, Alia suddenly wrapped both her arms tightly around his neck.
There was no tenderness in her embrace this time; it was a mixture of possession and vengeance. Her fingers dug into the skin of Viktor's nape. The bedsheets were crumpled and tangled beneath them from their restless struggle.
Alia: (Whispering into Viktor's ear, in a dead voice) "If I were to strangle you to death right now, would you resist, Viktor? Would you settle the debt for the life you took thirteen years ago?"
Viktor didn't stop. He didn't even try to loosen the death-grip of her hands. It was as if he wanted her to hurt him. Viktor brought his face inches from hers, his own eyes bloodshot.
Viktor: "Kill me, Alia. If my death brings you peace, then take my last breath right here on this bed. But remember, even in death, I won't leave you alone in hell."
The bedframe creaked against the floor, creating a haunting rhythm in the dark room. Alia tightened her grip further, her nails drawing blood from his skin. But the next moment, she pulled him closer again. A strange game of hatred and thirst played out between them.
They were each other's enemies, yet each other's only sanctuary. The thirteen-year-old wound was bleeding anew tonight amidst the tangled sheets and the heat of their bodies. No love was born that night in the Petrov Palace; only a destructive obsession.As the morning light pierced through the heavy curtains, the room fell into a deathly silence. The sheets lay scattered on the bed like the aftermath of a great war.
Viktor moved away from Alia and lay beside her. The scratches from her nails on his back and neck were raw and red, with traces of dried blood. He was breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the gray sky outside the window.
Alia didn't move. She remained motionless, as if paralyzed. A single tear finally rolled down her cheek and disappeared into the pillow. She could still feel that old trauma as if it happened today.
Viktor: (In a broken voice) "Will you ever be able to forgive me, Alia?"
Alia didn't answer. She slowly sat up, pulling the sheet around her bare body. Without looking at him, she walked toward the dressing table mirror. Looking at her reflection, she realized she was no longer that 13-year-old girl, nor was she Viktor's cherished wife. She was now the embodiment of vengeance.
Alia: "Forgiveness? There is no such word in a mafia's dictionary, Viktor you're the one who taught me that. What you and my father have done... I will see it to the end. From today, I am not your wife; I am your shadow here to remind you every single moment that you are a criminal."
Alia took her clothes from the wardrobe and headed toward the washroom. She didn't look back at him once.
Viktor covered his face with his hands. He realized that while he had reclaimed her physically, he had lost her soul forever. Stepanovich's 'Masterplan' had succeeded Alia was becoming a Mafia Queen, but her heart held nothing but hatred for him.
Downstairs, the maids began their morning chores. Stepanovich sat in his study, puffing on his pipe, while Anna Petrov paced the corridor anxiously. They knew this morning was not like any other. A new and terrifying chapter had begun in the Petrov empire. The sound of running water stopped abruptly inside the washroom. Viktor stood against the door, his forehead leaning against the cold wood, his heart heavy with the realization that he was the monster in her story.
Viktor: (In a low, gravelly voice) "Alia... can I come in? Please. I just want to be near you."
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of a few stray droplets hitting the tiled floor. Then, Alia's voice drifted out—cold, hollow, and devoid of any warmth.
Alia: "Come in to do what, Viktor? To finish what you started thirteen years ago? Or to see if there's anything left of me that you haven't already destroyed?"
Viktor flinched as if he had been struck. He closed his eyes tight, the image of that night the night he thought was just another mission now haunting him with a face he finally recognized.
Viktor: "I didn't know it was you, Alia. If I had known... I would have burned the whole world down before letting a single hair on your head be touched. Even by me."
Alia: (Laughing bitterly from behind the door) "That's the problem, isn't it? You only care because I am 'yours' now. If it were any other girl, you wouldn't feel a shred of guilt. Your 'love' is just another form of possession. Go away, Viktor. Your presence makes me feel like I'm still trapped in that wardrobe."
Viktor's hand stayed poised to knock again, but it fell limp at his side. He realized there was no apology large enough to bridge the gap between them. He stepped back from the door, looking at the bed where they had just shared a silent, desperate intimacy.
He had reclaimed her body, but in doing so, he had confirmed her greatest fear: that he was exactly the beast her nightmares had promised.
Outside, the snow continued to melt, but inside the Petrov suite, the winter had only just begun. Viktor began to dress in silence, knowing that every time he looked at Alia from now on, he would see not just his wife, but his victim. Viktor couldn't take the distance anymore. The silence coming from behind the door was driving him into a frantic desperation. He pulled a pin from his pocket, his fingers trembling with a mix of guilt and primal need, and skillfully picked the lock. The door clicked open.
The steam from the shower filled the air, blurring the vision of the room. Alia stood there, wrapped in a towel, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and lingering trauma. But before she could utter a word of protest, Viktor was on her.
He pinned her against the cold marble wall of the washroom, his movements jagged and desperate. He crashed his lips against hers in a deep, punishing kiss, a kiss that tasted of salt, tears, and a dark, twisted obsession. He wasn't asking for permission anymore; he was reclaiming what he believed the "Masterplan" had always intended for him.
He grabbed a fistful of her damp hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat, while his other hand gripped her waist with bruising force.
Viktor: (Growling against her skin) "Hate me, Alia. Kill me if you want. But you are mine. You were mine that night, and you are mine now."
He didn't wait for her heart to catch up with his. He moved with a sudden, violent intensity, forcing a connection that was no longer about love, but about the raw, unfiltered power of a Mafia Lord over his Queen. Alia's back hit the wall as he surged into her, a sharp, breathless "Ahhhhhh!" escaping her lips as the physical sensation overwhelmed her anger.
The washroom became a place of chaotic friction the sound of skin hitting skin, the heavy thuds against the wall, and the desperate gasps for air. Viktor held her so tightly it felt like he wanted to fuse their bones together, his grip on her waist leaving red marks that would last for days.
In that moment, there was no past or future only the brutal, agonizing present where pleasure and pain were indistinguishable. Alia's nails dug into his shoulders again, her body traitorously responding to the man who was both her protector and her greatest enemy. The cycle of their toxic destiny had turned once more, locking them in a cage made of silk and blood.