Viktor pulled away, wiping the blood from his neck with a cold, indifferent flick of his wrist. His eyes were alight with a dark, calculating intensity.
"Tonight is not just about our little games, Alia," he said, his voice dropping into a lethal, authoritative command. "The underworld's most powerful mafia bosses are gathering. And you will attend as my wife—the Queen of the Empire."
He paced toward a grand vanity case, pulling out a small, ornate velvet box. He flipped it open to reveal an exquisite, custom-made silk blindfold (patti), encrusted with intricate embroidery and subtle diamonds.
"A queen's eyes are not for the common gaze," Viktor whispered, holding the blindfold up. "Only I have the right to see the fire burning in them. Tonight, you will be adorned in your finest, and you will wear this. You will walk by my side, guided only by my hand, a silent, untouchable enigma."
Alia stared at the blindfold, the reality of her situation sinking in. He wasn't just imprisoning her in a room anymore; he was forcing her to become a gilded accessory to his power, a blindfolded trophy to be paraded before the monsters of their world.
"Prepare yourself," Viktor ordered, his patience turning into a sharp, uncompromising blade. "My car is waiting. Tonight will be your debut as the God Mother. Let's see if you can bear the weight of the crown I've placed upon your head."Viktor retrieved a heavy, velvet gown from the wardrobe a deep, blood-red garment laced with obsidian threads and intricate diamond-encrusted embroidery. It was more like a royal armor than a dress. He draped it over Alia, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he tightened the laces, his movements possessive and precise, like he was dressing a doll for a sacrifice.
Once she was draped in the royal attire, he produced the silk patti. He stepped behind her, the heat of his body pressing against her back. He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. "Look at you," he rasped, his voice thick with toxic adoration. "You don't look like a woman anymore. You look like an unconquerable empress. But remember an empress is nothing without her emperor."
With a delicate yet firm touch, he tied the blindfold over her eyes. Darkness descended instantly, absolute and suffocating. Alia's world vanished, leaving her only with the scent of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, and the low rumble of the vehicles idling outside.
Viktor took her hand, guiding her forward. His voice turned cold and authoritative as he leaned in again. "You cannot see me, but I can see everything you feel. When you walk by my side in this condition, every mafia boss in that room will know exactly who owns you. Do not attempt to remove this not if you value your life or the lives of those you care about."
Alia stood motionless, the darkness serving only to sharpen her senses. Her pulse hammered against the silk covering her eyes. She was blind, helpless to the outside world, but deep within the void of that darkness, her mind was hardening into steel. She would play his game, she would walk through his fire, but she was waiting waiting for the precise second when his arrogance would blind him to the blade she still carried in her heart. The car door opened with a heavy thud, and Viktor guided Alia into the heart of the gala. The atmosphere inside was thick with tension, expensive cigar smoke, and the palpable fear of the men gathered. As they entered, the room fell into a dead silence. Viktor's hand was firm on her waist, a public declaration of his possession.
A hush rippled through the crowd, followed by hushed whispers: "The God Mother..."
Despite the blindfold, Alia felt their collective gaze. She stood tall, a vision of lethal elegance in the red gown. She was the epicenter of their attention, the beauty that demanded their worship.
Suddenly, a hand reached out and gently took hers. It was a man, his movements dripping with practiced submission. He didn't just touch her hand; he brought it to his lips, bowing his head so low that his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"The legends of the God Mother's beauty do her no justice," the man whispered, his voice trembling with deference. "Your presence brings a light to our dark world that we hardly deserve to witness."
Viktor's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Watch your tongue, Sergio. Worship is fine, but remember your place. She is my Queen—keep your distance, or you won't live to see the dawn."
The man backed away instantly, his head still bowed, not daring to look up. Alia felt the shift in power; she was their icon, their unreachable goddess. But behind the silk blindfold, her eyes were sharp, scanning the rhythm of their breathing, the direction of their voices, and the locations of the men who surrounded Viktor's throne.
Alia felt the cold resolve hardening in her chest. 'They see a trophy,' she thought, a faint, cold smile gracing her lips. 'They don't realize that in this darkness, I have become the predator. Viktor, you wanted me to be your Queen, but you've only given me the perfect seat to watch your empire fall.' The entire ballroom went deathly silent. Alia raised her hands toward the silk blindfold. Viktor, standing right beside her, felt the subtle movement. His hand tightened on her waist, his grip bruising.
He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. His voice was a lethal whisper, cold as liquid nitrogen. "Alia, I warned you. Removing that blindfold is a direct defiance of my command. I do not wish to humiliate you in front of my associates, but if you expose your eyes to this room, there will be consequences you cannot begin to fathom."
Despite the suffocating threat, Alia didn't hesitate. With a sharp, defiant motion, she untied the silk and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes, wide and burning with a storm of suppressed fury, swept across the room. The mafia bosses collectively gasped their God Mother had just shattered the most sacred rule of their leader.
Viktor froze, his silhouette turning rigid as granite. Beneath his composed mask, a violent rage simmered. He leaned in again, his hand moving from her waist to the nape of her neck, his fingers curling into her hair a gesture that looked intimate to the crowd but felt like a vice grip to her.
"You think you're brave?" he hissed against her skin, his voice trembling with controlled malice. "You've just ensured that everyone here knows how unruly you are. But mark my words, Alia: once we leave this room, there will be no one to hide you from my wrath. By the end of tonight, you will pay for this defiance with every ounce of your spirit."
Alia turned her head, meeting his predatory gaze head-on. There was no fear in her eyes only a challenge that dared him to strike her down right there in front of his empire.The atmosphere at the dining table was sub-zero, heavy with the scent of aging wine and unspoken threats. Everyone present felt the tension radiating from Viktor, a dark current directed entirely at the woman sitting by his side.
One of the bosses, a man named Dimitri, hesitated, his glass trembling slightly as he caught Viktor's eye. He dared to break the silence. "Lord..."
Viktor set his crystal glass down with a precise, metallic clink that echoed through the silence of the dining hall. His eyes didn't shift from his plate, his voice a low, gravelly monotone. "Yes?"
Dimitri cleared his throat, his gaze flickering toward Alia. "Lord, your God Mother... she seems quite restless. Few have had the audacity to meet our eyes with such fire. Do you not think her 'rebellion' questions the strength of your command?"
Viktor shifted his posture, his expression darkening into something predatory. He turned his head, looking at Alia not with rage, but with a twisted, perverse fascination. He replied, his voice chillingly calm, "My Queen is not restless, Dimitri. She is a storm. You think I keep her caged? No. I have taught her how to fight."
He reached out, gripping Alia's chin to force her gaze toward his, then glanced back at Dimitri, his words dripping with lethal intent.
"When she defies me, it only fuels the beast I keep chained inside. I suggest you focus on your wine, Dimitri. Worrying about my Queen's defiance is a dangerous distraction when you should be worried about protecting your own empire. Because if I wish, I could turn her into my instrument of destruction right here before your very eyes."
The table went deathly still. Viktor's declaration was a clear warning his obsession with Alia was not a weakness, but a weapon. Dimitri lowered his head, not daring to speak another word as he took a nervous sip of his wine. Viktor turned back to Alia, a cruel, possessive smirk dancing on his lips. In the stifling silence of the dining hall, a sudden, sharp thud echoed beneath the table. Alia had discarded all pretense and delivered a brutal, heel-first kick squarely onto Viktor's foot. The sudden impact forced a sharp, pained gasp from Viktor's throat.
The entire table froze. Dimitri and the other bosses looked on in stunned silence, their jaws hanging open. A mafia lord had just been assaulted by his own 'Queen' in front of his inner circle.
Viktor's mask of calm shattered for a split second, replaced by a flash of raw, murderous rage. Then, his signature, twisted smirk returned. He leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. "Oops..."
With his own foot, Viktor pinned Alia's leg under the table, effectively trapping her in a vise-like grip. He didn't let go; instead, he forced her foot to remain pressed against his, asserting his dominance in the most intimate, suffocating way possible.
"Very brave, Alia," he hissed, his eyes glinting with a dangerous promise. "Is this the start of your revolution? You kicked me, and now you will see exactly what I do to feet that dare to strike their master."
He picked up his glass again, turning back to Dimitri as if nothing had happened. "My Queen is feeling a bit restless, Dimitri. But do not worry I have ways to handle such high spirits."
Alia realized that her act of rebellion had only played into his hand. She was trapped, her leg locked beneath his, completely immobilized by his cold, physical authority. She stared at him across the table, her eyes burning with a defiance that no amount of pain or suppression could ever fully extinguish.