Chapter Three

Liliana's POV

At the Volkov's manor, My husband made me kneel in his throne room. 

My father also has a throne room. It's more like a judgement seat. I have experienced my father sentence a man to death for stealing from his money to save his daughter.

My memories are still fresh from the encounter. 

“You stole from me to save your daughter!” My father slammed, his voice shook the building. “How useless.” He spat. “Girls are a waste of resources. If you had stolen my money to save your son, I would have turned a blind eye.”

The man turned to look at me who was busy scrubbing the floor of the throne room. 

The experience still made my stomach burn.

I looked down at my reflection on the shiny marble floor of Mikhail's throne room. I looked horrible. My wedding gown was a cheap imitation silk, one that Elena had picked for me. 

The air reeked of gunpowder and expensive cigarettes.  

Then he stepped forward. Mikhail Volkov. The devil with the face of a fallen angel.  

His high cheekbones were sharp enough to draw blood. And his eyes, like frozen mercury, gleamed under the dim light. His mouth carved for sin, curled in a smirk that didn’t reach those lethal eyes. 

He is tall and broad-shouldered. His tailored suit clung to every lethal inch of him like a second skin.  

As Mikhail stared at me, all I could think about was how unfair life had been to me.  

I cursed the day I was born. For ten years, I had wished I never existed. The day I came into this world was the day my mother died.  

His leather-gloved hand suddenly gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes darkened. I recognized that look.  

Frustration. 

He wanted to see fear in my eyes. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. The look of someone already dead inside.  

Because I was dead inside. I don't feel anything anymore.  

And his reaction told me one thing, he was angry.  

I was afraid of him. Terrified. No one who crossed paths with Mikhail Volkov ever came out the same.  

And now? I was his wife.

Which meant every day from now on would be hell. Living with the devil himself would be easier than surviving even a single day with The Reaper.

I remembered overhearing my father talk to his advisor about me.  

“She’s useless to this empire.”

In our world, marriages are business. Alliances. Power plays.  

My sisters had suitors, men from powerful mafia families. But no one wanted me. Because everyone knew the truth.  

I was just a maid’s daughter.  

So when my father said I was getting married, I didn’t believe it.  

And now, here I was.  

Trapped.  

Owned.  

And completely at the mercy of the most dangerous man in Moscow.  

My numb mind struggled to comprehend. How can something so beautiful be so cruel? I thought.

“...you can try killing me. I really want to see how far you can go.” I heard him say, and without thinking, I stood up and dashed at him.

I saw his eyes widened. But it wasn't out of fear. It was out of amusement.

I always have a knife hidden in my undergarments. For safety, of course.

He didn't flinch. He didn't even move.

I stabbed him straight in the chest. His white shirt bloomed red as the blood soaked through. 

My eyes widened in horror. Did I just kill him?!

Mikhail's smirk sent shivers down my spine. He didn't even show signs of pain.

“I love that,” he laughed.

I pressed my palm against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His blood coated my fingers, warm and sticky.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, his warm breath fanned my face.

Then slowly, he licked the blood from my skin.

“Next time, Malyshka,” He murmured. “aim for the stomach.” He tapped the spot just below his ribs. There's enough fat there to make it interesting.”

My hands trembled as I struggled to breathe.

Then the double doors burst open. A guard strode in, his expression grim. “Boss. The Bratva leaders have arrived. They’re demanding proof of the alliance. They didn't believe you could end the war with the Orlovs’.”

Mikhail’s smile turned lethal. “Perfect.”

He yanked me to my feet, his grip bruising. “Time to show Moscow what happens to Orlov trash.”  

As he dragged me toward the balcony overlooking the packed ballroom below his lips brushed my ear as the crowd fell silent.  

“Pray to your dead mother now, malyshka.” 

The cold night air slapped my face as Mikhail forced me against the balcony railing. Below us, Moscow's most dangerous criminals looked up. Bratva enforcers, Chechen warlords, even a few traitorous Orlov soldiers. Their champagne glasses glittered like weapons in the torchlight.

“Behold!” Mikhail's voice carried across the courtyard, his arm like an iron bar across my collarbones. “The new Mrs. Volkov!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone shouted, “Does she come with a return policy?”

My fingers turned white-knuckled on the railing. The drop was at least twenty feet, just enough to break bones if I tried to jump. Not that death would be an escape though. Even if I die, Mikhail will hunt me down in hell. That's a fact.

Mikhail's breath was hot against my ear. “Wave to your admirers, wife.”

When I didn't move, his hand slid down to grip my hip. I got the message. It's either I obey or be humiliated.

I raised a trembling hand. The crowd erupted in mocking cheers.

“That's my girl,” Mikhail purred. Then louder. “The wedding gift from coward Nickolas Orlov! Tell me, boys, should we send a thank you note?”

“Send her head on a platter!” Someone yelled.

The roar of approval shook the balcony. I flinched as Mikhail's fingers dug into my side where the bruises from Elena's latest punishment still throbbed.

“Please,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “Don't…”

“Don't what?” He spun me to face him, his other hand coming up to cage me against the railing. “Don't show them what weak stock the Orlovs produce? Too late.”

His mouth crashed down on mine, taking my whole mouth in his. The taste of expensive whiskey and cigarettes filled my mouth as he bit my lip hard. I could taste my own blood. 

The crowd went wild. Whistling and cheering. 

Tears filled my eyes, but I dare not make them drop. 

When he pulled back, my blood smeared his perfect lips. His eyes burned with something darker than anger. “Now they all know,” he murmured, swiping his thumb across my stinging mouth. “You belong to me.” He smirked. 

The declaration slithered down my spine. It wasn't a promise. To me it was a death sentence.

As he dragged me back inside, the loud and annoying cheers followed us. My legs gave out the moment the balcony doors closed, but Mikhail caught me effortlessly.

“Tsk. Such weak knees already?” He hauled me upright, his grip unforgiving. “The night's just beginning, malyshka.”

He was right. The real horror started when he threw open the bedroom door.