Chapter 11 : New home

8:00 AM - VOLKOV MANSION

Kyrian woke up to his phone buzzing insistently.

He grabbed it, squinting at the screen.

Unknown Number (7:45 AM): Good morning, Little Volkov. I hope you slept well.

Unknown Number (7:50 AM): I'm coming to see you this morning. Be ready.

Unknown Number (7:55 AM): And wear something nice. I like you better when you're not trying to kill me.

Kyrian threw his phone across the bed.

"He's insane," he muttered.

"Completely insane."

But his heart was racing—not entirely from anger.

There was something else.

Curiosity? Fear? He couldn't name it.

He got out of bed and walked to his window. The morning sun was bright, the gardens peaceful.

For a moment, he could almost forget about Lorenzo Moretti.

Almost.

His door burst open without warning.

Ivan rushed in, looking panicked.

"Get dressed. Now."

"Good morning to you too—"

"Kyrian, I'm serious. Moretti just called Dad. He's coming here. In thirty minutes."

Kyrian's stomach dropped.

"What?"

"You heard me. Get dressed. Something appropriate. And for god's sake, don't antagonize him."

"I don't take fashion advice from you—"

"KYRIAN!" Ivan grabbed his shoulders. "This isn't a joke. That man is dangerous. Please. Just... be careful."

The genuine fear in Ivan's eyes made Kyrian's sarcasm die.

"Okay. I'll be careful."

Ivan nodded and left.

Kyrian stood there for a moment, processing.

Lorenzo is coming here. To my house. Why?

He walked to his closet and stared at his clothes.

Wear something nice, the text had said.

"Fuck that," Kyrian muttered, pulling out ripped jeans and his favorite oversized hoodie.

If Lorenzo wanted "nice," he was going to be disappointed.

8:45 AM - THE ARRIVAL

The entire Volkov family stood in the main living room, tense and waiting.

Kirill paced by the window. Arina sat on the sofa, hands clasped tightly. Ivan stood near the door, looking like he was ready to fight.

Kyrian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered.

"Maybe he won't come," Arina said hopefully. "Maybe it was just a threat—"

The sound of cars pulling up cut her off.

Not one car. Multiple.

Through the window, they could see a convoy of black SUVs with tinted windows.

"Oh god," Arina whispered.

The cars parked in a perfect formation. Guards stepped out first—at least a dozen men in black suits, earpieces, weapons visible.

Then, from the center vehicle, Lorenzo emerged.

He was dressed in a charcoal grey suit, perfectly tailored, looking every bit the dangerous man he was. But there was something casual about the way he carried himself—hands in pockets, no hurry, completely in control.

Behind him, Matteo hopped out, grinning like this was the most fun he'd had in weeks.

"Is that his brother?" Ivan asked

.

"Looks like it," Kirill said grimly.

"They're making a statement. Showing force."

Lorenzo walked up to the front door.

He didn't knock.

He waited.

"Should we let him in?" Arina asked.

"We don't have much choice," Kirill said.

He walked to the door and opened it.

Lorenzo stood there, utterly calm.

"Kirill. Good morning."

"Moretti."

"May I come in? Or should we conduct business on your doorstep?"

Kirill stepped aside.

Lorenzo walked in like he owned the place, Matteo following behind him.

His eyes immediately found Kyrian across the room.

Kyrian stared back, refusing to look away.

Lorenzo's lips twitched into an almost-smile.

"Kyrian. You look... comfortable."

"I am. In my own home."

"Mm. I see you received my texts."

"Hard to ignore when you spam someone's phone."

"I prefer to think of it as persistent communication."

Matteo snorted. Lorenzo shot him a look.

"Sorry," Matteo said, not looking sorry at all. "But you do kind of spam."

"Shut up, Matteo."

Kirill stepped forward.

"What do you want, Moretti? Why are you here?"

Lorenzo turned his attention to Kirill.

"I'm here to make an offer. To Kyrian."

"He's not interested in any offers from you."

"Let him speak for himself."

Lorenzo looked back at Kyrian.

"Are you interested? In hearing what I have to say?"

Kyrian wanted to say no. Wanted to tell Lorenzo to get out.

But curiosity won.

"Fine. Talk."

9:00 AM - THE OFFER

Lorenzo gestured to the seating area.

"May we sit? This might take a while."

"No," Kirill said. "Say what you came to say and leave."

"Dad," Kyrian said quietly. "It's fine. Let him sit."

Kirill looked at his son, concerned, but nodded.

They all moved to the living room.

The Volkovs on one side, Lorenzo and Matteo on the other

.

It felt like a negotiation. Or a hostage situation.

Lorenzo leaned back, completely relaxed.

"Let me be direct. The casino incident—while entertaining—has created a problem."

"Your problem," Ivan said. "Not ours."

"Actually, it's everyone's problem.

The entire underworld saw what happened. They saw Kyrian disrespect me publicly. Now they're watching. Waiting to see what I do about it."

"So this is about your ego," Kyrian said.

"This is about survival," Lorenzo corrected. "In my world, perceived weakness invites attack. If I do nothing, rivals will see me as soft. Vulnerable."

"Then do something that doesn't involve my son," Kirill said coldly.

"I plan to." Lorenzo looked at Kyrian. "I want you to come stay with me. At my estate. For one week."

Silence.

Then everyone started talking at once.

"Absolutely not—" Kirill started.

"Are you insane?!" Ivan shouted.

"Over my dead body!" Arina added.

"EVERYONE, QUIET!" Kyrian yelled.

The room fell silent.

Kyrian looked at Lorenzo.

"Why? Why one week?"

"Because I need to show the world that you're not my enemy. That we've reached an... understanding.

If you spend time at my estate, publicly, it sends a message."

"What message?"

"That you're under my protection now. That anyone who touches your answers to me."

"So I'd be your prisoner."

"You'd be my guest."

"Same thing."

"Not quite." Lorenzo leaned forward. "A prisoner has no choice. A guest can leave anytime.

But there are consequences to both."

"What consequences?" Arina asked, her voice shaking.

Lorenzo's expression turned serious.

"If Kyrian comes willingly, spends one week with me, and at the end of that week still wants nothing to do with me—he's free to go. No retaliation. No revenge. I'll leave the Volkov family alone completely."

"And if he refuses?" Kirill asked.

"Then I have to respond differently. To save face. To maintain my position. And that response won't be pleasant for anyone."

"You're threatening us," Ivan said.

"I'm presenting options," Lorenzo corrected. "Uncomfortable options, but options nonetheless."

Kyrian stood up, pacing.

"Let me get this straight. I spent one week at your estate. After that week, you let me go? No strings attached?"

"If that's what you want, yes."

"And if I refuse?"

Lorenzo's expression didn't change, but something dark flickered in his eyes.

"Then you'll have made an enemy of the most powerful man in Monaco. And I'll have no choice but to treat you as such."

"That's not a choice!" Arina cried.

"That's blackmail!"

"That's reality," Lorenzo said unapologetically. "I'm not here to force him. But I am here to make the stakes clear."

Matteo, who had been quiet this whole time, spoke up.

"For what it's worth, I'll be there too. And I promise you, Kyrian won't be harmed. My brother might be an asshole, but he keeps his word."

"Thanks, Matteo," Lorenzo said dryly. "Very reassuring."

"Just trying to help."

Kyrian stopped pacing and turned to face Lorenzo.

"What would this week involve? What would I have to do?"

"Eat meals with my family. Attend one or two public events. Let people see us together. That's it."

"That's it? You just want me to be seen with you?"

"Yes."

"Why do I not believe you?"

Lorenzo smiled slightly.

"Because you're smart. There's more to it, obviously. I want to understand you. Why did you have the audacity to throw that glass.

What makes you so fearless."

"Or stupid," Kyrian muttered.

"Or brave," Lorenzo corrected.

They stared at each other.

"I need to think about this," Kyrian finally said.

"Of course. But I need an answer by tonight."

"Tonight?!"

"The longer we wait, the more the rumors spread. The worse it gets for both of us."

Kyrian looked at his family.

His mother was crying silently. His father looked defeated. His brother looked ready to commit murder.

"Can I talk to my family? Alone?"

"Of course." Lorenzo stood. "We'll wait outside. You have one hour."

He walked to the door, Matteo following.

At the threshold, Lorenzo paused and looked back.

"Kyrian? For what it's worth—I don't want to hurt you. I want to understand you. There's a difference."

Then he was gone.

9:15 AM - THE FAMILY DISCUSSION

As soon as the door closed, chaos erupted.

"No," Kirill said immediately.

"Absolutely not. We're not sending you into that man's lair."

"We don't have a choice, Dad," Kyrian said.

"We always have a choice!"

"Do we?" Kyrian challenged.

"Really? Because it sounds like our choices are: I go willingly for one week, or Lorenzo declares war on us."

"Then we fight," Ivan said.

"Against the Don of Monaco?"

Kyrian laughed bitterly. "We'll lose. You know we'll lose."

"So we just give up?" Ivan demanded.

"We make the smart choice," Kyrian said. "I go. I survived one week. I will come back. It's over."

"You don't know that," Arina sobbed. "You don't know what he'll do to you."

"Then we negotiate terms," Kyrian said. "We make him agree to conditions."

Kirill stopped pacing.

"What kind of conditions?"

"I want daily phone calls with you. I want to be able to leave if I feel unsafe. I want—"

"He'll never agree to that," Ivan interrupted.

"Then let's find out."

They argued for another thirty minutes, going in circles.

Finally, Kirill sank into his chair.

"It's your decision, Rian. I can't make it for you."

"What do you think I should do?"

Kirill looked at his youngest son—brave, stubborn, terrified but refusing to show it.

"I think... I think you should protect yourself. And if going with him is the only way to do that safely... then go. But with conditions. Make him agree with everything."

Arina grabbed Kyrian's hand.

"Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll call every day."

"I promise, Mom."

"And if he hurts you—"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

Kyrian thought about Lorenzo's eyes—dangerous, yes, but also... curious. Interested.

"I don't know. But I don't think he brought me here just to hurt me. He wants something else."

"What?" Ivan asked.

"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out."

10:00 AM - THE NEGOTIATION

Lorenzo and Matteo were waiting outside, leaning against one of the SUVs.

Lorenzo was smoking a cigarette, looking completely unbothered.

When the front door opened and Kyrian stepped out, Lorenzo immediately stubbed out the cigarette.

"And?" Lorenzo asked.

"I'll come. For one week. But I have conditions."

Lorenzo smiled slightly.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't. Name them."

Kyrian pulled out his phone, where he'd typed a list.

"First: I want daily phone calls with my family. Minimum thirty minutes. No monitoring."

"Agreed."

"Second: I want my own room with a lock that actually works.

You don't enter without permission."

"Agreed."

"Third: If I feel unsafe at any point, I leave immediately. No arguments."

Lorenzo paused on this one.

"Define unsafe."

"If you threaten me, hurt me, or try to force me into anything I don't want to do."

"Agreed. Though I should note—I have no intention of doing any of those things."

"Fourth: No public events without my approval first. I'm not going to be paraded around like a trophy."

"Reasonable. Agreed."

"Fifth: After one week, if I want to leave, you let me go. Completely. No retaliation against me or my family."

"Already stated, but yes. Agreed."

Kyrian looked at him suspiciously.

"You're agreeing too easily."

"Because your conditions are reasonable. I'm not a monster, Kyrian. I'm just protecting my interests."

"By taking me hostage."

"By inviting you to be my guest," Lorenzo corrected.

"Semantics."

"Important semantics."

They stared at each other.

"When do I leave?" Kyrian asked.

"Now, if possible. The sooner we're seen together, the better."

"Now?!" Kyrian turned to look at his house. His family stood in the doorway, watching.

"I need to pack—"

"We'll provide everything you need. Clothes, toiletries, anything."

"I want my own clothes.".

Lorenzo sighed.

"Fine. Thirty minutes. Pack a bag. Then we go."

10:45 AM - THE GOODBYE

Kyrian stood at the door with a single duffle bag.

Arina hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe.

"Be smart. Be careful. Call me tonight.".

"I will, Mom."

Kirill pulled him aside.

"Listen to me. If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you call me. Immediately. We'll come get you."

"I know, Dad."

"I'm serious, Rian. The moment you feel unsafe—"

"I'll call. I promise."

Ivan handed him something—a small object.

"What's this?"

"Tracking device. Keep it on you Hidden. If something happens and you can't call, we'll know where you are."

Kyrian pocketed it.

"Thanks, Vanya."

"Don't make me have to use it," Ivan said, his voice tight with emotion.

"I won't."

He hugged each of them one more time, then turned and walked to where Lorenzo waited by the car.

"Ready?" Lorenzo asked.

"No. But let's go anyway."

Lorenzo opened the car door himself—a small gesture, but Kyrian noticed it.

He got in. Lorenzo slid in beside him.

The door closed.

As the convoy pulled away, Kyrian watched his family get smaller and smaller through the rear window.

"They'll be fine," Lorenzo said quietly. "And so will you."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Because I'm going to make sure of it."

Kyrian turned to look at him.

"Why? Why do you even care?"

Lorenzo was quiet for a moment.

"I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."

11:30 AM - ARRIVAL AT THE ESTATE

The drive took about forty minutes.

They didn't speak much. Kyrian stared out the window. Lorenzo worked on his phone.

But the silence wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

Finally, the car turned onto a private road.

And then Kyrian saw it.

The Moretti Estate.

It was enormous—a sprawling mansion that looked like it belonged in a movie. White stone, tall columns, perfectly manicured gardens.

"Wow," Kyrian said despite himself.

"Home sweet home," Matteo said from the front seat.

"It's excessive," Kyrian said.

"It's family history," Lorenzo corrected. "Passed down for generations."

"Must be nice, living in a palace while normal people struggle."

"I'm many things, Kyrian, but I've never pretended to be normal."

The car stopped in front of the main entrance.

Guards immediately moved to open doors, but Lorenzo waved them off.

He got out and opened Kyrian's door himself.

"After you."

Kyrian stepped out, his eyes sweeping over the estate.

The massive front doors opened.

And standing there was the entire Moretti family.

Vincenzo Moretti—tall, imposing, silver-haired. He looked like an older, more dangerous version of Lorenzo.

Isabella Moretti—elegant in a designer dress, beautiful, but with sharp, calculating eyes.

"Well," Vincenzo said, his deep voice echoing across the entrance.

"So this is the boy who threw alcohol on my son."

Kyrian lifted his chin.

"And you're the man who raised a son with boundary issues."

Silence.

Then, surprisingly, Vincenzo laughed.

"Brave. Stupid, but brave. I can see why Lorenzo is interested."

"Interested in what?" Kyrian asked.

"In figuring out what makes you tick."

Isabella stepped forward, studying Kyrian like he was a puzzle.

"You're very beautiful," she observed. "But beauty alone wouldn't be enough to capture Lorenzo's attention. There's something else. Fire, perhaps."

"More like stubbornness," Kyrian muttered.

Isabella smiled.

"That too. Come. Let me show you to your room."

She turned and walked inside, clearly expecting Kyrian to follow.

Kyrian looked at Lorenzo.

"Is your entire family this intense?"

"You have no idea," Matteo said cheerfully, clapping Kyrian on the shoulder. "But don't worry! I'm having fun!"

"That's what worries me," Kyrian muttered.

He followed Isabella inside, leaving Lorenzo standing at the entrance.

"This is going to be interesting," Matteo said.

"That's one word for it," Lorenzo replied, watching Kyrian disappear into the house.

One week, Lorenzo thought. One week to understand what you are.

To figure out why I can't stop thinking about you.

He walked inside, already planning.