5

The moon was a cruel witness to Serena’s insomnia. It hung over the Moretti estate like a pale, judging eye, illuminating the cold reality she couldn’t escape. For hours, she had paced her room, the silk of her nightgown whispering against her legs, a sound that felt too loud in the suffocating silence.

Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that underground arena. She could still hear the sickening thud of Victor’s fist against bone, could still feel the phantom heat of his hand clamped around her waist. He had been testing her. He had dragged her into the belly of his beast just to watch her flinch.

He wants a wife who is either a puppet or a victim, she thought, her jaw tightening. I will be neither.

The realization settled in her gut like lead: the wedding was only days away. Her father, Lorenzo, was moving with a frantic urgency that smelled of desperation. He wasn’t just marrying her off; he was selling her for a shield. But Serena knew that if she could find a single thread of evidence, a ledger, a betrayal, a digital footprint of a deal that went against the Commission’s rules, she could hand it to her father. Lorenzo would never marry her to a man who was about to be destroyed. He would use the information to crush Victor, and she would be free.

Yes, that was the only way she could save herself.

By dawn, the plan was no longer a thought; it was a mission.

The Volkov mansion was a fortress of glass and steel, standing on the edge of the city like a monument to cold ambition. When Serena’s car pulled into the driveway, the security detail didn't immediately move. They stared, confused by the sudden arrival of the Moretti heir without an escort.

Inside the sprawling study, Victor Volkov was standing by the window, his back to the room. Alexei Morozov sat on the edge of the mahogany desk, flipping through a mission report.

"The girl is at the gate," Alexei said after hearing it from the guard through the earpiece, his voice laced with a rare hint of genuine surprise.

Victor didn't turn. His reflection in the glass was sharp, his blue eyes narrowed. "Alone?"

"Alone. No call. No warning." Alexei shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe she realized she couldn't stay away from your charming personality, Pakhan. Perhaps she wants to spend some 'quality time' before the vows."

Victor turned slowly, his gaze so frigid it could have cracked the window. "If she wanted to spend time with me, she would have done it at the gala. She wants something else."

"Only one way to find out," Alexei said, gesturing toward the monitors.

Victor straightened his cuffs, his movements precise and deadly. "Let her in. And Alexei? Keep your eyes open."

When Victor stepped into the grand foyer, he found Serena standing in the center of the marble floor. She looked different today. The baggy jeans and crop top from the arena were gone, replaced by a tailored cream-colored suit that screamed "innocence" and "business" all at once.

"You're a long way from home, Serena," Victor said, his deep voice echoing off the high ceilings. He stopped five feet from her, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Do you need something?"

Serena didn't flinch. She offered him a small, practiced smile, the kind that never reached her eyes. "Is it a crime for a woman to want to see the man she’s about to marry? I was restless. I thought... maybe we started on the wrong foot."

Victor studied her. He looked for the tremor in her hands, the flicker of a lie in her pupils. He saw nothing but a calm, porcelain mask. She's good, he thought. But I'm better.

"I find that hard to believe," he rasped, stepping closer. The air between them instantly charged with that familiar, dangerous electricity. "You look like someone who would rather be anywhere else but here."

"And you look like a man who doesn't believe in second chances," she countered softly. "Will you turn me away, Victor? Or can we at least pretend to be civilized?"

Victor felt a jolt of irritation at the sound of his name on her lips. It sounded like a challenge. "Civilized. Fine. Would you like to have lunch? We can go out."

"No," she said quickly, too quickly. She caught herself and smoothed her expression. "I’d rather stay here. I’d like to see the house. It is where I’ll be living, after all. Could you give me a tour?"

Victor paused. A tour. It was a classic move, and yet, it was so transparent it almost made him laugh. He looked at her as if she were a child trying to hide a stolen sweet.

"You want a tour," he repeated, his tone flat. "Are you stupid, or do you think I am?"

Serena’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she tilted her head. "I'm curious. Is curiosity a weakness in your world?"

Victor stared at her for a long beat. Then, he looked over his shoulder at Alexei, who was hovering in the doorway. "Alexei. Give her a tour of the mansion. I have a call from London that won't wait."

He turned his gaze back to Serena, leaning in until his breath stirred the hair near her ear. "Don't get lost, Serena. My house has a habit of swallowing things that don't belong."

Her heart stuttered, but she inhaled deeply.

Alexei was a professional, but even he seemed bored by the task. He led her through the library, the industrial kitchen, and the gym, narrating the history of the architecture with the tone of a man reciting a grocery list.

"And this," Alexei said, pushing open two heavy oak doors, "is the Pakhan's study. He spends most of his time here."

Serena stepped inside, and her breath hitched. It was exactly what she needed. The room was lined with filing cabinets and a desk that looked like it held the secrets of the entire underworld.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, her eyes scanning the desk. "So much... history."

"It's a graveyard of bad decisions," Alexei corrected.

Serena turned to him, putting on her best 'delicate' expression. "You know, Alexei, I’m suddenly quite thirsty. Could you get me something?"

Alexei glanced at the minibar in the corner. "There’s a full bar right there. Help yourself."

He was too blatant and wasn't treating her like a mafia queen at all, which was good because she liked it. It felt real and not forced at all, unlike the staff and guards at her mansion. They felt like they were forced into respecting her, and she hated that.

"I need water. Plain, cold water. My throat is quite dry." She touched her neck, looking at him expectantly.

Alexei sighed, his loyalty to Victor clashing with the basic etiquette of hosting a Moretti. "Fine. I’ll have the staff bring a bottle up."

"No, please. Don't trouble the staff. I’m sure you know where the good stuff is kept. I’ll just wait here."

Alexei hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly. But Serena looked so small in that large room, so harmless. "Two minutes," he warned, and stepped out.

The second the door clicked shut, the mask fell.

Serena lunged for the desk. Her heart was a drum in her ears as she began rummaging through the folders. Contracts. Shipping manifests. Payroll. She moved with a desperate, frantic precision. She bypassed the standard business files, looking for something marked private.

She found it in the bottom drawer. A slim, black leather binder with no markings. She pulled it out, her hands shaking. She flipped it open and saw names, government officials, judges, and bank account numbers in the Caymans. This was it. This was the leverage.

She reached for her phone to take a photo.

Click.

The sound of the door unlocking was soft, but to Serena, it sounded like a gunshot.

She didn't have time to put the folder back. She barely had time to stand upright before the door swung open.

It wasn't Alexei.

Victor was standing there, his frame filling the doorway, his silhouette casting a long, dark shadow across the room. He wasn't holding a phone. He was holding her gaze.

"The call was shorter than you expected?" he asked. His voice was a low, vibrating growl that made the hair on her arms stand up.

Serena froze, the black binder still clutched in her hand, half-hidden behind her leg. "Victor. I... I was just looking at the view."

He didn't move. He just watched her, his blue eyes tracking the subtle tremor in her shoulder. Slowly, he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. The lock engaged with a finality that made Serena’s stomach drop.

"The view," he repeated, his voice dangerously smooth. He walked toward her, each step measured and heavy. "Is that why you’re holding my private ledger?"

Serena felt the heat of a blush crawl up her neck, born of both shame and terror. She realized there was no point in lying. She pulled the binder out and held it against her chest like a shield.

"You were testing me yesterday," she snapped, her voice trembling but fierce. "Why shouldn't I test you back?"

Victor stopped inches from her. He was so close she could smell the expensive tobacco and cold rain that always seemed to cling to him. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the binder, but he didn't pull it away. He leaned down, hovering over her like a beast as he glared down at her.

"There is a difference between a test and a betrayal, Serena," he whispered, his lips inches from her own. "What were you going to do with this? Take it to your father? Tell him his future son-in-law is a criminal? He already knows."

"He doesn't know this," she hissed. "He doesn't know you're bribing the very people he’s trying to avoid and the ones who are his enemies."

Victor’s grip on the binder tightened, but his other hand rose, his thumb grazing her jawline. The touch was electric, a searing heat that made her breath hitch.

"I'm his enemy too, and yet he's offering you to me," Victor said.

Her jaw clenched in anger.

"You think this makes you safe?" he asked, his voice dropping to a rasp. "You think having this information gives you power over me? You’re in my house, Serena. Behind a locked door. With a man you think is a monster."

"I’m not afraid of you," she lied, though her voice broke on the last word.

"Liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his chest brushing against hers. "I can hear your heart. It’s trying to escape your ribs. It knows exactly what I am."

He took the binder from her limp fingers and tossed it onto the desk behind him without looking. Then, he stepped even closer, trapping her between his body and the heavy mahogany desk. He placed both hands on the wood on either side of her, caging her in.

"You came here to destroy me," he said, his blue eyes burning into hers. "But all you've done is prove that you belong here. In the dark. With me."

"I will never belong to you," Serena whispered, though she didn't pull away. She couldn't. She was terrified. It was a miracle that she was still able to form proper, coherent words.

Victor tilted his head, a dark, predatory smirk ghosting his lips. "We'll see about that at the altar, moya zhena (my wife)."

He didn't even touch her, yet the look in his eyes was more intimate and more terrifying than any touch. He leaned back just enough to let her breathe, but the cage remained.

"Alexei is waiting outside with your water," Victor said, his voice returning to a cold, professional clip. "Drink it. Calm your nerves. And Serena?"

He leaned in one last time, his voice a ghost of a threat.

"Next time you go digging in my garden, make sure you're ready to find the bodies."

He turned and walked toward the door, leaving Serena shaking, her back pressed against the desk, her lungs burning for air she couldn't seem to find. She had come to find his weakness, but as she watched him walk away, she realized with a sickening jolt that she might have just revealed her own.

The hunt had shifted. And for the first time, Serena realized she was the prey.

This man terrified her.

How would she ever be able to survive with him?