Lahat ng Kabanata ng SHADOW OF VOW'S: Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

Exterior PovThe luxury of the study did little to ease the weight in Dante Moretti’s chest. The room was adorned in dark oak and rich leather, a blend of Italian elegance and old-world authority, but even that ambiance felt suffocating tonight. A single glass of scotch rested on the armrest of his chair, untouched, the ice melting slowly into insignificance.Across from him, Viktor Natov sat with the poise of a viper: relaxed, but every fiber of his being coiled, ready to strike. His suit was impeccable, his demeanor calm, but his eyes—those glacial eyes—carried a madness that no amount of grooming could conceal. He sipped his vodka slowly, lips curling into a thin smile as he studied Dante like a predator admiring the temporary civility before bloodshed.“I have to say, Dante,” Natov began in his thick Eastern European accent, “I didn’t expect a man like you to agree to work with a monster like me.”Dante didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back into the leather chair, eyes narrow

Alessia Volkov The silence stretched between us like a tightrope I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk.Nikolai stood a few feet away, his body still as stone, arms crossed, eyes locked on mine. That infuriating unreadable stare of his. It was the kind of look that could either promise ruin or reveal everything if I dared to stare long enough. But I’d learned the hard way—he didn’t give anything away for free.Still, I wasn't going to let the moment pass.I took a slow breath, crossing my arms in return—not out of defiance, but because it was the only thing keeping me from fidgeting under that gaze. My voice came out quieter than I expected.“Why me, Nikolai?”A flicker. Barely noticeable, but I saw it. A twitch in his jaw. A shift in his weight.Good. I’d hit something.“You could’ve taken anything else. My father offered you his everything. You could’ve had it all. But you asked for me.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words through. “Why?”He didn’t answer. Of course not. That woul

Alessia Volkov If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be strolling through Rodeo Drive with Stassie, arms heavy with shopping bags and a smile tugging at my lips, I would’ve called them delusional.And yet, here I am.“Try this one!” Stassie chirps, holding up a pastel blue mini dress against my chest. “It’s very ‘my-husband-won’t-know-what-hit-him’.”I arch a brow. “That’s oddly specific.”She grins, devilish and full of mischief. “Well, you’ve got that glow, babe. It’s only fair we give it a proper outfit.”I glance at my reflection in the mirror of the boutique’s velvet-draped fitting room. I do look… different. Lighter somehow. Still sarcastic, still guarded, but a little less broken.“You’re annoyingly observant,” I mumble, taking the dress from her and disappearing behind the curtain.“Right? It’s a gift.”I hear the rustling of more fabric being tossed over the fitting room door. Stassie is a menace when she shops—an enthusiastic one. She’s been chattering nonstop si

The silence in the penthouse was almost too loud. I stood in front of the mirror in our bedroom, wrapped in sheer black lace, wondering if I’d officially lost my mind. Correction—Stassie had dragged me to the edge, but I’d jumped willingly. “This screams ‘take me now’, Alessia,” she had said earlier, holding up the lingerie with a devilish glint in her eyes. “Wear this and see how long Mr. Mafia King lasts before he breaks.” At the time, I laughed. Nervous. Unsure. Now, I wasn’t laughing. I was pacing. My fingers played with the hem of the robe I wore over the lingerie, a sheer cover that did absolutely nothing to hide the risqué outfit beneath. My heart thudded with the rhythm of anticipation and dread. The logical part of me said this was a mistake. That seduction wasn’t clarity. That I was playing with fire again. But another part of me—the reckless, curious, maybe-slightly-in-love part—wanted to see what happened when I stopped running. Since the shopping trip with St

Alessia Volkov I woke up to the scent of him. Masculine, dark, intoxicating—clove and leather and something uniquely Nikolai. The sheets were twisted around our bodies, still heavy with the sweat of the night before. My leg was draped across his, my arm resting on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my palm. His hand was in my hair. He hadn’t stopped touching me, not even in his sleep. My entire body ached in the most exquisite way. Muscles sore, lips swollen, thighs trembling even now. And yet... I didn’t want to move. Because if I did, I might have to face what happened. What I let happen. What I wanted to happen so badly I had clawed him open for it. I turned my face into his chest, breathing him in, remembering. Every kiss. Every touch. Every desperate gasp and whispered name. He hadn’t just fucked me. He’d ruined me. And worse, I let him. His fingers moved slowly through my hair, and I realized—he was awake. “How long have you been pretending to sleep?”