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All Chapters of Máfia's Hated Bride: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

170 Chapters

CHAPTER 11

ANGELINE HARRINGTON The silence that remained was oppressive. It filled the room, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls themselves had held their breath. I tried to move, but my body protested with a sharp and deep pain. It wasn't just the intense cold of the Russian winter or the terrible burning between my legs—a brutal and intimate reminder of what he had done. It was a pain that went far beyond the flesh. It was a pain of memory. The crying that came then was not just from shame or physical pain. It was a cry of mourning. Of mourning for the girl I had been, for the life that was stolen from me twice. First, in the accident that took "him" from me. And carved this mark on my face. "I will always protect you, Angeline," he used to say often. "And why?" I questioned him once between our childish laughter and games. "Because it's my duty and also because I'm a superhero!" And now, in this frozen room where I was confined by a man who looks at me as if I were rottenness itself,

Last Updated : 2026-09-10

CHAPTER 12

NIKOLAI VOLKOV Still on that damned night after leaving Angeline at Dunyavin… The docks were a scene of war. Destroyed crates, fleeing tire marks, the smell of smoke and salt water in the air. My men walked among the wreckage with the dejected air of those who had failed. Sergey approached, his face carved in hard lines. "It was all of them, Pakhan. Methodically. As if they knew every route, every schedule, every weak point. They attacked with precision, as if they knew that at that moment you would not be in command." The rage was an acid in my stomach, but my mind was already working, cold. "As if they knew that at that moment you would not be in command." Sergey's phrase echoed. The wedding. The public trap that took me from my territory. Did I underestimate the Harringtons? Or was it another enemy? "Did we capture anyone?" my voice came out harsher than I intended. "Three. Two didn't make it. The third is alive. Wounded, but breathing." A gust of cold night air brought with

Last Updated : 2026-09-10

CHAPTER 13

NIKOLAI VOLKOV The dawn of the second day after Ivan Chernov's strike tinged the Moscow sky with a metallic gray. From the window of my office, I watched the snowflakes—of the Russian winter, as implacable as the war I would soon wage. Outside, Sergey was gathering the men. We had recovered much of what was stolen, thanks to precise planning and the loyalty of good men. The tension of the last few days gave a truce, replaced by the cold anticipation of a well-executed counterattack. I turned from the window, poured three fingers of whiskey into a heavy crystal glass, and sat at my desk. The golden liquid went down burning my throat as the computer booted up. I was going to check the latest damage reports, the final calculations of the price Ivan Chernov would pay. That was when the world stopped. Still loading, one of the notification bars appeared. Not a report, but a message from one of those damned digital tabloids of the underworld, those poisonous sources that live off blood a

Last Updated : 2026-09-10

CHAPTER 14

ANGELINE HARRINGTON From the little I knew of Nikolai, by instinct and by the terror he inspired in me, one thing seemed certain: he was not a man to regret. An order given by him was like a law carved in stone—immutable, fatal. But something, some unknown mechanism in his impenetrable mind, began to work. Perhaps it wasn't regret. Perhaps it was just a discomfort, the same one felt for a badly placed piece of furniture. Be that as it may, something changed. Because today, the shadow that watched over this prison finally materialized for me. I woke up trembling twice as much. A deep cold had settled in me during the night and not even the fleecy fabrics nor the socks could stop me from trembling uncontrollably. Through the small dirty window, I saw the outside world had transformed into a white and gray blur. The snow had intensified twice as much. I needed to warm myself, because if I didn't, I was certain I wouldn't survive. The cell-room was freezing in autumn; in the Russian wint

Last Updated : 2026-09-11

CHAPTER 15

ANGELINE HARRINGTON Strength, a strange visitor, was beginning to return little by little. The substantial breakfast, the warm clothes, the simple act of not trembling from the cold—all of it was a new kind of fuel. And, more crucial, the door of my room was now really no longer locked. Agnessa had left it ajar, a silent gesture that could be either a calculated oversight or a minimal concession. It didn't matter. It was a gap. Dressed in the felt boots that protected against the cold of the stone floor, I went out. The corridor ahead of me was long and gloomy, lit only by a few weak lamps attached to the walls. The dirt and abandonment were evident: fine tapestries, now covered in dust and torn in some places, dark wooden furniture, were covered in cobwebs and splinters. In its glory days, the Dunyavin mansion must have been stunning. A palace hidden in the Ural Mountains. Now, it was just an empty shell, a den. I felt a stupid, almost romantic impulse to imagine what it would be l

Last Updated : 2026-09-11

CHAPTER 16

ANGELINE HARRINGTON Realizing this, I felt a different kind of cold run down my spine. He was defining the limits of my prison, and it was a larger cage than I had imagined. A cage with a library. "Thank you, Agnessa," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. I picked up a stack of books. "Can I ask you one more thing?" "Yes, ma'am. I am here to receive orders." The phrase sounded so strange in her mouth. Orders. To her, I was not a prisoner giving orders; I was a channel, a transmitter of Nikolai's wishes. "Could you get me a notebook? And a pen?" She frowned slightly. Notebook and pen. They weren't clothes, they weren't food. They were tools. Tools to think, to remember, perhaps to let myself escape mentally a little from that hell. She didn't fully understand, but she nodded, accepting. "I will do so." We walked back to my room in silence. Lunch was waiting for me: another substantial meal. I ate in silence, under Agnessa's watchful eye as she cleaned the room with her usual effi

Last Updated : 2026-09-11

CHAPTER 17

NIKOLAI VOLKOV Almost three weeks. Three weeks of hunting, cold blood, and relentless strategy. Now, in my office, I looked at the final report. The entire weapons shipment was back in my domain. I could almost feel Ivan Chernov's impotent fury from across the city, and the thought filled me with a sadistic, deep, and silent pleasure. The tension of the last few days, however, was still embedded in my muscles, a toxic residue that needed to be purged. I decided to celebrate. Not in a fancy restaurant, but at Klyk Zimy, my private club. A basement of exposed brick, blue and red neon, thick smoke, and the heavy rhythm of industrial music. It was a place for men of my world to unwind. Strong drinks, cigarettes, and the devochki—the girls—who understood the unspoken rules of a BDSM club. Brutality was a frank language there, and I needed to speak it. I chose a dark corner, a glass of frozen vodka in my hand. My eyes swept the room, evaluating two beautiful, sexy blondes who seemed to kn

Last Updated : 2026-09-12

CHAPTER 18

NIKOLAI VOLKOV The fortress in Moscow was silent, but the echo of the council meeting still buzzed in my ears, louder than any sound. Sitting at my desk, I wasn't reviewing reports on smuggling or troop movements. I was reading the updates from Dunyavin. Dry reports, written by Agnessa's firm and economical hand: "Day 14. The Lady ate everything. Spent the afternoon in the library. Asked for more paper." "Day 16. Lady read until late. Slept well. Lit the fireplace herself." "Day 18. Mrs. Volkov eats well, enjoys the library, reads a lot. Likes to write down what she learns in the notebook she asked me for. Never tried to escape." The last line seemed to jump off the page. "Never tried to escape." Not out of loyalty, of course. Because she had nowhere to go. The logic was clear, but a part of me insisted on seeing it as an acceptance, a surrender I had not earned. I hit a button on the keyboard. The monitors lit up, showing the images from Dunyavin's security cameras. And there sh

Last Updated : 2026-09-12

CHAPTER 19

NIKOLAI VOLKOV She trembled—I knew she was afraid of me, and that was exactly what I wanted from that deformed creature. But something in her eyes changed. The fear gave way to a desperation so deep and genuine that for an instant it seemed to dissolve the panic. "Why?" The question came out again, but this time it wasn't a whisper. It was a stifled scream, loaded with a pain that went far beyond fear of me. "Why do you hate me so much?" "Because you accepted!" I shouted back, losing control for an instant. "You were part of their plan! It's all over your face!" That was when she exploded. Not with violence, but with a torrent of trembling, desperate words, as if a dam of years had burst all at once. "I already told you it's not true and…" "You really think I'm going to fall for your stories?" I asked, interrupting her sarcastically. "Is it so impossible for the all-powerful Nikolai Volkov to find out the truth about me? I never took part in their plans! My parents hate me! Espe

Last Updated : 2026-09-12

CHAPTER 20

NIKOLAI VOLKOV And then, between sobs and broken words, the story continued. Angelo was the only son, and also his parents' favorite. Then she told the details that hurt her most. When Angelo threw himself over her to protect her, he absorbed the entire impact, dying instantly with broken bones while she came out with the scar on her face. The mother's grief, transformed into hatred. The exile to the convent at nine years old, the childish hope of becoming a nun, a sacrifice to redeem the life she had "stolen." And then, at eighteen, the silent expulsion back to a house that was not a home, to a life of service and invisibility—two years serving her own family as nothing more than a maid. Her words created vivid and horrible images in my mind. She continued, her voice a thread of pain: "As soon as the scar closed, they sent me to Saint Theodore. They said it was for me to 'heal.' But it was exile. My mother couldn't bear to see me. The scar was proof that I was alive, and he wasn'

Last Updated : 2026-09-13

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