Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Volkov Shadow
The aftermath of the gala unfolded with the quiet, surgical brutality typical of our world. No gunshots were fired in the ballroom—the Castellanos were far too traditional to ruin an antique Persian rug—but within fifteen minutes, Svetlana Volkov was being escorted down the service elevator by four armed enforcers who answered directly to Don Castellano.
Victor stood near the grand staircase, watching the doors close behind her. His jaw was set like carved granite. The men who had whispered behind his back twenty minutes earlier now looked at him with renewed caution, though their eyes drifted repeatedly toward me.
I didn't wait for him to process the spectacle. My feet ached from the three-inch satin heels, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins was beginning to give way to the profound exhaustion that only a pregnant body knows. I walked out into the cool midnight air, ignoring the flash of private society cameras on the sidewalk, and climbed into the back of our reinforced sedan.
When Victor slid into the leather seat beside me a minute later, the scent of the gala clung to him: expensive cologne, vintage scotch, and the bitter trace of shattered arrogance.
""You knew,"" he said. The engine hummed to life as our driver, Luca, merged onto the expressway. Victor didn't look at me; he stared out the tinted window at the passing city lights. ""You knew she was Volkov when she showed up at the opera in November.""
""I suspected in November,"" I answered, leaning back against the headrest and closing my eyes. ""I confirmed it in January. I had the complete file by March.""
""And you let her sit at our table. You let her walk into my office."" His voice dropped, low and rough, carrying an edge of wounded pride. ""You let her whisper in my ear while you watched.""
""You made your choice to listen to her, Victor. I simply observed the consequences."" I turned my head to look at his profile. ""If I had told you two months ago, you would have treated it like a domestic spat. You would have assumed I was jealous, paranoid, or hormonal. You would have confronted her privately, she would have played the victim, and she would have vanished into the wind with the layout of our southern supply lines. This way, the entire commission saw her for what she was. Her brother is ruined, Castellano has seized their northern ports, and you are no longer compromised.""
He turned slowly, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that used to make my heart race. Now, it only made me tired.
""And the child?"" he asked quietly. ""The DNA kit?""
A cold smile touched my lips. ""The fact that you even asked yourself that question when she dropped the box tells me everything I need to know about our marriage.""
""Elena—""
""Do not,"" I warned, lifting a hand. ""You slept with an operative sent to dismantle your empire. You brought her into our home. You humiliated me in public until I took the blade out of her hands and turned it back on her. You don't get to ask for reassurances tonight.""
He fell silent, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. For the first time in six years of marriage, Victor Moretti had nothing to say.
When the car pulled up to our estate in the hills, I didn't wait for him to open my door. I climbed out, stepped past the armed guards stationed at the gate, and walked directly up to the master suite. I had already packed two suitcases that morning. They were resting near the dressing table, neat and discreet.
Victor entered the room behind me, his eyes instantly tracking the luggage. The quiet confidence he normally wore like armor cracked completely.
May you like
""What is that?"" he demanded, his voice tight.
""You have a war to manage with Dimitri Volkov,"" I said calmly, slipping off my earrings and placing them on the vanity. ""And I have an unborn daughter to protect from the crossfire.""
