Sochi, Russia
The atmosphere shifted as a silver tray, loaded with shot glasses filled with the sharp, amber liquid, was brought to the center of the room.
The elders---longtime allies and blood-bound confidants of the Volkov family, stood in a circle around the couple, their faces stoic and expectant.
Nikolai, Mikhail’s father, raised his glass first, his voice cutting through the murmur. “За союз двух великих семей и будущее, которое мы построим вместе.”
(To the union of two great families, and the future we build together.)
The toast was heavy, laden with unspoken implications, but it wasn’t just the words. It was the weight of the history that hung in the air, the lives intertwined by mafia dealings and promises made in silence.
Each of the men took their turn offering their own variations of the toast, their voices ranging from guttural and grim to loud and dramatic.
The last one was the flirtatious younger cousin, raising his glass with a wink. "За невесту, самую прекрасную из нас, и за ту силу, которой она будет обладать как наша новая сестра."
(To the bride, the most beautiful of us all, and to the power she will wield as our new sister.)
Mikhail stood by Seraphine, his presence an anchor as each elder downed their shot with reverence.
Then came her turn.
She stared at the liquid—clear, cold, demanding.
She didn’t drink. Never had.
Her gaze slid to Mikhail, a silent request.
Without a word, his fingers brushed against hers.
She lifted the glass to her lips, just enough to honor the moment. The crystal chilled her skin—but she did not sip. Instead, she lowered it with quiet grace.
Mikhail raised his glass in unison with hers, his dark eyes scanning the room.
“К будущему, которое мы ведем.”
(To a future led by us.)
he said firmly, his voice a soft but unmistakable command.
The mafia men applauded the display, and though it was subtle, Seraphine felt the weight of Mikhail’s pride at her compliance.
Paris
“They said I’m hallucinating… because of the drug,” Claira murmured, her voice trembling.
“Sera doesn’t exist.”
Mr. Roselind stiffened. “What do you mean?”
The calm in his voice cracked. His composure faltered.
Claira sobbed, the weight of it pulling her forward.
“They think she’s just a fragment of my imagination—something my mind created to cope with… with everything.”
There was silence. Then, slowly, Mr. Roselind spoke.
“That’s not possible. I’ll talk to the police myself.”
His voice was firm, but his eyes—haunted. The disbelief was setting in.
He didn’t want to believe it.
Couldn’t.
Sochi, Russia
The mood shifted when the playful ritual began—the “stealing of the bride.”
Leon, Mikhail’s flirtatious younger cousin, stepped forward with a grin that made intentions clear. With dramatic flair, he slipped past Mikhail and reached for Seraphine’s hand.
“Невеста на эту ночь моя!”
(The bride is mine for the night!)
he called out, and the room erupted in amused laughter.
Mikhail’s expression faltered. The calm mask he always wore cracked—just for a second. Enough for those who knew him to see the flicker of disapproval.
“В чем дело, Михаил?”
(What’s the matter, Mikhail?)
someone teased.
“Боитесь, что ей понравится соревнование?”
(Afraid she might like the competition?)
Mikhail’s lips curved, not quite a smile—more a warning.
“Ты думаешь, что сможешь украсть ее у меня, Лео?”
(You think you can steal her from me, Leo?)
The circle around them tightened, breath held.
Leon raised his brow. “Я буду торговаться.”
(I’ll bargain.)
He leaned in toward Seraphine. “Что ты говоришь?”
(What do you say?)
Seraphine met his eyes briefly, her smile faint and unreadable. Beneath her calm exterior, nerves prickled—but she played her part.
Mikhail didn’t wait.
He stepped forward, pulled a thick bundle of rubles from his jacket, and tossed it onto the nearby table. The gesture was smooth, final.
“Сделанный.”
(Done.)
Laughter rose again, looser this time. The moment passed.
Mikhail pulled Seraphine back to his side, one arm firm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her forehead—not soft, but sealing. Possessive. Reclaiming.
Just another game in their world—but one she was still learning to survive.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for your love and support for this book.🤧🤧
I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.❤️❤️
I know many of you don't interact but please do it helps me as a writer.😊😊
ESTÁS LEYENDO
RUN WHILE YOU CAN
Misterio / Suspenso'She was drawn to the stars. He watched from the shadows.' Seraphine Roselind never quite belonged. Too curious. Too quiet. Too strange, they said. But when she finally finds peace after graduation, a trip with her best friend offers a taste o...
