DAWN OF THE BLACK HEARTS

Ch. 1: Volkov

Just a warning, this book contained MATURE CONTENT that varies from violence to graphic sexual content.

⚠️ WILL NOT WARN YOU ABOUT THE SCENES! SO CONSIDER THIS YOUR WARNING! ⚠️

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Cheyanne, Ex Habit – I Lied

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"Behind every order, there's always a shadow. And that shadow is always a man."

The sky draped over the city like a leaden shroud. Clouds hung heavy and menacing, as if conspiring to hide every secret this city held. The flickering glow of streetlights shimmered like scales on a serpent, but even their light couldn't mask the city's dark soul. I stood at the window of one of the highest rooms in this gilded prison my father had built. Beyond the crystal-clear glass, the world stretched out like a shadow play - real or illusion, I couldn't tell. This house was a monument to my father's wealth, but that wealth came at the cost of our freedom. And he wasn't the only one paying the price.

Everything was as he wanted it. Everything in its place, flawless. Crystal chandeliers cast their glow on polished marble floors, and the faint scent of old European elegance clung to the columns, cloaking the money in a thin veneer of respectability. But we weren't a respectable family - just a rich one. Neither the money nor the grandeur screamed honor.

Velvet curtains in the grand hall veiled intricate Italian stained glass. The ceiling's baroque reliefs drowned in opulent details. Gold-framed mirrors couldn't decide which face they reflected best, but I passed them every day on my way to the kitchen, sipping my morning coffee while staring at the walls.

This house wasn't built to be lived in. It was built to be admired, envied, and feared.

Just like the man who created it.

Aleksei Volkov. My father's boss. The man who wrote laws we couldn't see. We couldn't speak a word about him. Because Volkov wasn't a name - it was a vow of silence.

Nothing in this house was by chance. Every detail, every shadow, every breath was shaped by Aleksei Volkov's silent touch. I'd never truly seen him, but I knew him. This house breathed with his presence.

My mother used to say, "Your father doesn't work, he represents."

I'd caught glimpses of his shadow at my father's business meetings. Tall, broad, covered in tattoos. His black eyes could slice through your soul like a blade. His face was like a statue carved in a moment of divine rage - sharp, flawless, and utterly terrifying. I never spoke to him. To me, he was a ghost - his presence felt everywhere but untouchable.

Before him, my father was an ordinary man. He fell for my mother, Carmen, and her fiery Spanish spirit. They built a life together, and then I came along, born from her radiant beauty. Her laughter was once a spring breeze in this cold city, but that breeze had long turned into a storm, frozen over time. My father was no longer the warm man he'd been. He was a puppet now, his strings pulled by the cold, ruthless master of the Russian mafia, Aleksei Volkov. His name echoed in this house like a legend. Everyone knew of him, but no one dared speak too much. As if words alone could tarnish his power.

Our mansion sat atop one of the city's highest hills, a fortress overlooking the urban sprawl. It wasn't a testament to my father's success but a chessboard where he, a mere pawn, was positioned. At first, my mother adored the Persian rugs, the Italian marble, the diamond-cut glass. But soon, she realized we were trapped in a golden cage, her vibrancy fading into an icy statue.

As I stepped out of my room, the sound of rain pattered outside. Lilith opened her door, and my little sister - four years younger - met my gaze. She was the product of my father's forbidden affair, a mistake he'd apologized for a thousand times to my mother. If I'd been the woman I am now back then, not a four-year-old child, I'd have told my mother not to forgive him. We'd have returned to Puerto Rico together. But now, we were prisoners in this gilded cage. Fifteen years ago, Lilith's mother died in a snowy car crash, and Lilith entered our lives that morning. Carmen never treated her like a stepdaughter, embracing her as her own despite the betrayal she represented.

My little Lilith, barely nineteen, was the only one in this house bold enough to speak Aleksei's name without fear. She'd crouch by the door of my father's study, watching him with a fascination she didn't hide, even before she was of age.

Her skin was pale as a full moon, unlike my sun-kissed bronze. My mother always said the sun had kissed my skin. Lilith and I shared full lips, slightly arched noses, and large brown eyes - the only signs we were sisters. Otherwise, I was night, and she was day; she was the moon, and I was the sun. I'd once told my mother I wanted a nose job, despite knowing my nose wasn't bad. She used to insist I was beautiful, but over time, her protests faded to a indifferent, "Do what you want." Maybe that's why my every desire eventually dissolved into apathy.

"Aleksei's car just pulled into the garage!" Lilith said, her pale cheeks flushing with excitement.

"He's way out of your league," I teased, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not dumb enough to think I'd marry him, okay? I've got a nail appointment, but I hope he's still here when I get back." She pouted, slinging her Prada bag over her shoulder. "Can you tell Christopher I'm waiting for him in the garage?" Before I could respond, she blew me a kiss and darted down the stairs.

"A nail appointment at this hour?" I called after her.

"I slept through my noon slot, so Natalia's doing me a favor. Catch you later!" she shouted back.

Figuring Christopher might be in my father's study, I walked slowly toward it. Low murmurs from the room caught my attention, and my steps slowed, sinking into the thick carpets. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar, a sliver of dim light spilling onto the marble floor like a golden thread. His voice cut through the silence like a blade:

"Boundaries are clear, Halit. Everyone who works for me is either loyal or six feet under."

I froze. His Russian-accented English was sharp, a cold melody that didn't speak - it commanded. There was a power in his voice that could alter a man's fate in an instant. Through the crack in the door, I saw his shadow dominating the room - tall, broad-shouldered, a mountain of a man. His tattooed arms peeked from rolled-up sleeves, each inked line a chapter of a story written in blood and darkness.

My father responded, not with his usual booming voice but with an unfamiliar hesitance. "Aleksei... of course. Not even my family will cross that line, don't worry."

It hit me again: this house wasn't ours. This life wasn't ours. The expensive watch on my father's wrist, the diamond necklace around my mother's throat, the designer bag on Lilith's shoulder, the marble steps beneath my feet - they were all Volkov's gifts. And gifts always came with a price.

"You screwed up, Halit. Why should I give you a chance to fix it?"

His question made me step back. I knew what it meant. Cross Aleksei Volkov, and there was no warning, no heavy price - just your life.

My heart pounded. I could feel my father's panic. "I'd never betray you, Aleksei. It's just a misunderstanding!"

"Pawns don't get to make mistakes," Aleksei said, his voice chilling my blood.

Instinct kicked in. I shoved the door open, and it slammed against the wall. My father's brown eyes widened from behind his desk.

"Layla," he said calmly.

Aleksei didn't turn when the door crashed, but when my father said my name, his gaze shifted over his shoulder. His black eyes found mine, and time stopped. There was no mercy or weakness in those eyes - only raw, unyielding power.

I took a step forward, my heart thundering like a war drum.

Aleksei Volkov didn't just look at me. He saw me. 

And that changed everything.