Elena Moretti never asked for a life built on blood and power. Born into a family steeped in mafia tradition, she's bound by loyalty and duty, even as she dreams of escaping the violence that suffocates her. But when Victor Volkov walks into her world, everything she thought she knew about family, loyalty, and love is turned upside down. Victor Volkov, heir to the ruthless Volkov empire, wants revenge. The Morettis are responsible for the death of his father, and he's determined to make them pay-even if it means using Elena as a pawn in his game. But the closer he gets to her, the harder it becomes to see her as just a tool for his vengeance. As the lines between love and hate blur, Elena finds herself caught in the middle of a war she never asked for. Betrayal runs deep, and as secrets about her family's past come to light, she's forced to confront truths she never wanted to face. Just when they think they've reached the end of the road, a greater enemy emerges from the shadows-one with a plan that could tear everything they've fought for apart. With Elena's sister, Serafina, in danger, Victor and Elena must put aside their differences and fight back. But even if they win, the question remains: can love survive in a world built on betrayal and bloodshed?
Chapter 1 A Debt in Blood
A Debt in Blood
The night reeked of expensive cologne, burning cigars, and unspoken threats.
Elena Moretti sat stiffly at the grand dining table, surrounded by powerful men who dictated the rules of this world. Her father, Francesco Moretti, sat at the head, his sharp gaze surveying the room like a king overseeing his empire.
Tonight wasn't a celebration.
It was a transaction.
She had known something was wrong when her father called her downstairs in her finest black dress. The kind of dress meant to impress. But when she saw the old man sitting across from her father, the weight of realization hit her like a gunshot to the chest.
Her father's plans had always been about the family. Power. And control. But tonight, it seemed those plans had one personal cost-her freedom.
"Elena," Francesco's voice was cool, the way it always was when he was sealing a deal. "This is Rafael DeLuca, an old friend of the family. We've come to an understanding. It's time you do your part for the family."
Her grip tightened around her wine glass. The room felt suffocating. She forced herself to meet Rafael's gaze-his aged face wrinkled in a permanent frown, eyes gleaming with ambition. He wasn't looking at her with kindness. He was looking at her like a transaction.
She swallowed hard, keeping her voice steady. "I don't understand, Father."
Francesco's eyes darkened. "There's nothing to understand. You'll marry him. It's for the good of the family."
Her throat tightened. A marriage? A marriage to a man she barely knew, someone who looked at her as if she were nothing more than a prize to be won. She had heard whispers of Rafael's name-nothing good, nothing that made her feel safe. He was old. Dangerous. And she wasn't his prize.
Before she could respond, the heavy oak doors swung open with a force that silenced the room.
And then she saw him.
Victor Volkov.
The heir to the Volkov family. A name spoken in hushed tones.
His presence was a storm-dark, powerful, and undeniably dangerous.
Conversations died as his footsteps echoed against the marble floors. His icy blue eyes locked onto hers, sending a chill down her spine.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Rafael muttered under his breath.
Victor stopped a few feet from the table, his expression unreadable.
"Francesco," he greeted, his voice smooth but edged with quiet menace. "I believe you and I have unfinished business."
Her father barely blinked. "This is a private matter, Volkov. Whatever business you think we have, it can wait."
Victor's lips curled into a slow, calculated smirk. "I disagree." His gaze flickered to Elena.
Her pulse spiked.
He wasn't looking at her like a stranger. He was looking at her like a prize already won.
Francesco sighed, exasperated. "I don't have time for games. We've already come to an agreement-"
"With DeLuca?" Victor cut in smoothly. He exhaled a quiet chuckle, but there was nothing amused about it. "See, that's where we have a problem."
Rafael's face reddened, his fingers curling into fists. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Victor's expression turned ice-cold.
"Elena Moretti doesn't belong to you."
Silence.
Her breath hitched. What?
Her father's jaw ticked. "And what makes you think you can interfere in my business?"
Victor reached into his jacket. For a moment, tension crackled in the room-hands twitching toward concealed weapons-but he simply pulled out a folded document and tossed it onto the table.
"Because," he said calmly, "this was signed twenty-two years ago. By you."
Francesco's face darkened as he unfolded the paper. Elena leaned in, heart pounding, as she read the words over her father's shoulder.
A blood contract.
Her father's signature. The Moretti family owed the Volkovs a life debt.
Her life.
Rafael slammed his fist against the table. "This is bullshit!"
Victor didn't even glance at him. "Elena was promised to the Volkov family before she was born. This contract states that when the time came, she would be given to us in repayment of your debt." He tilted his head, gaze pinning Francesco. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to settle this another way."
Her father's silence was enough.
Her stomach churned. "You can't be serious," she whispered.
Victor's gaze met hers. "Deadly."
Her heart thundered. She wasn't a person to them. She was leverage. A pawn in their bloody chessboard.
"No," she snapped, standing abruptly. "I don't belong to anyone. Least of all you."
Victor arched a brow. "I don't recall giving you a choice."
Before she could protest, gunfire erupted outside.
Shouting. Chaos. A man burst into the room, blood seeping from his shoulder.
"Boss!" he gasped. "They found us-"
Another gunshot. The man collapsed.
Elena barely had time to react before Victor was suddenly in front of her, gripping her wrist like iron.
"We're leaving," he ordered.
Her father stood, reaching for his gun, but Victor's men were already moving, surrounding the room like shadows.
"Elena stays," Francesco growled.
Victor smirked. "She's not yours to keep."
He pulled her forward. She struggled, panic clawing at her throat.
"I'm not going with you!"
Victor leaned in, his voice a quiet promise. "You already are."
Then-
A sharp sting at her neck.
Darkness blurred her vision.
The last thing she saw was Victor's cold, unreadable expression as she collapsed against his chest.
And then-blackness.
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