Ruthless Hearts

A Deal Wit

r Inside Nikolai Petrov's Home* Mr. Luciano Volkov is in the home of Nikolai Petrov's family father. Mr Nikolai a former employee of Luciano's father betrayed the family of Volkov and sold them off to the rival which got one of Luciano's best friends killed. Luciano Volkov has come to serve justice in his own way. Luciano's grand entrance to Mr Nikolai's home is more than that of a prince. The first to step out was his men-tall, broad, and clad in dark suits, each one exuding an aura of quiet menace. Their movements were calculated, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential threat. They weren't just bodyguards; they were enforcers, men who had seen blood and spilled it without hesitation. Then, Luciano emerged. He stepped out of the car with the kind of controlled grace that came naturally to a man who never needed to rush. The cold evening air did nothing to dull the authority radiating from him. Dressed in a tailored black suit that fit his powerful frame perfectly, he adjusted the cuffs of his pristine white shirt as he surveyed the house with an unreadable expression. Without a word, he walked forward, his footsteps firm but unhurried, as if he already owned the place. His men flanked him, following closely behind with a silent, disciplined presence that only heightened the tension. Inside, Mr. Nikolai had been pacing, his hands clammy, knowing this moment was inevitable. The second the door swung open, he stopped in his tracks. His wife let out a small, shaky breath, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. Luciano entered without hesitation, his presence consuming the room. He didn't have to raise his voice. He didn't have to make a grand statement. The sheer force of his existence was enough to make everyone feel the suffocating weight of power. His cold blue eyes flicked toward Nikolai, unimpressed, detached. Then, with the ease of a man who had done this a hundred times before, he sank into the nearest chair, his posture both relaxed and commanding. His men took their positions around the room, standing like silent sentinels. For a moment, he said nothing. He merely observed. The quiet stretched long enough for the tension to grow unbearable before he finally spoke. "You know why I'm here." His voice was low and smooth, but laced with something that sent a shiver down Nikolai's spine. Still in the middle of their discussion, Camille stepped through the door, her eyes locked on a man standing in the middle of the living room. Tall. Broad shoulders. Power radiated from his very stance. His tailored black suit fit his muscular frame perfectly, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the hard chest beneath. His hair was sleek and neatly styled, his sharp jawline shadowed with a hint of stubble. And his eyes. Piercing, icy blue. Like a predator watching its prey. Camille felt her breath hitch as she took him in. She had never seen a man like him before-so effortlessly intimidating, so cruelly handsome. Then, her gaze-almost against her will-drifted downward. Valeria's ridiculous superstition echoed in her head. Big feet mean big... Her cheeks burned as she realized what she was doing and snapped out of it, shaking herself. This wasn't the time to gawk. The air was thick with tension. Her father stood stiffly near the stairs, his face pale. Her mother sat quietly on the couch, her hands gripping each other so tightly they trembled. The men surrounding him were just as imposing, as their black suits and unreadable expressions made them look more like shadows than people. Luciano turned slightly, his gaze flicking to her brief, indifferent. And yet, in that split second, her skin prickled, as if she had stepped too close to an open flame. Luciano exhaled slowly as if growing bored of the entire situation. He stood up, the slow, deliberate motion of his rise commanding everyone's attention. His presence had already filled the room, but now, as he moved, it became suffocating. Nikolai Petrov remained frozen, his breathing shallow, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair. He knew what was coming. Luciano adjusted the cuff of his pristine black suit, his expression cold and unreadable. Then, he turned his piercing blue eyes on Nikolai for the final time that night. "You have until dawn," his voice was calm, but the weight of his words sent a chill through the air. A heavy silence followed the unspoken threat settling deep into the bones of everyone in the room. No one doubted what he meant-there would be no second warning. With that, he stepped away, walking toward the do