Ruthless Hearts

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the priest announced. Neither of them wanted this. At least not Camille. Their lips met a brief, emotionless press-except for the lingering tension that neither acknowledged. Luciano noticed one thing: her lips were soft. That was all. Then, it was over. Camilie Petrov was now Camilie Volkov. The wedding reception was nothing short of grandeur, a display of wealth and power that screamed the influence of the Volkov name. The grand hall was an architectural masterpiece, with towering crystal chandeliers casting a golden glow over the vast space. The ceiling was adorned with intricate fresco paintings, reminiscent of a royal palace, while the marble floors reflected the shimmering lights like a mirror. Every corner of the room exuded opulence, from the velvet drapes that cascaded down the walls to the gold-trimmed columns that added an air of regality. The tables were covered in ivory silk, each set with the finest porcelain plates and gold-plated cutlery. A centerpiece of red and white roses, intertwined with golden branches, stood elegantly in the middle of each table, filling the air with a sweet floral fragrance. Crystal glasses sparkled under the warm lights, filled with the most expensive wines imported from across the world. A live orchestra played a soft, elegant melody in the background, the sound of violins blending harmoniously with the low hum of conversation. The guests, a mix of the most powerful figures in Russia, were dressed in their finest attire-women in breathtaking designer gowns, men in tailored suits, each one exuding an aura of dominance and prestige. The dance floor in the center of the hall was polished to perfection, reflecting the golden glow of the chandeliers above. A grand cake, standing at nearly six tiers, was placed near the couple's table, adorned with intricate sugar flowers and gold embellishments. And at the heart of it all, Camille sat beside Luciano at the head table, forced to endure the night as guests came forward to congratulate them, offering their well-wishes with hidden agendas behind their smiles. It was more than just a wedding reception; it was a gathering of power, a silent game of alliances and rivalries hidden beneath the illusion of celebration. And then, the air shifted. The doors opened, and a presence entered that commanded attention. Mr. Vladimir, a deadly mafia boss. He had not been invited. He had come anyway. Walking beside him, holding onto his arm, was a woman who exuded the same dominance. His daughter-Elena Vladimir She was beautiful and dangerous. Men feared her, but not because of her father. No-Elena had carved her reputation in blood. Luciano noticed them instantly. He stiffened. Then, he did something that caught Camilie off guard. He wrapped an arm around her waist. Camilie instinctively flinched, but as she saw Vladimir and Elena approaching, she understood. She allowed it. "Luciano, my son," Vladimir greeted, his voice smooth, and calculated. Luciano shook his hand firmly, his face unreadable. Camille greeted Vladimir, traditionally, and they kissed on both cheeks. Elena smiled at her long time cruch, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks. "Luciano," she purred. Camilie expected the same greeting. It never came. Elena ignored her completely. Camilie clenched her teeth. The audacity. But before she could react, Vladimir's voice filled the air again. "Happy married life." His eyes flicked to Camilie for the briefest second before returning to Luciano. "I must say, your bride is... surprising." Luciano smirked, his grip tightening slightly on Camilie's waist. "She is full of surprises." The tension was thick between the four of them. Then Vladimir asked the question that changed everything. "Where is your father? I have not seen him." Luciano's smirk didn't fade. "He's here." And then, as if summoned by the devil himself, the infamous Mr. Volkov entered. The moment he stepped into the room, the air shifted. Fear spread like wildfire. People stilled. Conversations died. He walked with the c