CHAPTER 1

Alessia Moretti

Los Angeles 5pm

The night air was thick with the scent of Los Angeles—gasoline, asphalt, and a hint of the ocean breeze that never quite reached our part of the city. My heels clicked against the cracked pavement as I made my way up the worn-out steps of our townhouse, exhaustion pressing heavily against my limbs. The weight of the day—a full schedule of classes, an endless group project, and a midterm looming over my head—made the sight of our familiar blue door almost comforting. Almost.

A strange sense of unease curled in my gut as I reached for the handle. Something felt off. The porch light flickered ominously, and the house was eerily silent. Usually, my brother, Luca, would be sprawled on the couch, yelling at some basketball game on TV or complaining about his latest poker hand gone wrong.

Tonight, there was nothing.

A chill ran down my spine.

I pushed open the door, and the scent hit me first—coppery, thick, unmistakable. Blood.

"Luca?" My voice wavered as I stepped inside.

Then I saw him.

Slumped against the wall, his face battered beyond recognition, his once-pristine white shirt now soaked in red. Blood dripped from a gash above his eyebrow, his lip was split open, and deep bruises marred his jawline. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, and his fingers trembled as he gripped his side.

"Oh my God, Luca!" I dropped my bag and rushed to him, falling to my knees, my hands hovering over his injuries, not knowing where to touch, where to start.

He let out a pained groan. “S-stop. Don’t—don’t freak out.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Don't freak out?" I choked, blinking back the tears stinging my eyes. "You're covered in blood, Luca! Who did this to you?"

He exhaled shakily, avoiding my gaze. "It doesn’t matter—"

"Like hell it doesn’t!" I snapped, my panic giving way to anger.

I grabbed his face gently, forcing him to look at me. That’s when I noticed the fear in his eyes—not just from the pain, but something else. Something deeper.

And then, like a puzzle falling into place, realization struck me like a slap to the face.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t just some street fight gone wrong.

"Luca…" My voice turned deadly quiet. "Who did this to you?"

His throat bobbed, hesitation flashing across his face before he finally whispered a name that sent ice through my veins.

"Nikolai Volkov."

I froze. The name alone was enough to make my blood run cold.

Nikolai Volkov. The Bulgarian devil. The man whose very presence turned grown men into cowards. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was lethal, ruthless, and completely untouchable.

And we had a history. A long, bitter history.

For as long as I could remember, the Volkovs and the Morettis had been enemies. A decades-old mafia rivalry fueled by bloodshed, betrayal, and power struggles. But after the mysterious death of my mother, Julia Moretti, an uneasy truce had been established between our families. No more war. No more blood.

Until now.

I stared at my brother in disbelief. “What the hell did you do, Luca?”

He flinched, running a shaky hand through his blood-matted hair. “I—I was trying to win it back, Al. I swear. I thought I had the right hand this time.”

Oh, hell no.

My chest tightened as realization sank in. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I was winning at first—”

"How much?" My voice was barely a whisper now.

Luca swallowed hard.

“Luca. How much did you lose to Nikolai?”

Silence.

The kind of silence that precedes destruction.

Then, finally, his answer came. And it shattered my world.

"Five million dollars."

I nearly lost my balance. My ears rang. My vision blurred at the edges.

Five. Million. Dollars.

“You—” My voice cracked. “You owe five million dollars to the most dangerous man in this city?”

He had the nerve to look ashamed. “I didn’t mean to—”

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped me, hysteria bubbling in my throat. “Didn’t mean to?” My fingers curled into fists. “You’ve lost your damn mind, Luca. We don’t have that kind of money! We—”

A sudden knock at the door made us both freeze.

A knock. Slow. Measured.

My stomach plummeted.

Luca’s breathing turned erratic, his fingers digging into my arm. “Don’t open it,” he whispered. “Alessia, don’t—”

But I was already moving, as if possessed.

I barely registered my own actions as I walked to the door, my pulse roaring in my ears. My trembling fingers gripped the doorknob, and before I could stop myself, I yanked it open.

And there he was.

Nikolai Volkov.

Standing tall under the dim porch light, dressed in a tailored black suit that looked more expensive than my entire college tuition. His sharp features were carved from ice, his steel-blue eyes holding the same deadly amusement they always did whenever he looked at me.

And that damn smirk.

That knowing, infuriating smirk that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Moya Printsessa," he murmured smoothly, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. "It’s been a long time."

My hands clenched. I hated when he called me that. His princess.

"Get the hell off my porch, Volkov."

His chuckle was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. "Now, now, is that any way to greet your future husband?"

My stomach twisted violently.

What.

I barely had time to process his words before he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Your father and I had a little chat," he murmured. "He knows there’s only one way to settle Luca’s debt."

I shoved him back, glaring. "You’re insane if you think—"

Nikolai’s smirk widened. "You have one week, Alessia. One week to accept my proposal… or your family suffers the consequences."

He stepped back, adjusting the cufflinks of his suit like we had just discussed a business deal and not my literal future.

His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

"Choose wisely, Printsessa."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving nothing but the scent of his cologne and the weight of his words suffocating me.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

Because I knew one thing with terrifying certainty.

Nikolai Volkov always got what he wanted.

And this time… he wanted me