Throne 1

The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor was the only thing keeping me grounded as I walked into the dimly lit nightclub. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, spilled whiskey, and the unmistakable tension that always came with a gathering of men who thought they owned the world. The Volkov Club was one of the Bratva’s safe havens in New York—a place where deals were made, alliances were broken, and people disappeared without a trace.

I had spent years in places like this, moving like a shadow between dangerous men, learning how to survive. Some of them underestimated me, mistaking my carefully chosen red dress and soft curls as a sign of weakness. But that was their first mistake. I had built my reputation not on seduction, but on strategy, patience, and knowing when to strike.

Tonight was no different.

I was here to meet with the DeLucas.

The very name made my blood run hot with rage.

For years, I had believed the story passed down to me—that my parents had been murdered in a random act of violence, gunned down in the streets when I was just a child. It wasn’t until recently that I had learned the truth. The DeLucas had ordered their deaths. They had ripped my family apart, left me orphaned, and I had spent my entire life clawing my way through the ranks of the Bratva to make sure I would never be powerless again.

Revenge had become my purpose. And now, I was close.

I scanned the room, my gaze cutting through the haze of smoke and low lighting, searching for my contact. My eyes landed on a group of men in tailored suits sitting in the VIP section. Lorenzo DeLuca sat at the center, relaxed but aware, his dark eyes sweeping the room like a king surveying his kingdom. Next to him was his younger brother, Antonio, nursing a glass of whiskey with an easy smirk. They were powerful, connected, and utterly ruthless.

I straightened my shoulders and approached.

“Ah, Miss Ivanova,” Lorenzo said smoothly, standing as I reached their table. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

His words were polite, but his eyes gave away his true thoughts. He was trying to size me up, trying to decide if I was a threat or just another pretty face with a gun.

I gave him a small, knowing smile. “Likewise, Mr. DeLuca.”

Antonio motioned to the empty seat across from them. “Join us. Let’s talk business.”

I slid into the seat, crossing my legs, making sure to look perfectly at ease. In this world, showing nerves was as good as bleeding in shark-infested waters.

“I understand you’re looking for a new supplier,” I said, cutting straight to the point. “I have what you need. But first, let’s be clear on the terms.”

Lorenzo smirked, leaning back in his chair. “I like a woman who gets down to business.”

I kept my expression neutral. I wasn’t here for his approval.

“We need to move a large shipment of weapons across the East Coast,” Antonio said. “The Bratva has the resources. We have the buyers.”

“And I assume you’re expecting a smooth transaction?” I arched a brow.

Lorenzo chuckled. “Naturally. No unnecessary complications.”

I gave him a slow nod, pretending to consider his words. In reality, I had already made up my mind. I would let them think they had the upper hand. I would play their game. But in the end, I would be the one standing when the dust settled.

Before I could respond, a movement caught my eye from across the room. A man had just entered the club, dressed in a sharp black suit, his dark hair neatly styled, his presence demanding attention without him even trying.

Nico Moretti.

I felt my stomach tighten, though I kept my expression unreadable.

I had heard the stories about him—the Moretti family’s enforcer, a man known for his deadly precision and unwavering loyalty to his father. But there was something about him that set him apart from other mafia men. He wasn’t just another soldier. He was a strategist, a shadow in the dark, always three steps ahead.

And right now, he was watching me.

Our eyes met across the room, and for a brief second, I felt a strange pull—something dangerous, something electric. But I forced myself to look away.

I turned my attention back to the DeLucas. “I’ll need to review the logistics before agreeing to anything. I don’t work with amateurs.”

Lorenzo chuckled, but there was an edge to his amusement. “We wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Antonio leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You’ll find that working with us has... benefits.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not interested in benefits. Only results.”

Before either of them could respond, a new voice cut in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

I knew who it was before I even looked up.

Nico Moretti had arrived at our table, his expression unreadable, his presence shifting the energy in the room. He was composed, confident, and impossibly calm—as if he already knew exactly how this night would end.

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he masked it well. “Moretti.”

“DeLuca,” Nico replied smoothly before turning his gaze to me. “Miss Ivanova, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

He extended his hand.

I hesitated for just a fraction of a second before taking it. His grip was firm, his skin warm against mine.

“Sophia Ivanova,” I said evenly.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me as if he were looking for something beneath the surface. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I arched a brow. “Good things, I hope.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “That depends on who you ask.”

Lorenzo cleared his throat. “We were in the middle of something, Moretti.”

Nico didn’t look away from me. “So was I.”

The tension between them was subtle but undeniable. The Morettis and DeLucas had never been friends, only reluctant allies when it benefited them. But that alliance had been cracking, and I had a feeling Nico Moretti wasn’t here for small talk.

He finally turned back to Lorenzo, his smirk fading. “I wanted to personally deliver a message from my family.”

Lorenzo’s expression hardened. “And what message is that?”

Nico leaned down, placing both hands on the table, his voice calm but laced with something lethal.

“Stay out of our way.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

For the first time that night, Lorenzo looked genuinely unsettled.

Nico straightened, his gaze flicking to me one last time before he turned to leave.

And just like that, he was gone.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to appear unaffected. But something had shifted in that moment.

Nico Moretti wasn’t just another player in this game.

He was a storm on the horizon.

And I had a feeling he was coming for more than just the DeLucas.