Matteo, Leonardo, and Alessandro, the powerful owners of De Angeli Enterprises, are in their early thirties and have built a fearsome reputation worldwide. Known for their ruthlessness and ambition, these men have amassed wealth and influence by tak...
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It had been two months since Yulia's feet touched Russian soil, and the adjustment had been... complicated. The flight had been long and lonely, made even more so by the absence of the men she had come to care so deeply for. She knew the separation was necessary, that there was some agreement between Alessandro and someone in Moscow that kept her heavily guarded. Security surrounded her constantly, though it wasn't entirely unwelcome. She had even befriended one of them—Viktor. He was the only person who truly helped her navigate the sprawling city of Moscow, its towering buildings, and its cold streets.
Her attempts at Russian were met with mixed success. The language felt foreign on her tongue, and while she had made some progress, fluency was still far off. Italian haunted her as well. The language was tied too closely to memories of Alessandro, Leonardo, and Matteo—memories she had been trying desperately to bury. Every time she stumbled over a Russian word, she was reminded of how she had struggled to communicate with them, to understand their world, their language, their way of life. But thinking about that was too painful, so she tried to push it aside, burying herself in the life she had built here in Russia.
The men had been less than pleased when she'd decided to go through with her plan and leave for Russia despite the intimate moment they had shared that morning. She could still remember the look in Matteo's eyes, the tension in Leonardo's jaw, and the way Alessandro had barely spoken. They hadn't wanted her to go, but she had made a decision. She had needed space, and Russia had been the answer.
But space had come with a cost.
She hadn't heard from any of them since. Not a single call, not even a message. The silence was deafening, and though she knew it was what she had asked for, the emptiness left behind by their absence was harder to ignore than she had anticipated. All she knew of their lives now came from tabloids and gossip magazines—snippets of their lives that only made the ache in her chest more profound.
Yulia missed them. She missed their warmth, their teasing, the way they made her feel alive in a way no one else ever had. But she also knew, deep down, that this distance was for the best. There was too much danger in their world, too many risks. And even though it hurt, this separation was what had to happen.
It was better this way... or at least that's what she kept telling herself.
Viktor walked into the room, his usual calm demeanor masked by the black suit he wore for the evening, this time paired with a matching mask for the masquerade ball they were attending. Yulia, already dressed in the stunning red gown that had appeared on her bed the morning after she had casually mentioned the ball to Viktor, turned to face him, excitement lighting up her features. She had never been to a ball before, many events, but never a ball and despite everything that had happened over the past two months, the idea of attending this one filled her with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.
"You look great, дорогая,(darling)" Viktor said with a smile, his Russian endearment making Yulia's heart feel a little lighter. She smiled back, whispering a quiet thank you as she took his hand, allowing him to lead her toward the car.
