God Of Crimson : A Mafia Deal Sealed in Sin

Boundaries Blurred

Nikita Volkov
Nikita rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling, still buzzing from yesterday's showdown with Sofia. A slight smirk tugged at her lips as she replayed the way Sofia's face fell when Nikolai chose her—publicly, confidently. But even with that victory, a strange unease lingered.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. A message from her father. Family dinner tonight. Bring Nikolai.

Nikita sat up, groaning. Of course her father would demand a "family dinner." In their world, "family" was just another way of saying "business." She could already imagine the stiff formalities, the unspoken threats... and her father scrutinizing Nikolai.

Just then, Nikolai walked in, his hair tousled and casual, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and a cocky grin. She couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation—and attraction—at how effortlessly good he looked.

"Morning, Volkov," he drawled, pouring himself a coffee. "You look like you're planning a heist."

She waved her phone at him. "Family dinner. My father wants us there tonight."

He raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. "Can't wait for the warm welcome."

"Oh, it'll be warm all right," she replied with a smirk. "My father loves testing people. He'll probably drill you on business, expect you to confess your deepest secrets, then politely threaten you with a smile."

He smirked, unbothered. "Sounds like a typical Thursday."

That Evening – The Volkov Estate

Arriving at the Volkov estate was like stepping into a palace. The grandiose entrance, the sprawling grounds, the guards watching from every corner—it was a reminder of the weight her family name carried. But tonight, she had a silent ally by her side, even if they both barely acknowledged it.

As they entered, her father approached, offering a formal nod to Nikolai. "Russo," he greeted, his tone as cold as the iced vodka on the table. "I trust my daughter's been a... manageable partner?"

Nikolai gave a smooth smile, his voice steady. "More than manageable, Mr. Volkov. Your daughter is formidable." He looked sideways at Nikita, his eyes glinting with mischief. "She's kept me on my toes."

Her father's gaze flicked to her, as if assessing her reaction. "That's what I like to hear," he replied, though the look he gave Nikita was anything but fatherly. "Sit. Let's talk business."

The rest of the dinner was tense. Her father questioned Nikolai relentlessly, probing into his family's wealth, his alliances, and his future plans, all under the guise of "small talk." Nikita felt herself bristle each time her father threw a subtle jab, but Nikolai responded with smooth indifference, never giving an inch. She had to admit—watching him hold his own was oddly satisfying.

Just when she thought the evening would end without incident, her father leaned forward, his gaze hard. "You know, Nikolai, family is everything. I expect loyalty. Integrity. I don't tolerate betrayal."

Nikolai met his gaze, unfazed. "Funny," he replied smoothly. "I was about to say the same thing."

The air grew tense, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the room. Her father's mouth tightened, but before he could respond, Nikita placed a hand on Nikolai's arm, a silent warning to keep his cool.

The dinner ended with barely concealed hostility, and as soon as they were outside, Nikita let out a sigh. "That went... as expected."

Nikolai shrugged, unbothered. "You warned me."

Nikita chuckled. "He likes you more than I thought. He didn't actually threaten you with bodily harm."

"Yet," Nikolai added, shooting her a playful glance.