The Volkovs

The dress burned against my skin.

White. Pure. A lie stitched into silk.

The door opened, and the air changed.

Zade Volkov stepped in like he owned the room, the world, me. His eyes dragged over me without warmth, without awe-only calculation.

"So this is what Ferrero gives me," he said coldly.

I laughed, sharp. "Disappointed? I'd be insulted if you weren't."

His jaw tightened. "Don't confuse this for choice. You exist here because I allow it."

"I exist," I snapped, stepping toward him, "because you couldn't break me any other way."

A flicker of anger crossed his face. "Careful."

"Or what?" I hissed. "You'll threaten my family again? That's all you are-violence dressed in a suit."

He moved closer, towering, voice low and venomous. "And you're nothing but a defiant little mistake I'm legally chaining to myself."

"I'd rather die than belong to you."

He leaned in, breath cold at my ear. "Then behave," he whispered, "or I'll make sure the people you love wish you had."

My nails dug into my palms. "Touch them," I said, shaking with rage, "and I swear I'll destroy you."

His lips curved, cruel. "I look forward to watching you try."

A knock cut through the tension.

Zade straightened, mask snapping back into place. "Smile," he ordered. "The world is waiting."

I met his gaze, pure hatred blazing.

"This marriage won't end you," I said. "But I will."

His answer was quiet. Certain.

"Not if I end you first."

--
Aria Diaz feared nothing. At twenty-two, she was known for walking into rooms where men trembled-not because of her beauty, but because of the fire in her eyes. Darkness, threats, even death meant nothing to her.

Then there was Zade Volkov.

He wasn't a man but a monster-a mafia boss forged in blood and control. Cold, precise, and merciless, his name alone made the underworld shudder.

When Aria Diaz was forced into an arranged marriage with Zade Volkov, , two forces built on fire and blood collided- and the world would burn.