BOUND TO THE RUTHLESS DON

THE PRICE OF A KISS

The echoes of the Moretti ball clung to the house like stubborn perfume, sweet, heavy, suffocating. The chandeliers still glittered, though most candles had burned to stubs. Servants moved in hushed urgency, clearing champagne flutes, sweeping away shattered glass, gathering roses that had wilted before dawn. What had dazzled only hours ago now seemed haunted, laughter and music curdled into whispers too sharp to ignore.

The glamour was gone. What remained was a mask stripped of charm, exposing the rot beneath.

Inside her chamber, Serena lay wide awake. Sleep had eluded her; rest mocked her. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him again, the heat of his hand, the roughness of his mouth against hers, the dangerous weight of his gaze. Dominic Volkov. The Russian Don. A man spoken of in hushed tones, whose name alone could empty rooms. Men disappeared at his command. Empires crumbled at his whim. He was not a guest. He was a storm in human form.

And yet, against all reason, she had kissed him back.

Her heart stuttered at the memory. Shame tangled with something far more dangerous, something she dared not name.

She pressed her palms to her burning face. Why him? Why now?

A soft knock broke the spiral.

“Serena?” Elena’s voice, gentle but insistent. The door creaked open before Serena could reply, and her friend slipped inside. Elena’s dark hair was tied loosely, her nightdress wrinkled, her eyes clouded with both sleep and worry.

“I need to ask you something.”

Serena sat up, dread prickling her skin. “What is it?”

Elena hesitated, wringing her hands until her knuckles paled. “Last night… I saw something. I saw Volkov on the balcony. And minutes later, you came out too.” Her gaze sharpened, searching. “Serena, what happened?”

Serena’s breath caught. Images assaulted her: the hunger in his stare, the way he tilted her chin like she was already his. She whispered, barely audible, “He kissed me.”

Elena gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “Dominic Volkov?” She shook her head, horrified. “Serena, do you know who he is? Men vanish when he wills it. Families collapse overnight. He isn’t just dangerous, he is untouchable. And you—” Her voice broke. “God, Serena, you kissed him?”

Tears pricked Serena’s eyes. “I didn’t plan it. I couldn’t stop it. When he looked at me, Elena, it was like…” Her voice trembled. “Like I no longer belonged to myself.”

Elena’s panic softened into pity, but fear lingered sharp in her eyes. “If Isabella or Camilla find out—”

The door burst open.

Maria entered, balancing a silver tray laden with buttered bread, tea, and a bowl of ripe figs. The scent of warmth and comfort spilled into the room, though the tension in the air dimmed her cheer. Her smile faltered when she saw Serena’s red eyes. She said nothing, only set the tray down and smoothed a hand gently over Serena’s hair.

“You should eat something,” Maria murmured.

But Serena had barely touched the tray before a shrill cry sliced through the house, echoing against marble and glass.

“Serena!” Isabella’s voice, sharp as a blade. “Come here. Now!”

The blood drained from Serena’s face. Elena stiffened. Maria set her jaw, muttering, “Stay calm. Don’t give her more reason to get angry.”

But Serena’s heart already knew the truth.

She rose slowly, each step down the staircase heavy as lead, Maria and Elena trailing like shadows behind her.

At the bottom of the grand staircase stood Isabella, her crimson morning robe pooling like spilled wine across the marble. Her face was carved in fury, eyes blazing, lips thin with disgust. Beside her stood Camilla, arms folded, lips curved into a triumphant smirk.

“Do you want to explain this?” Isabella’s tone sliced through the silence. “Camilla tells me she saw you on the balcony. With Dominic Volkov. She says he kissed you.”

Serena froze, blood roaring in her ears.

“Do you know what damage you’ve done?” Isabella continued, each word sharp as broken glass. “Do you want the world to think we tried to ensnare him in scandal? To cheapen ourselves in his eyes?”

“I—I didn’t—”

The slap came fast, ringing through the hall like gunfire. Serena reeled, cheek blazing. Camilla’s smirk widened, satisfaction dripping from her expression.

“You shameless girl,” Isabella hissed, venom dripping from every word. “Risking everything your father built for a moment’s attention?”

“I didn’t seduce him!” Serena cried, voice breaking. “He—”

“Silence.” Isabella’s command cracked like a whip. “You disgrace us with every word.” She turned, her voice sharp. “Adrian.”

Her father stepped from his study, a towering figure in a tailored suit, his expression carved in stone. His cold gaze swept across the scene, his wife’s fury, his daughter’s trembling form, as though he weighed them all on invisible scales.

“Your daughter,” Isabella said icily, “was seen with Volkov. If word spreads, he’ll think we’re scheming to trap him. His investment will vanish.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “What do you suggest?”

“Send her away,” Camilla offered sweetly. “Or better yet, marry her off. Quickly. Before this festers.”

Adrian’s silence was heavier than rage. He studied Serena, his eyes devoid of warmth, then finally spoke. “I know a man whose son has shown interest in her. I’ll speak to him today. The alliance will be fixed as soon as possible.”

Serena’s world shattered. “No!” she screamed, collapsing to her knees. “Please, Father, don’t do this. Not like this!”

Elena rushed forward, pleading desperately. “Sir, she’s too young, she isn’t ready—”

He shoved her aside with a glare that silenced her.

Maria darted forward, clutching Serena’s hand. “Please, sir—”

His hand lashed out, striking Maria across the face. She stumbled but refused to let go of Serena.

“Enough!” Adrian roared. “It is decided.” He turned and strode away, his word final as stone.

The hall fell silent except for Serena’s sobs. She crumpled into Maria’s arms, shaking violently. “If my mother were alive, she’d never allow this. Why did she have to leave me with them?”

Maria’s own tears slipped free. She kissed the top of Serena’s head, whispering fiercely, “We’ll find a way. I swear it. You will not face this alone.”

But even promises felt fragile against the cruelty of fate.

By dusk, Isabella entered Serena’s chamber like a queen delivering a decree. “The alliance is fixed. Tomorrow you will be engaged. Try not to disgrace us further.” She left with the click of her heels, each step a nail sealing Serena’s coffin.

Serena sat frozen, numb, staring at nothing. Tomorrow. Her freedom ended tomorrow.

She pressed her forehead against the window, gazing out at the endless night. Mother, please, she prayed silently. If you can hear me, do not let them marry me off. But the stars gave no answer, and the silence of the house pressed in like a tomb.

Far across the city, shadows pooled inside Dominic Volkov’s study. The air was thick with smoke and vodka, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock. He sat behind his mahogany desk, a predator at rest, though his rest was anything but still. The untouched vodka at his elbow glimmered beneath the dim lamp, his knuckles drumming against the wood.

His mind circled one name.

“Boss.”

Luca entered cautiously, the door closing behind him. He was not a man easily unsettled, but even he tread lightly here. “News just came in. The Morettis are arranging Serena’s engagement. Tomorrow.”

The glass in Dominic’s hand shattered. Shards glittered across the floor like frozen tears. He didn’t flinch; blood dotted his palm, but he ignored it, eyes burning with lethal fire.

“She is mine,” he growled, his voice low, dangerous. “Do they think they can sell her off like cattle?”

Luca hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You could… ask for her hand formally. Avoid bloodshed. It would be cleaner.”

Dominic’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. “I don’t ask. I take.” He rose, his towering frame throwing shadows across the walls. “The only man who will touch Serena Moretti…” His lips curved into a deadly smile. “…will be a corpse.”

He paced to the window, looking out at the sprawl of the city, the empire he owned piece by piece. His reflection stared back—cold eyes, bloodied knuckles, a man who had never been denied.

“From the moment I saw her,” he whispered, more to himself than to Luca, “she was mine. The Morettis don’t know it yet, but her fate is already sealed.”

Luca swallowed. He had seen Dominic claim territories, destroy rivals, tear empires apart. But this was different. This wasn’t business. This was an obsession.

Dominic’s gaze darkened, a vow etched into his soul. “They thought I came to invest in their empire.” He turned from the window, eyes blazing. “They were wrong. I came to end them. And now, I’ll also destroy whoever wants to take her from me.”

The words lingered in the air like a death sentence.