BOUND TO THE RUTHLESS DON

The chandeliers blazed above the Moretti ballroom, spilling gold across silk gowns, polished marble, and the greedy eyes of Milan’s elite. The Moretti's had spared no expense. This was not merely a party, it was a proclamation: We are still powerful. Still untouchable. At the center of it all stood Adrian Moretti, the patriarch. His silver hair gleamed beneath the lights, his suit pressed with military precision, his laugh too loud, too hollow. A man who had clawed his way from nothing, yet beneath the charm, rot clung to him like a second skin. Every smile was a transaction, every handshake a promise he would break the moment it suited him. At his side glided Isabella Moretti, his second wife. A vision of icy beauty, her gown shimmered like frost beneath the chandeliers. Her hand rested lightly on Adrian’s arm, but her eyes were elsewhere, sharp, calculating, always measuring the room as though it were hers to conquer. And then there was Camilla Moretti, Isabella’s daughter from her first marriage. Twenty years old and already a master of admiration. Men hovered around her like moths to flame, and Camilla basked in it. She laughed too easily, leaned in too close, every gesture polished and deliberate. She was her mother’s creation: ambitious, gleaming, untouchable. And apart from them all sat Serena Moretti. She did not stand at the center of the room nor compete for attention like her stepsister. Instead, she lingered at the edges, a guest in her own home. Her black silk gown clung to her slender frame, elegant but understated. She had her late mother’s beauty, softer, quieter, the kind that revealed itself only in unguarded moments: the tilt of her head, the depth of her gaze, the curve of her lips when she allowed herself to smile. But Serena was not smiling tonight. Her hands rested in her lap, her gaze fixed on the chandeliers as though they belonged to another world entirely. A world she might have belonged to once, before her mother died, before her father remarried, before she learned what it meant to live unseen in her own house. “Serena.” The voice pulled her from her thoughts. Maria Rossi stood before her, a smile softening the years etched around her eyes. Maria had raised her more than Adrian ever had, the nurse who soothed her nightmares, the steady presence when her world collapsed. Beside her was Elena, Maria’s daughter and Serena’s truest friend. Elena glowed in a modest green dress, her dark curls framing a face lit with warmth and loyalty. “You look beautiful,” Maria said gently, straightening the strap of Serena’s gown as if Isabella hadn’t already spent an hour criticizing it. Serena’s lips curved faintly. “Thank you. You’re the only one who thinks so.” “Not the only one,” Elena teased, her eyes sparkling. “Half the men here just can’t see past Camilla sucking the air out of the room.” Serena’s gaze flicked to her stepsister, radiant at the ballroom’s center. “That’s fine with me.” Maria squeezed her hand. “You deserve to be seen, Serena. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.” But Serena already knew the truth. She wasn’t meant to be seen, not by her father, not by Isabella. When Adrian’s eyes swept the crowd, they slid right over her like smoke. She was nothing more than a shadow of the woman he could never forgive. her mother. The thought cut deep. She could still hear her mother’s laugh, soft and musical, stolen far too soon. Illness had claimed her, leaving Serena in a house where affection was a currency no one spent on her. “Don’t brood,” Elena murmured, tugging her gently. “At least have some champagne.” “I don’t want to.” “You never want to.” Elena rolled her eyes, smiling, forever coaxing light into Serena’s shadows. Maria patted her arm. “We’ll let you breathe. But remember, your mother would want you to live, not hide.” They melted back into the crowd, leaving Serena once again in her solitude. And that was when the air changed. A ripple swept the room, subtle at first, then undeniable. Conversations faltered. Heads turned toward the entrance. Even the music, though it did not stop, seemed to dim beneath the weight of presence. Serena followed their gaze. And her breath caught. Dominic Volkov. The Russian Don. His name was an empire of whispers, blood, betrayal, power stretching across borders. A man draped in shadows, feared and revered in equal measure. He entered the ballroom like he owned it. Tall, broad-shouldered, his black suit cut with ruthless precision. He did not demand attention. Attention bent to him. At his shoulder walked Luca Ivanov, silent and lethal, his reputation sharp as the blade many believed he always carried. Adrian hurried forward, his polished mask faltering only for a second before he forced it back into place. He greeted Dominic with a wide smile, a politician’s handshake. Dominic accepted it with the detached indulgence of a predator entertaining prey. Serena noticed Isabella straighten, Camilla’s cheeks flush. The Moretti's wanted him, their wealth, their power, their name bound to his. But Dominic Volkov had not come as an ally. He had come as an executioner. He despised the Moretti's: their arrogance, their hypocrisy, their empire rotting beneath its gilded facade. Adrian’s debts stretched further than his lies. Isabella clawed for status like a vulture. Camilla paraded her charms like a prize. Weak. Fragile. Perfect for ruin. But none of that mattered the moment he saw her. Not Camilla, preening under his gaze. Not Isabella, glittering with ambition. Not Adrian, still clasping his hand. Her. Serena. She sat apart, her silence a quiet rebellion, her loneliness worn like armor. And something inside Dominic shifted. Something he thought long dead. He had come to destroy the Moretti's. Instead, he found the one thing he hadn’t known he was searching for. His. Serena felt it before she even saw him, a prickle on her skin, a heaviness in the air. She looked up and collided with eyes dark as midnight, sharp as steel. He was staring at her. Not politely. Not casually. He looked at her the way a starving man looks at food. Her breath caught. She turned away, pulse stuttering. But it was too late. He had already marked her. The music swelled. Laughter resumed. The night carried on. But Serena’s world tilted. Because Dominic Volkov had noticed her. Minutes later, chest tight, lungs starved for air, she slipped through the crowd unseen and escaped onto the balcony above the gardens. The night air was crisp, a balm against her skin. She leaned against the stone balustrade, closing her eyes. Finally, silence. “Running away?” Her eyes flew open. He was there. Closer now. Taller. More dangerous than any whisper could capture. Shadows clung to him as though the night itself obeyed him. “I needed air,” she managed, forcing her voice steady. He stepped nearer, not enough to touch, but close enough to unravel her heartbeat. “Crowds don’t suit you.” Her breath hitched. “You’ve been watching me.” “Yes.” No apology. No pretense. Just the truth. Her fingers curled against the stone railing. “Who are you?” “Dominic Volkov.” The name made her lips part. She had heard it, of course. Everyone had. “The Don.” A faint curve touched his mouth. Not a smile. A warning. “And you?” “Serena… Serena Moretti.” Recognition sharpened his gaze. Adrian’s daughter. The unwanted one. The shadow. But she was nothing like them. Nothing at all. “What do you want from me?” she whispered. He should have left. Pursued Camilla. Used her to crush the Moretti's. That had been the plan. Instead, he reached for her chin, tilting her face toward him. “I haven’t decided yet.” Her breath trembled. She should have pulled away. She didn’t. His gaze lingered on her mouth, and then, without hesitation, he lowered his lips to hers. It was not tender. It was a claim. Serena froze, shock flooding her veins. She jerked back, hand pressed to her lips. “You—” Words failed. Dominic’s eyes darkened. Hunger, possession, certainty. He had tasted her, and now he knew with ruthless clarity: he would never let her go. She stumbled back, whispering, “I don’t understand what just happened. I don’t want to.” She turned away, desperate to steady herself. But in the shadows near the balcony door, another figure lingered. Camilla. Her silhouette glowed against the ballroom light, eyes wide with the gleam of secrets ready to be weaponized. Dominic didn’t notice. His gaze was still fixed on Serena. He had come to ruin the Moretti's. Now, he would ruin anyone who dared stand between him and the girl who had stolen his restraint. And Serena Moretti would never be invisible again.