chapter four
687 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
The Devils Arrive
The grand hall glittered beneath the warm glow of enormous chandeliers.
Every pillar was carved with intricate designs, each one carrying traces of Russian history. Antique sculptures stood between the marble walls, priceless paintings decorated the corridors, and every detail of the hall screamed wealth and power.
The finest Russian cuisine had been arranged across endless tables.
Violins played a smooth melody in the background while a pianist accompanied them with a calm rhythm.
To the public, it was simply an extravagant ball organized under the name of a political party.
But behind the polished smiles, expensive clothes, and flashing cameras…
The truth was far darker.
This wasn't merely a party.
It was a gathering of people who controlled businesses, politics, influence—and sometimes, things far beyond the law.
The media moved around the hall, capturing photographs of every prominent business and political family for their channels and PR.
Then the grand doors opened.
The conversations around the hall gradually faded.
Heads turned.
And the Volkov family stepped inside.
Every member dressed in black.
Dark.
Elegant.
Powerful.
Dante Volkov walked at the front, dressed in black trousers and a perfectly tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt underneath.
Behind him came Killian Volkov, dressed in a black shirt and black trousers.
Leo Volkov and Lucas Volkov followed, both dressed entirely in black.
Elisha Volkov wore an elegant black gown.
Malyshka Volkov walked beside Dimitry Volkov, dressed in a sophisticated black gown, while Dimitry wore a black coat and trousers.
Their footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
Slow.
Steady.
Controlled.
Every step carried a level of power and dominance that couldn't be ignored.
People moved aside without being asked.
Whispers began spreading through the hall.
The Volkovs had arrived.
At the entrance, the president himself stepped forward.
A polite smile appeared on his face.
“Long time no see, Mr. Volkov.”
Dimitry Volkov looked at him.
“Do we have to?”
His tone was perfectly calm.
The president's smile twitched.
A nervous laugh escaped him.
“Oh, no, no…”
He quickly recovered.
“You've got much more important work to do.”
His eyes shifted toward Dante Volkov.
A smile returned to his face.
“Oh… ever the eldest.”
He looked Dante up and down.
“You carry yourself with power.”
Dante simply nodded.
No smile.
No words.
Just a single nod.
The president turned toward the other Volkov siblings.
Killian, Leo, Lucas, and Elisha each greeted him politely with restrained smiles.
Perfect manners.
Perfect composure.
Exactly what was expected of them.
Then the president's eyes landed on the woman standing slightly behind them.
Mira.
Unlike the rest of the Volkovs, she wore white.
A white bodycon dress hugged her curves, making her stand out among the sea of black.
She looked like an innocent angel standing between devils.
If only anyone knew the reality.
If only they knew exactly how much the Volkov siblings despised her.
The president tilted his head.
“And she is…?”
Silence.
Not a single Volkov answered.
Mira's smile remained perfectly intact.
She stepped forward slightly.
“I am their cousin.”
She smiled sweetly.
“Mrs. Volkov is my aunt. We are relatives.”
The moment she said it, Elisha's eyes rolled internally.
Being called Mira's relative was clearly the last thing she wanted.
Leo and Lucas exchanged a quick glance, both barely suppressing their laughter at Elisha's reaction.
Killian simply stood there with an unreadable expression.
Dante didn't acknowledge any of it.
Neither did Dimitry or Malyshka.
They had already moved their attention elsewhere.
Their eyes slowly scanned the enormous hall.
Not because they expected an attack.
Nobody would be foolish enough to try something against the Volkov family in a room filled with hundreds of witnesses.
They were looking for something else.
People.
Faces.
Enemies.
Allies.
And most importantly—
They were watching to see who had enough courage to look a Volkov directly in the eye.
Because in their world…
Eye contact wasn't always curiosity.
Sometimes…
It was a challenge.
And the Volkovs never ignored a challenge.
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