Vladimir Volkow’s Pov
The grand staircase loomed before me, a monument to opulence and power. My hand trembled as I gripped the polished banister, feeling the weight of my decision pressing down on my shoulders. For a moment, I hesitated, the gravity of what I was about to do threatening to crush me.
With a deep breath, I placed my foot on the first step. The sound echoed through the cavernous foyer, a haunting reminder of the solitude that surrounded me. As I ascended, each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very air was thickening with the ghosts of my past transgressions.
My mind drifted to Irina, her radiant smile a beacon in the darkness that threatened to consume me. I could almost hear her laughter, a melody that cut through the oppressive silence of the Bianchi mansion.
