The Devil of Moscow Loves me

The first thing Anastasia Orlova noticed was the silence. It spread through The Velvet Room like a disease, swallowing the laughter, the music, and even the clinking of expensive glasses. One second the lounge had been alive. The next, everyone was staring. And the reason stood directly in front of her. Sergei Volkov. Anastasia tightened her grip on the tray in her hands. She had worked at The Velvet Room for almost a year, long enough to know which customers to avoid. Wealthy businessmen were difficult. Politicians were worse. The criminals were usually the easiest because they preferred people who minded their own business. But the Volkovs were different. Everyone in Moscow knew the name. Everyone feared it. The Volkov Bratva controlled a large part of the city's underworld. Rumors followed them everywhere. Stories of disappearances, betrayals, and bloodshed circulated through the city like ghost stories told to frighten children. Nobody knew how much was true. Nobody was brave enough to ask. Anastasia lowered her eyes and carefully placed the bottle of whiskey on the table. "Your order, sir." She turned to leave. "Wait." Her stomach dropped. The single word had come from Sergei. Slowly, she looked back. He sat comfortably in one of the leather chairs, a glass of whiskey in one hand. At twenty-four, Sergei Volkov was handsome in the way dangerous men often were. Sharp features. Gray eyes. An expensive suit that probably cost more than Anastasia earned in six months. Women adored him. Men feared him. Anastasia simply wanted to stay away from him. "Yes, sir?" she asked politely. Sergei studied her face. His gaze lingered longer than necessary. "What is your name?" Anastasia forced a smile. "Anastasia." A slow grin appeared on his face. "Pretty name." Several men seated around the table exchanged knowing looks. Anastasia instantly felt uncomfortable. She had seen this before. Rich men became interested. Poor girls suffered. It was a tale as old as time. "Thank you, sir." She turned again. "Sit down." The command froze her in place. Anastasia stared at him. The entire table had gone silent. Even the bodyguards nearby seemed interested in her answer. "I beg your pardon?" Sergei leaned back lazily. "You heard me." His smile widened. "Sit down." Anastasia's pulse quickened. Every instinct screamed at her to obey. Her rent depended on this job. Her university tuition depended on this job. Lev's medication depended on this job. Everything depended on this job. But something inside her rebelled. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was frustration. Or maybe she was simply tired of powerful people treating everyone else like property. "I'm working, sir." A few men at the table chuckled. Sergei's smile faded slightly. "I wasn't asking." Anastasia met his eyes. Neither of them looked away. "I'm still not sitting down." A shocked silence followed. One of the men nearly dropped his drink. Another stared at her as if she had completely lost her mind. Nobody refused Sergei Volkov. Nobody. Yet somehow Anastasia had just done it twice. Sergei slowly set down his glass. The amusement in his eyes darkened. "Did you not hear me?" "I heard you." "Then why are you still standing?" Anastasia swallowed. Fear crawled up her spine. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. But backing down now felt impossible. "Because I don't want to sit down." The silence became suffocating. Somewhere behind her, a waiter muttered a prayer. Sergei stared at her for several seconds. Then unexpectedly, he laughed. The sound sent chills through her. "You have courage." "No." Anastasia forced herself to remain calm. "I just have work to do." Sergei rose from his chair. He was tall. Tall enough that Anastasia had to tilt her head slightly to maintain eye contact. The atmosphere around them changed instantly. The men at the table became tense. The bodyguards straightened. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Anastasia's heart pounded. She knew she should leave. Instead she stood her ground. Sergei stepped closer. Close enough for her to smell the expensive cologne he wore. "Do you know who I am?" Anastasia nodded. "Unfortunately." Several people gasped. Sergei blinked. Then laughed again. This time louder. "Interesting." Anastasia wished she felt the same. His attention was the last thing she needed. She already had enough problems. Her father had died six years ago after a failed business venture buried the family in debt. Her mother had passed away long before that. The house she lived in barely felt like home anymore. Marina reminded her of that every day. Every ruble Anastasia earned disappeared into groceries, utility bills, school fees, and Lev's treatment. While other university students spent weekends with friends, Anastasia spent hers working until her feet ached. Survival left little room for anything else. Especially rich criminals. "I'm going back to work now," she said carefully. For a moment, Sergei looked as though he might stop her. Instead, his expression turned thoughtful. Almost curious. "As you wish." Anastasia didn't wait for him to change his mind. She walked away as calmly as possible. Only when she reached the bar did she finally breathe. Katya appeared beside her immediately. "What is wrong with you?" Anastasia nearly jumped. "What?" "Do you have a death wish?" Katya looked genuinely horrified. "That was Sergei Volkov." "I know." "No, you clearly don't." Katya lowered her voice. "People have disappeared after upsetting men like him." Anastasia glanced toward the VIP section. Sergei was still watching her. Their eyes met. A smile curved his lips. She quickly looked away. Wonderful. Now she had attracted the attention of a dangerous man. Exactly what her life had been missing. The rest of her shift passed painfully slowly. No matter where she went, she felt eyes following her. Watching. Waiting. Observing. At first she assumed it was Sergei. Then she realized something strange. The feeling wasn't coming from the VIP table. It was coming from above. Anastasia frowned slightly. Her gaze drifted toward the private balcony overlooking the lounge. The balcony was reserved for only the most important guests. The lighting there remained dim. Almost completely hidden. She could barely make out a figure seated in the shadows. A man dressed entirely in black. His face remained partially concealed, but even from a distance she could feel the weight of his presence. Cold. Powerful. Dangerous. For reasons she couldn't explain, her pulse skipped. Then someone called her name. The moment broke. When she looked back, the balcony was empty. Anastasia shook her head. She was probably imagining things. Exhaustion could do that. By midnight the crowd began to thin. Customers left one after another. The music softened. Employees started cleaning tables. Anastasia was carrying empty glasses toward the bar when the manager suddenly appeared. His face looked unusually pale. "Anastasia." "Yes?" "Come with me." Confusion crossed her face. "Why?" The manager swallowed. "Someone wants to meet you." Anastasia frowned. "Who?" For several seconds he said nothing. Then he answered quietly. "The Devil of Moscow." The tray slipped from her hands. Glass shattered across the floor. The entire room fell silent. Anastasia's blood turned cold. There was only one man in Moscow known by that name. Nikolai Volkov. Head of the Volkov Bratva. The most feared man in the city. And apparently... He wanted to see her.