Scarlet Promise

Chapter 11:Smoke and Shadows

Viktor DeLuca

Back in Italy Viktor DeLuca sat in the corner of the bar, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, its thin tendrils of smoke curling upward into the dimly lit ' atmosphere. The bar was quiet tonight, a rare occurrence for the usually bustling establishment. A faint hum of conversation echoed around the room, but Viktor paid little attention to it. His mind was far from the present, lost in the labyrinth of thoughts that had been gnawing at him since the fateful conversation with Isabella. The cigarette’s glow briefly illuminated his sharp features, the amber light flickering across his face.

Around the table sat Adrian, his sharp-witted childhood friend and trusted confidant, and Lucas, his cousin, notorious for his penchant for sharp humor and sharper knives. The trio was silent for a moment, a comfortable tension hanging in the air. Viktor, ever the enigma, let his gaze drift out the window, his mind unraveling the various strands of his thoughts, most of which centered on the woman who had become the focal point of his life in the most unexpected way.

“So…” Adrian leaned forward, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Have you gotten her a ring yet?”

Viktor raised a brow, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly in amusement. “A ring?” he repeated, his tone dry, tinged with a quiet mockery. “What do I need a ring for?”

Adrian shot him a knowing look. “Yes, a ring. You know, that shiny thing that usually accompanies a proposal. I know this isn’t your fairy tale, but come on, man. Every girl wants a ring, even if it’s for a marriage that’s more business than romance. Or have you already decided she’s not getting one?”

Viktor took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a slow, controlled stream. “Do you really think Isabella wants a ring ?.” The words came out sharper than he intended, though he didn’t flinch. His words were mere truth, as he saw it. Isabella Volkov wasn’t the type to fall for the trappings of sentimental gestures. She was pragmatic, calculating, and her beauty, though undeniable, was only a small part of her lethal arsenal. A ring wasn’t going to sway her.

Lucas chuckled low, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Forget the ring. Did you forget who you’re marrying? She’d probably appreciate a gun more. Maybe Hand pistol or an AK 59 perhaps? You know, something fitting for the devil herself.”

The table erupted into laughter, and for a brief moment, Viktor allowed himself a small smirk. His cousin wasn’t wrong. Isabella Volkov wasn’t your average woman, and certainly not someone who would be impressed by something as trivial as jewelry. Her reputation as a cold-hearted, calculating leader was well-known in the underworld. She had earned the title of “she-devil” over the years, and every bit of it was deserved. Ruthless, efficient, and utterly unforgiving, Isabella had spent her life building a legacy as unbreakable as the steel her family forged.

And now, here he was, contemplating a marriage that could change everything for both their families.

Viktor took another drag from his cigarette, the embers burning brighter as his mind wandered back to their earlier conversation. He couldn’t shake the memory of her eyes, cold and unwavering, as she had stared him down without a flicker of hesitation. She had agreed to his proposal without the usual games, without the resistance he had expected. Did she really do this only to free her elder brother Dante?or was she manipulating him into playing a game he didn’t control?

No. He wouldn’t allow it.

What Viktor DeLuca owned, he kept—completely. He wasn’t the type to share. Once something—or someone—was his, they were his entirely. The thought of Isabella in the arms of another man, even in the smallest, most innocent of gestures, twisted something dark inside him. It wasn’t mere jealousy—it was something primal, something possessive. He could feel his muscles tense as the images of her with someone else swirled in his mind, each thought more infuriating than the last.

“What are you smirking about?” Adrian ’s voice broke through his thoughts, dragging Viktor back to the present. His eyes, steely as ever, locked with the older man’s.

“Just thinking,” Viktor muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching the liquid ripple as he swirled it.

“Oh, here we go,” Lucas interjected with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I don’t like that look. You’re either planning something, or you’re realizing how deep you’re in. So, which is it?”

Viktor didn’t answer immediately, allowing the silence to hang heavy in the air between them. His mind had been running a thousand miles per hour since that conversation with Isabella. There was something off about her—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She had agreed to the marriage to save Dante too easily , without hesitation, and Viktor wasn’t the kind of man who believed in coincidences. In a world as dangerous as theirs, nothing happened without a reason.

“I still can’t believe you’re going through with this,” Ethan said, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. “You, married. To her.”

Viktor allowed his smirk to fade into something more thoughtful. “Neither can I,” he admitted, his voice more serious now. “She agreed too easily. No arguments, only one condition. That woman is always planning something. I just haven’t figured out what yet.”

Lucas leaned back in his chair, eyeing Viktor with an unreadable expression. “Well, don’t get too comfortable, cousin. She’s not called the she-devil for nothing. If you let your guard down for even a second…” He mimed a sharp motion across his neck with his hand, his tone serious.

Viktor’s gaze narrowed as the sharpness in Lucas’s voice sank in. “I don’t let my guard down, Lucas. Especially not with her.”

There was a charged silence that followed, one that spoke volumes. Viktor was known for his unwavering control, his ironclad ability to maintain composure in even the most unpredictable situations. But when it came to Isabella Volkov, there was an undercurrent of something else—something darker and more dangerous—that none of his friends could ignore. The flicker of possessiveness, the dangerous glint in his eyes when he spoke of her, had not gone unnoticed.

Ethan raised his glass in a mock toast, the sound of glass meeting glass reverberating through the quiet room. “Well, here’s to the union of DeLuca and Volkov. May it be as peaceful as a ticking time bomb.”

The three men burst into laughter, but Viktor remained silent, lost in his thoughts. The words lingered in the air, heavy and loaded with a deeper meaning. Peace? He wasn’t so sure about that. The union between the DeLucas and Volkovs had been forged under duress, each side with their own reasons for agreeing to it. But Viktor knew better than to trust something built on shaky ground.

As his friends continued their banter, Viktor’s mind wandered once again to Isabella. She had agreed, yes, but why? What was her angle? Was it really about Dante? He had made his move, but she was too shrewd to make such a decision without her own plan in motion. Was she playing him? Or was there something more to this marriage than he could see?

The weight of the uncertainty pressed down on him, but Viktor was no stranger to uncertainty. He had thrived in chaos, in the unknown. It was a dangerous game they were playing, and Viktor wasn’t one to back down easily.

As he stubbed out his cigarette and reached for his glass, the smooth amber liquid sliding against the sides of the tumbler, Viktor’s lips curled into a small, dangerous smile. Whatever Isabella was planning, he was ready. He would be prepared for whatever game she chose to play.

And when the time came, he would play it better.