ZARA
The sound of the front door closing echoed long after he was gone. I stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, still, suspended in silence. His scent lingered in the house like a ghost, and for a brief second, I considered chasing after him, beg he'll bring me with him, do something, anything other than leave me here in this giant house.
But I didn't.
Instead, I went to our room and curled into bed that night without him, wrapped in one of his black button-down shirts, and stared at the ceiling until the sun slipped through the curtains. By morning, I'd made a decision. I wasn't going to let this become my whole world—waiting around for Victor to come back from whatever corner of hell he was sent to. So when Selene texted me:
Still on for today? Need you to help me bully some poor man into giving us a good deal.
I replied:
I'll be ready in 20. Bring caffeine. Lots of it.
The streets of the city buzzed around us as Selene and I strolled down the polished steps of a luxury boutique. Not a bridal store, surprisingly, but something far more of us.
"You know," Selene said, looping her arm through mine as we stepped into the next showroom. "Most brides get excited about tulle and veils and overly glittery ball gowns."
"Do I strike you as the tulle-and-tiara type?"
"You strike me as the 'I-will-stab-you-with-a-hairpin-if-you-cross-me' type." she smirked. "Which is why I picked this place."
I looked up, realizing we weren't in a bridal shop at all. We were in a jewelry vault showroom. Not just rings, though the diamond-studded walls had plenty of those, but hairpieces, heirloom necklaces, and crowns. Literal crowns.
A woman in a sleek black blazer greeted us with a knowing smile, her red lipstick flawless.
"Miss Selene. Miss Zara. Right this way."
We were led into a private room with plush seating and trays of accessories laid out like treasure. Gold, platinum, pearls, obsidian, and rubies. Some looked centuries old. Others looked like they were forged in fire.
"We're picking your signature piece," she said, leaning in. "Every mafia bride needs one. Something unique. Something that says, 'I may look soft, but I'm married to a man who could have you buried under a vineyard by midnight.'"
"That's...very specific."
"Yet it's tradition."
I tried on a few pieces half-heartedly at first, my mind still drifting back to Victor. Where he was. What he was doing. Whether he was safe, but Selene, perceptive as always, caught my worries.
"He'll be back, you know," she said softly, fastening a delicate white gold necklace around my neck. It had a black diamond at the center, shaped like a tear. "He always comes back to you."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I swallowed, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "That I'll get used to loving him only in pieces."
Selene's smile faded into something more sincere. She stepped closer and rested a hand on my shoulder.
"That's the price, Zara. Loving someone in this world? It's rarely clean. But it can still be beautiful. You just have to decide if it's worth bleeding for."
I looked at my reflection. The black diamond resting against my collarbone, sharp and elegant. Dangerous and beautiful. Just like the life I was walking into.
"I'll take this one." I told the lady.
The necklace was packed into a velvet box and handed to me like it was the key to something more than fashion. Almost like it was a declaration. Not just of style, but survival. Selene and I left the showroom with small bags but heavy thoughts.
"Lunch?" she asked, pushing her sunglasses into her hair as we stepped outside.
"Next time," I said, shaking my head. "I think I just need some time… alone."
She nodded like she understood completely, which she always did, and kissed my cheek before slipping into her black SUV. I watched the taillights disappear before climbing into Victor's car, his driver already waiting, and leaned back in the leather seat.
The necklace sat in my lap, still unopened. My fingers grazed the box lid, but I didn't open it.
Not yet.
VICTOR
The air in the underground bunker was thick with cigarette smoke, gun oil, and tension.
"I want the files. All of them," I growled, pulling my coat tighter as I stalked through the corridor with Nikolai at my side.
"We've narrowed it down to five possibilities," he said, matching my pace. "Three soldiers. One bookkeeper. One warehouse manager."
"Bring me the bookkeeper first," I said, stopping in front of a steel door. "If he twitches wrong, kill him."
Stepping inside the dim-lit room, files were laid out across the long oak table like a murder board. Names, photos, bank statements. My jaw tightened as I scanned them. I didn't trust easily, and even less when it came to my money.
"Someone's leaking shipment times to the Fedorovs," Nikolai said, walking in. "Last raid was too precise. They knew exactly when we'd be vulnerable."
I didn't answer. I just picked up a photograph of the warehouse manager—Marek—and stared at it like it might confess if I looked long enough.
"You think it's him?" he asked.
"I think he's not smart enough to be clean." I said, tossing the photo down, pulled out my phone, and walked to the corner of the room. And for a moment, everything paused.
Missed your voice today. I'll make it up to you when I'm back. Dinner. Just us. Something quiet. You pick the place. Try not to miss me too much, printsessa.
I stared at the screen with my thumb hovering, then adding:
P.S. I love the way you look in my shirt. Keep it warm for me.
A smile tugged at my mouth before I locked my phone and shoved it into my coat pocket, close to my heart.
"Bring Marek in." I ordered coldly, as I took my place behind my desk.
Tonight, I'll find the rat.
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow I'll take his woman to dinner.