The gathering storm

The room was silent except for the soft rustle of paper as Viktor flipped through the contents of the folder. He stood near the grand fireplace of his estate, his back turned to Marina and Dimitri. The golden glow of the flames cast long shadows across the marble floor, but the warmth did nothing to ease the icy tension in the air.

Marina clenched her fists, waiting for his reaction. The documents in that file were her last bargaining chip—the only reason Viktor hadn't discarded her yet.

Dimitri stood beside her, his posture relaxed but alert. He had seen this side of Viktor before—the silent calculation, the way he processed information like a predator studying its prey.

Finally, Viktor closed the folder. He exhaled slowly, then turned to face them. His expression was unreadable.

"The Federation," he murmured, almost to himself. "So your father really did sell his loyalty to them."

Marina's throat tightened. The Federation—a secretive political alliance that had its claws buried deep in Volgaria's government. Officially, they were just another nationalist party, promising strength and stability. But in reality? They were puppeteers, pulling the strings of the country's power structure, eliminating anyone who stood in their way.

And now, Marina had exposed them.

"They control nearly everything," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "The judiciary, the police, even the military. My father… he's not just working with them. He's one of their top financiers."

Viktor studied her, his gaze piercing. "And you think this information is enough to bring them down?"

"No," she admitted. "But it's enough to make them bleed."

A flicker of something—approval? Amusement?—passed through Viktor's dark eyes before he set the folder down on the polished wooden desk.

"They'll come for you now," he said simply.

Marina swallowed hard. "I know."

"They won't just kill you," Dimitri added, his voice grim. "They'll make an example out of you. A warning to anyone who dares cross them."

The weight of her decision pressed down on her chest. She had known the risks, but hearing them spoken aloud made it all feel terrifyingly real.

"Then what happens next?" she asked, forcing herself to meet Viktor's gaze.

A faint smirk played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Now? We let them make their first move."

Across the city, inside the Vasiliev mansion, Anton Vasiliev sat in his dimly lit study, the air thick with the scent of cigars and aged whiskey. A heavy silence filled the room as he read through the same documents Marina had handed over to Viktor hours ago.

His fingers curled around the paper, knuckles whitening with rage.

"This is a disaster," he muttered.

Irina Vasiliev, seated gracefully across from him, took a slow sip of her wine. She didn't look worried—only mildly inconvenienced.

"Our daughter has always been reckless," she mused. "It was only a matter of time before she made a mistake."

Anton's jaw tightened. "This is more than a mistake, Irina. This is treason."

The word lingered in the air.

Irina finally set down her glass, her cold eyes meeting her husband's. "Then we deal with her accordingly."

In the corner of the room, Andrei Vasiliev, their eldest son, shifted uncomfortably. "She's our sister," he said, his voice measured. "I won't defend what she's done, but killing her? That's too extreme."

Anton's glare was sharp enough to cut steel. "She didn't just betray us, Andrei. She betrayed Volgaria."

Andrei's hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn't trust Viktor Castellano, but he knew his sister. Marina wasn't a fool. If she had turned to Viktor, it meant she had no other choice.

Before he could argue further, a soft voice cut through the tension.

"She wouldn't do this without reason."

Katya Vasiliev, the youngest of the siblings, stepped forward. Unlike Andrei, she wasn't trying to mask her emotions—there was clear hurt in her eyes.

"She has never wanted to be part of this world," Katya continued. "You both know that."

"Then she should have stayed out of it," Irina snapped. "Instead, she's chosen to drag our family's name through the dirt."

A heavy silence followed.

Anton finally sighed, setting the papers down with a quiet thud. "It's too late for negotiations," he said. "We do what must be done."

Andrei said nothing.

Katya turned away, her heart sinking.

Back at Viktor's estate, Marina sat alone in one of the grand salons, staring out the window. The city stretched before her—lights glittering against the night sky, the world continuing as if nothing had changed.

But for her, everything had.

She had just made an enemy out of the most powerful political force in Volgaria. And worse, she had declared war on her own family.

The quiet click of a door opening made her turn.

Dimitri stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He held out an envelope. "This just arrived."

Marina frowned, taking it. The seal on the back made her breath catch. It wasn't from Anton. It wasn't from her family at all.

It was from the Castellano patriarch.

Viktor's grandfather.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the elegant stationery.

Mr. Castellano requests the presence of Viktor Castellano and Miss Marina Vasiliev at an exclusive gala. The location was discreetly listed—a grand estate in another part of Volgaria.

Marina looked up at Dimitri, confused. "Why would Viktor's grandfather want to see me?"

Dimitri exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "Because he doesn't make requests, Marina."

Her stomach twisted.

He summons people.

And when a man like Giovanni Castellano summons you, refusal isn't an option.