In two different corners of the continent, two families stand at the pinnacle of power. In Russia, the Volkov family is an undeniable force: a shadowy business empire, a mafia network, and a silent control over politics. In Italy, the De Luca name is no less resounding: influence in parliament, legitimate businesses that stretch to every corner of Europe, and a long history as a wealthy aristocratic family that is respected—and feared.

Kirov Volkov, the Volkov family's primary heir, is a 30-year-old man who exudes a cold and dangerous aura. He grew up in a world that taught him that gentleness is weakness, and love is merely a negotiating tool. However, everything began to change when he met Alessandra De Luca—a 16-year-old Italian woman with jet-black hair and eyes as sharp as obsidian.

Their first meeting took place at a private diplomatic party in Monte Carlo. Fate had brought together two children from two different kingdoms. From then on, their relationship played out like a game of political chess—full of strategy, distance, and unspoken temptations.

Ten years later, both families agreed: an arranged marriage was the best course of action. Not only did they unite power, but they also sealed the future of Europe in their grasp.

The wedding was a grand affair in an ancient Tuscan castle transformed into a golden fortress. Alessandra, now 26, stood gracefully in a white lace gown with a half-mocking smile on her lips. Kirov kissed his bride-to-be's hand with a slight smirk—the first step into a new, absurd yet fiery life.

––

Their first night, in a private suite on Lake Como.

Moonlight fell sideways through the large windows, framing their bodies in silver silhouettes. The suite was luxurious, yet silent. Only the rustle of fabric, breathing, and heartbeats could be heard.

Alessandra giggled as Kirov struggled to unbutton his own shirt.

"Are you really the heir to a Russian mafia empire if you can't even unbutton a button?" she taunted, holding back laughter.

Kirov narrowed his eyes. "Shut up, or I'll tie you up with my tie and settle this the Russian way."

"I don't mind," she replied, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer.

A chuckle turned into a soft sigh as Kirov's rough fingers touched the bare skin of her back. Beneath the silliness, there was a simmering tension that demanded release. In the dim light, they weren't just a match made in heaven—they were fire and gasoline, in an unavoidable war of passion and desperation.

And as the world outside faded into silence, a soft voice sounded, choked between a sigh and submission:

"Ahh... take it slow, Kirov..."

He paused, staring deeply into her eyes. "I never do anything slowly, Alessandra. But for you... maybe this time I can try."

And on that soft bed, two dynasties were finally truly united—not just with a contract or a ring, but with wounds, passion, and dark whispers the outside world would never understand.