Snow pressed heavily against the wide windows of the Volchenko estate, the storm outside howling like a wounded beast. Inside, the air was just as tense, suffocating in its silence. Anastasiya Volchenko sat at the head of the long oak table, her dark green eyes sharp and unyielding, her Alpha presence filling the room even without a word spoken. At twenty–eight, she was already the queen of Russia’s underworld.

Her father, Aleksander, sat across from her. His shoulders were slumped with age, his once-dominant aura dulled into the calm neutrality of a Beta who had stepped aside. Seventy–three years had stolen his edge, but not his expectations. His voice, though tired, carried authority.

“Anastasiya,” he began, his gaze heavy, “you are twenty–eight. You sit on the throne I built, but the weight of it will not remain steady without an heir. It is time you considered marriage. A strong Alpha male, or at least a union that produces one.”

The words struck her like iron nails, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, cool and defiant. Her voice cut through the air like a blade.

“If I must have a heir to carry on, then this organisation isn’t stable.”

Tatiana, her mother, scoffed loudly, her perfume thick and cloying, the scent of an Alpha who had grown too used to indulgence. “Your father is right. A Volchenko without legacy is like a wolf without teeth. Viktoriya would already be married, if you weren’t clinging to this nonsense idea that you can run everything alone.”

At the mention of her sister, Anastasiya’s jaw tightened. Viktoriya sat smugly at Tatiana’s side, her delicate Omega scent laced with arrogance. Spoiled rotten by their mother, Viktoriya looked down her nose at Anastasiya, lips curling into a mocking smile.

“Perhaps,” Viktoriya purred, “the problem is that our dear Alpha sister is too… choosy. Or perhaps she doesn’t want a husband at all.” Her tone dripped with venom, but her eyes glittered with knowing mischief.

Anastasiya ignored her, though her hands curled into fists beneath the table. Her family didn’t know. They didn’t need to. Her truth—that her heart only beat faster for women, not men—was hers to keep, and not a weakness to be exploited.

Only Dimitri, sitting quietly at her right, offered a measure of comfort. A Beta, calm and clever, he was the only sibling Anastasiya truly trusted. He gave her a small, knowing look, as if to say breathe, sestra.

Aleksander’s voice broke the tension again. “You may think strength alone can hold this empire, but legacy is power too. You will not live forever, Anastasiya.”

Her eyes flashed. “Then I’ll build something so strong it doesn’t need my blood to survive.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut flesh. Even Tatiana faltered, lips pressing thin. Viktoriya’s smirk faded, but not her resentment.

At last, Aleksander sighed, leaning back with the weight of years. “You are as stubborn as I once was. Perhaps more. But remember, child—wolves without heirs become prey.”

Anastasiya said nothing more. She didn’t need to. Her Alpha presence, sharp and unyielding, filled the room, pressing down on them until even Tatiana averted her eyes.

This was her empire. With or without a husband. With or without an heir.

And deep inside, though no one else knew yet, she would rather burn the world than let them force her into a bond she did not want.

The tension in the Volchenko mansion always lingered long after family meetings ended. The chandelier light still glowed faintly in the grand dining hall, but the silence was oppressive. Anastasiya stood near the window, staring out into the Moscow night. Snow fell lightly, catching the glow of the streetlamps. Her father’s words still rang in her head like a curse.

You must marry. You must produce an heir. That is your duty.

Her jaw tightened. She hated how tradition clung to her family like rot.

“Stasya,” came a soft voice from the doorway. Dimitri leaned against the frame, hands tucked into his coat pockets, watching her with his usual lazy grin. Only he could smile so easily after such a suffocating dinner.

“You look like you’re plotting to strangle Father in his sleep,” he teased.

Anastasiya shot him a flat look. “Don’t tempt me. If I must have an heir to carry on, then this organization isn’t stable to begin with.”

Dimitri chuckled, stepping inside. “You’ll give him a heart attack saying things like that.”

“Good,” Anastasiya muttered.

He studied her for a moment, then sighed. “You’re coiled up too tight. Come with me tonight. I know just the thing.”

Her brows arched. “Where?”

“The Black Market,” Dimitri said simply, as though it were no more dangerous than a stroll along the river.

Anastasiya crossed her arms. “Since when do you need me for errands?”

He smirked. “Since you’ve been prowling around like a caged wolf. Admit it—you need air, and I need company. A perfect excuse.”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing him. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the full truth either. Still… this was Dimitri. He was the one person in this family who had never failed her. She trusted him, even when he dragged her into trouble.

“Fine,” she said at last, grabbing her coat. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to gamble away the family fortune, I’ll kill you myself.”

He laughed, looping his arm with hers as though they were teenagers sneaking out of the mansion. “Relax. Tonight, we just breathe.”

⸻

The Black Market sprawled in the abandoned railway tunnels at the edge of Moscow, where concrete walls dripped with condensation and flickering lamps cast eerie shadows. Smoke curled through the air, carrying the scents of roasted meat, gunpowder, and perfume. The crowd was a sea of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, brushing past one another in a world that pulsed beneath the city like a hidden artery.

Stalls lined the tunnels—tables stacked with smuggled guns, rare poisons, counterfeit passports, and even collars meant to suppress pheromones. Men with tattooed necks muttered prices under their breath. Women draped in silk led strangers into back rooms. There was laughter, bargaining, shouting, the occasional sound of a fist meeting flesh.

Anastasiya walked like she owned it all. She didn’t hide what she was—her Alpha aura rolled off her in waves, sharp and commanding. The crowd parted instinctively, predators recognizing a predator.

Dimitri, by contrast, moved with a lazy swagger, hands in his pockets, whistling under his breath. His charm was more subtle, his Beta scent easy but dangerous when paired with the Volchenko name.

“You see?” he said over the noise, glancing at her sidelong. “Better than suffocating at home while Father insists you wed some crusty Alpha no one respects.”

Anastasiya allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch upward. “Don’t remind me.”

They passed a card table where an Alpha and a Beta argued over a rigged hand, then a stall where glass vials shimmered with illegal pheromone enhancers. Dimitri slowed, eyeing them with interest, but Anastasiya tugged him along.

“Not tonight,” she warned.

He laughed, following obediently. “Yes, boss.”

Yet despite the noise and chaos, something pulled at Anastasiya’s attention. It wasn’t the weapons, the drugs, or the deals. It was a sound—soft, muffled—coming from behind one of the heavier stalls draped in canvas. A whimper, faint but unmistakable.

Her eyes flicked toward it. In the shadows, half-hidden, was a cage. She only caught a glimpse as the cloth shifted when a man walked past, but it was enough. Two small figures, huddled together. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, too bright, too unnatural.

Anastasiya’s steps slowed, instinct sharpening, something primal stirring deep in her chest.

“Stasya?” Dimitri asked, watching her closely.

She looked away, brushing it off with a shake of her head. “Nothing. Let’s keep moving.”

But she knew it wasn’t nothing. For the first time in months, her heart beat with the same restless rhythm it had when she first claimed her throne. Something had shifted in the air, and she couldn’t ignore it for long.