Chapter 1: Encounter

The music throbbed like a living heartbeat, pulsing through the walls of the club. The air smelled of smoke, expensive liquor, and secrets that could ruin lives.

Alisha Alyz Rafael adjusted the tray in her hands, trying not to trip as she weaved between tables. It was her third shift this week, and her feet already ached. This job was supposed to be temporary—just a way to cover tuition and rent until graduation. She told herself she could handle drunk customers, rowdy music, and flashing lights. But tonight, something felt… different.

“VIP room, #205.” Her manager shoved a slip into her hand and gave her a warning look. “Be quick. Be polite. And for God’s sake, don’t stare too long.”

Alisha frowned. Don’t stare too long? That was an odd warning. She glanced at the order—imported vodka, neat. Whoever was inside clearly had expensive tastes.

Pushing open the sleek black door of Room 205, she stepped inside.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The pounding bass of the club outside dulled to a distant hum. Inside, it was hushed, cloaked in the low glow of amber lights. And seated on the leather couch, commanding the room with nothing more than his presence, was him.

Mikhail Volkov.

Even if she didn’t know his name yet, Alisha knew instinctively this was no ordinary man. His black suit fit like it had been tailored by sin itself, every line sharp, every movement deliberate. One strong hand rested on a glass of untouched vodka, veins standing out against tanned skin. The other toyed idly with a cigarette he hadn’t lit. His dark eyes—stormy, cold, and calculating—lifted to hers as though peeling back her very soul.

Alisha froze.

He tilted his head slightly, like a predator appraising unfamiliar prey. Then, with a voice as deep and smooth as velvet laced with danger, he spoke—in Russian.

«Ты опоздала.» (You’re late.)

Alisha blinked, gripping the tray tighter. She didn’t understand the words, but the tone—the authority, the weight—was undeniable.

Her lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came out. Then, gathering her courage, she managed, “I… I have your order, sir.”

Mikhail’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, one that promised both danger and intrigue.

And in that moment, Alisha realized two things–

She had just stepped into a world far darker than she ever imagined and there was no way back.

Alisha carefully set the crystal glass on the table, her fingers trembling only slightly. She told herself it was the bass from outside making her hands unsteady, but she knew better.

The man didn’t look at the drink. He looked at her.

His gaze was too sharp, too unwavering. Men in the club had looked at her before—too many times, too often—but this was different. There was no drunken leering, no casual interest. His eyes were calculating, dissecting, as though she were a puzzle he intended to solve piece by piece.

“Your name.”

His English was flawless, but the heavy Russian accent curled around the word, wrapping it in something foreign and magnetic.

Alisha swallowed. “Alyz,” she lied smoothly, giving only her middle name, as she always did at work. A small shield to keep her real identity safe from the people who treated her like nothing more than part of the décor.

His lips twitched at the corners, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Alyz,” he repeated, testing it, tasting it. “Pretty. But a lie.”

Her throat went dry. What—

He leaned back against the couch, his hand finally curling around the vodka. The veins on his wrist flexed as he lifted it, his silver watch catching the low light. He sipped once, then set the glass down again with deliberate calm.

“I do not like lies,” Mikhail Volkov said. His voice was not raised, but it carried a gravity that made the air heavier, thicker.

Alisha’s pulse spiked. “It’s just… it’s safer,” she admitted before she could stop herself.

One dark brow lifted. “Safer? From whom?”

She hesitated. She had no idea why she was being so honest with this stranger. Maybe it was his eyes, maybe it was the unshakable control in his voice—or maybe it was the way her instincts screamed that he wasn’t just another customer.

“From men like you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she realized what she’d just said. Oh God, Alyz, shut up. Do you have a death wish?

And then—unexpectedly—he chuckled. A deep, dark sound that rolled through the room like distant thunder.

“You are brave,” he said, his Russian accent thickening. “Or very foolish.”

“Maybe both,” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

Mikhail leaned forward now, his elbows resting on his knees, bringing him closer. The dangerous aura that clung to him seemed to wrap tighter around her like invisible chains.

“You work here,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Why?”

“To pay for college,” she replied quickly, her voice firmer than she felt. “Last semester. Just trying to make it through.”

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or interest. He studied her for another long moment before saying, “You are not made for places like this.”

“Neither are you,” she shot back before she could think better of it.

This time, his smile was real—sharp, wolfish, dangerous. “Touché, detka.”

Her chest tightened at the unfamiliar Russian word, but from his tone, she didn’t need a dictionary to understand it wasn’t an insult.

He stood suddenly, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He was tall, imposing, a shadow wrapped in silk and steel. He slipped a hand into his pocket and moved closer, close enough that she caught the faint scent of expensive cologne mingled with smoke.

“Go home, Alyz,” he murmured, his voice low, almost intimate. “This is no place for roses. They get crushed.”

And before she could respond, he brushed past her, leaving his untouched drink behind. The door clicked shut, and just like that, he was gone.

But the storm he left inside her chest? That lingered.

Alisha stood frozen in the quiet of the VIP room long after the door closed. The echo of his voice lingered in her ears, low and deliberate, like a spell she couldn’t shake off.

This is no place for roses. They get crushed.

Her hand went to the tray she was still holding, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until a sharp knock on the door startled her back to reality.

“Rafael!” It was her manager’s voice. Irritated. “Are you dead in there? Move!”

She jolted, hurriedly gathering the untouched drink before slipping out of the room. Her cheeks burned, but it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the way her pulse hadn’t calmed since the man’s gaze had landed on her.

As she returned behind the bar, her co-worker Lisa sidled up, smirking. “What took you so long in 205? Let me guess, another creep tried to tip you in more than just cash?”

Alisha shook her head, setting the glass down. “No. Nothing like that.”

Lisa leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then you met him.”

Alisha blinked. “Him?”

Lisa’s grin faded. She lowered her voice even more. “Mikhail Volkov. Russian. Filthy rich. Owns half the shipping companies in Europe. Or so they say.”

The name made Alisha’s stomach twist. Volkov. Even the sound of it carried weight.

Lisa glanced around before adding, “Word is, he’s more than just a billionaire. He runs things—dangerous things. Mafia things.”

Alisha froze, replaying every moment in that room. The way he’d seen straight through her. The way he’d spoken like a man used to command, not conversation. The casual threat wrapped in velvet words.

Her pulse stuttered. A mafia boss. And I just told him he was the kind of man I needed to protect myself from.

“Be careful around him,” Lisa warned, shivering. “Guys like that… one wrong look and you disappear.”

Alisha forced a small nod, though her thoughts were a whirlwind. Disappear. The word echoed.

She tried to throw herself back into work, taking orders, smiling when needed, but her mind kept drifting back to that room. To those eyes. To the faint curl of his lips when she’d dared talk back.

The night stretched on. Past midnight, the club grew rowdier, drunker, and the shadows in the corners darker. By the time Alisha clocked out, exhaustion weighed heavy in her limbs. She tugged on her coat, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and stepped out into the biting cold of the city night.

The air outside was damp, heavy with the promise of rain. Neon signs flickered, taxis honked, and somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

She hugged her coat tighter and quickened her steps toward the bus stop.

A sound behind her made her pause. A shuffle. Heavy footsteps.

Her pulse jumped. She glanced back—three men leaned against the wall near the alley, their eyes fixed on her. Their grins told her they weren’t just loitering.

She turned sharply and walked faster.

The footsteps followed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them called. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.”

Alisha’s throat went dry. She glanced desperately down the street, but the bus stop was still too far. The men began to follow, spreading out, circling like wolves.

Her heart pounded. She reached into her bag for her phone, but before she could pull it out—

A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, its engine purring like a predator. The back door opened.

And there he was.

Mikhail Volkov.

Seated like a king in the shadows of the leather interior, his dark eyes locked onto hers as if this was no accident.

“Get in,” he commanded, his voice cutting clean through the night.

Alisha froze, torn between danger and… danger. The men behind her laughed, closing in.

“What, running to your boyfriend already?” one of them sneered.

Mikhail’s gaze shifted past her, to them. The air turned colder. He spoke a single phrase in Russian, too low for her to catch—but whatever it was, it made the men falter. Their laughter died on their lips. One took a step back. Then another.

Within seconds, they scattered into the night like rats.

Alisha stood trembling, clutching her bag.

Mikhail’s hand rested casually on the door frame, his watch glinting beneath the streetlight, veins stark against the strength of his wrist. His voice softened, though the command never left it.

“Last time, detka. Get in.”

Her breath caught. Every instinct screamed not to trust him. He was danger incarnate. A man whispered about in clubs and feared in back alleys.

And yet… something deeper told her the greater danger would be to walk away.

Slowly, Alisha stepped forward. And into his world.

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