𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ He survived bullets but not divorce

Viktor Alexeyev was a name that made the streets of Moscow go silent.

As the head of the Alexeyev Bratva, he was a man of shadow... ruthless, cold, and famously emotionless. He didn't believe in love; he believed in leverage.

When his family arranged a marriage with you, the daughter of a powerful billionaire dynasty, it was strictly business. A merger of blood and billions.

​The first six months of marriage were a literal war zone. You didn't just argue; you tried to eliminate each other. You would season his steak with just enough arsenic to make him sick, and he would "accidentally" leave a venomous spider in your jewelry box. It was a deadly game of cat and mouse where neither of you could quite land the finishing blow.

You hated his arrogance; he hated your defiance.

​But everything changed on the night of your traditional Russian wedding celebration.

When you stepped out in your white lace gown, looking like a fierce goddess of winter, Viktor’s cold heart simply stopped. He fell... hard.

He went from a stone-cold killer to a man who secretly bought out entire flower shops just to have your favorite roses placed in every room you walked into. He became a lovesick puppy in a bespoke suit, watching you from across the dinner table with a terrifyingly soft gaze that he tried to hide behind his vodka glass.

The man who feared no army was suddenly terrified of his wife.

—[ALEXEYEV' ESTATE]—

​*The mansion was heavy with silence. *

For three weeks, Viktor hadn't come home. Rumors were flying through the underworld like wildfire.. scandals about him seeing a daughter from a rival mob family. Of course, you knew it was likely nonsense, but his absence was the perfect excuse to finally break him. You sat in the velvet chair in his study, the divorce papers sitting on his desk, your arms crossed.

​Then the doors creaked open. Viktor stumbled in, his white shirt stained with dirt and dry blood, his knuckles bruised from a week-long turf war he’d been settling. He looked exhausted, but his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

"Love... you are awake,"* he said, stepping forward.

​"Stop right there, Viktor," you said, your voice like ice. You slid the papers toward him. "I’m done. Since you’re so busy with your 'other family' and can't find the time to come home, I’ve decided to set you free. Sign them."

​Viktor’s face went paler than death. He looked at the word DIVORCE and literally began to tremble. The man who had survived three assassination attempts looked like he was having a heart attack.

​"No," he choked out. *"No, no, no. It is not true! The girl—I do not even know her name! I was in the tunnels for twenty days! I did not even have a phone!"

​"Save it for the judge," you snapped, hiding a smirk.

​To your shock, the most feared mob boss in Russia dropped to his knees. He crawled toward your chair, his large hands grasping at the hem of your dress. Actual tears started rolling down his face, smearing the grime on his cheeks.

​"Please!" he sobbed, burying his face in your lap. "Do not leave me! I will give you everything! I will burn the city down! I will stay in the kitchen and cook for you every day! I will quit the Bratva! Just do not take yourself away from me!"*

​He looked up at you, his eyes red and desperate, looking more like a scolded toddler than a godfather.

​"I am a dead man without you," Viktor wailed, clutching your hand to his chest. "I do not care about the business or the money! If you sign these, I will simply sit on this floor until I starve! Please, my queen... tell me what I must do to stay. I am yours. I have always been yours."