After the dance, everyone gathered in the dining hall for the banquet. The massive oak table was adorned with expensive crystal glassware, silver spoons, and a lavish spread of Russian and international delicacies. Viktor and Alia took their seats at the head of the table.
Though Alia had grown up in New York and had a Russian mother, her upbringing was deeply infused with a sense of Bengali grace and affection. Despite her 6'3" frame draped in a regal Victorian ball gown and the Russian crown (Kokoshnik) giving her the appearance of an invincible empress, deep down, she remained that gentle, nurturing woman.
According to the rigid protocols of the Russian Mafia, no one ever acts with such intimacy toward a Lord or Boss. In that world, there is no room for public displays of emotion. Yet, when Alia naturally picked up a morsel of food from her plate to feed Viktor, a bizarre silence fell over the entire dining hall. The gathered mafia leaders exchanged stunned glances. In this cold, ruthless Russian underworld, the sight of someone hand-feeding a Mafia Lord was unthinkable an absolute breach of tradition.
Viktor himself froze for a heartbeat. Sitting there in his velvet cloak and Vyshyvanka shirt, he looked every bit the iron-fisted ruler. But faced with Alia's touch and her effortless warmth, his demonic hardness seemed to crumble into dust.
Viktor: (Composing his surprise, in a low whisper) "Alia... everyone is watching. In Russia, no one has ever seen a Lord treated this way."
Alia: (In a calm but firm voice, her eyes still shimmering with the remnants of her tears) "You were the one who said I am your wife. In my family, feeding a loved one isn't just about affection it's a matter of right. Would you strip me of this right as well?"
Viktor could no longer resist. In an instant, the ruthless Mafia Lord transformed into a devoted partner, opening his mouth to accept the food from Alia's hand. The guests were left speechless. They realized then that Viktor hadn't just declared Alia a "Queen" he had truly surrendered his heart to her.
Beneath the table, Alia's golden anklets let out a soft, sweet chime. The black leather choker was still there, but in the face of her tender act, that mark of captivity seemed to fade for a brief moment. The tense silence of the dining hall was shattered by the gravelly voice of an elderly mafia leader. He looked at Viktor with a hint of disdain, remarking, "Lord Viktor, such a scene is unheard of on Russian soil. A woman feeding a leader—this is far beyond our traditions. Is this some new decree?"
Viktor's jaw tightened, and he sat upright in his chair, his imposing presence filling the room. But before he could respond, the sound of a baby's cry drifted from a corner of the hall.
A small child, barely a year or so old, was weeping, terrified by the grim atmosphere and the fierce faces of the men gathered there.
Alia didn't hesitate for a second. Gathering the voluminous folds of her crimson Victorian ball gown, she rose from her seat. As she moved toward the child, her regal silhouette drew the stunned gaze of everyone in the hall. With profound tenderness, she lifted the baby into her arms.
The child stopped crying the moment he was held. Mesmerized by the priceless pearls around her neck and the magnificent Russian crown (Kokoshnik) on her head, the baby stared at her in wonder. Alia brushed a finger gently against his chin and gave a world-brightening smile.
Alia: (In an incredibly soft voice) "Hush now, little one... don't cry. Look, Viktor, isn't he just the cutest? (Looking around the room) Whose child is this?"
Seeing Alia's effortless, maternal grace, the hardness in Viktor's eyes softened once again. His ruthless mafia persona, draped in the royal Vyshyvanka and velvet cloak, seemed to surrender once more to the light she radiated.
The elderly mafia leader who had been criticizing moments ago lowered his head and said, "Madam, he is my grandson. He's likely struggling to adjust to this environment."
Viktor spoke up, his voice deep and commanding, "Do you see now? A woman who can break the rigid rules of this fortress to spread such warmth is the only one worthy of being my Queen. Rules are made for people, not people for rules."
Alia's golden anklets jingled softly as the baby moved in her arms. Though the black leather choker remained prominent amidst her royal attire, the innocent child in her embrace seemed to fill the dark mafia world with light, if only for a fleeting moment.Alia's direct question caused the atmosphere in the dining hall to turn heavy once again. As she stood there, cradling the baby with profound maternal grace, all eyes shifted to Viktor, waiting for his reaction.
Adjusting the folds of her crimson Victorian ball gown, Alia looked at the elderly mafia leader with a gaze that was both somber and piercing. The light from the chandeliers glinted off her pearl necklace and the black leather choker around her neck.
Alia: (In a serious yet curious tone) "Where is your wife? Did she not come tonight? And her husband—you—are you the head of a mafia gang?"
The elderly leader hesitated, glancing toward Viktor. Viktor was calmly sipping from his glass, his Vyshyvanka shirt sleeves rolled slightly, a mysterious chill lingering in his blue eyes.
Elderly Leader: (Bowing his head slightly) "Madam, my wife passed away several years ago. And yes, I head a small branch of the organization in this region. But Lord Viktor is above us all. Not a leaf stirs here without his command."
Alia turned her gaze back to Viktor. Her golden anklets made a brave, rhythmic sound against the floor as she stepped toward him.
Alia: "Viktor, you said everyone here holds power. But why do I see no women, no families? Will only guns and the scent of blood rule this vast fortress of yours? Can any empire truly survive without the warmth of a family?"
Viktor set his glass down on the table and leaned slightly toward her, his velvet cloak brushing the floor.
Viktor: (In a quiet, heavy voice) "Alia, the mafia world is not like the fairy tales you've seen. In this life, family is often seen as a vulnerability. My enemies have always known that I had no weaknesses... at least, not until now."
Viktor's gaze made it clear: by declaring her his "Queen" in front of these men, he had simultaneously made her his greatest strength and his most dangerous liability. Alia realized that in this world of shadows, she was now the primary target for anyone looking to strike at the heart of the Frost Fortress. The atmosphere shifted from tense to profoundly emotional when the baby in Alia's arms suddenly called her "Ammu" (Mother). The entire room of ruthless mafia leaders froze in shock. Alia, moved to tears, embraced the child even closer, her Victorian gown and Russian crown making her look like a divine figure. Viktor was visibly shaken by the word, his cold blue eyes softening with an unreadable emotion. The elderly mafia leader bowed in respect, acknowledging Alia not just as Viktor's "property," but as the true mother and Queen of the empire. Despite her choker, Alia's compassion momentarily triumphed over the dark world of the Frost Fortress.Alia returned the child to his grandfather's arms and stepped slowly toward Viktor. Her massive red Victorian ball gown crashed across the floor like a majestic wave. The pearl necklace at her throat and the Russian crown (Kokoshnik) on her head cast one final, intense shimmer under the chandeliers.
Viktor straightened his velvet cloak and stood tall. The familiar coldness and dominance returned to his blue eyes, the brief human moment vanishing in an instant. Checking the pocket watch tucked into his Vyshyvanka shirt, he swept a sharp, piercing gaze across the hall.
Viktor: (In a deep, booming voice) "The party is over. Now, the real work begins. Everyone, return to your positions. Lawrence, get the car!"
With that single command, a frantic energy took over the ballroom. The mafia leaders bowed their heads and exited quickly. Alia watched as the cheerful atmosphere transformed into the preparation for a battlefield. Viktor gripped her hand tightly, his familiar pressure reminding her once again of her captivity.
Alia: (In a low voice) "Where are you going? What kind of work is there in the middle of the night?"
Viktor gave no answer. He practically dragged her toward the stairs. Her golden anklets were no longer rhythmic but let out a frantic, restless chime as she struggled to keep up with his pace.
The black leather choker around her neck began to feel tight against her throat once more. She realized that her role as "Queen" was merely a chess move; the real game was only just beginning. Outside the fortress, the sound of falling snow was drowned out by the distant wail of sirens.
Viktor leaned in and whispered into her ear, "Being a Queen in my empire isn't just about wearing diamonds and pearls, Alia. It means being ready for war. Come, let me show you the outer limits of my dark world."