Chapter 30
If she ever learns the truth, I simply hope she will forgive my sins.
ROMAN
I’m certain my wife did not expect this.
The moment we step out onto the marble balcony, I feel her breath catch beside me.
Even behind her gilded mask, I know she’s staring—eyes wide, mouth parted just slightly in awe.
When we touched down on the private airstrip earlier, she was stunned I brought her to the mainland.
I saw it in the way she looked at the skyline, at the city lights of Seattle piercing the dusk like silver needles.
As if it couldn’t be real. As if she never expected me to share this part of my world.
But this? This stuns her.
Below us, the underground opera house unfurls like a baroque fever dream. A thousand candles blaze from black iron chandeliers. Crimson drapes ripple like spilled wine across the walls. Masks glint. Gowns swirl. The entire ballroom moves like a sea of ghosts caught in golden flame.
Her fingers twitch in mine.
We wait at the top of the stairs. My gold skeletal mask molds to my face as if forged for both war and worship. My sharp black velvet suit catches the low light like raven feathers. Blood-red embroidery coils up my lapels and cuffs.
Draped from one shoulder, my heavy cape spills behind me. The clasp is a gold skull—ornamental, yes, but it reminds them what I am beneath the silk. When I move, the lining flashes, the color of crimson ruin.
I scan the crowd. And when I extend my hand to Valentina, I am a sovereign offering her the other half of the throne.
She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t need to. I can feel her joy radiating off her, fierce with wonder. And gods help me…it makes me proud.
I never meant to bring her this far into my world. I swore I wouldn’t. That it was too risky. That she was safer in the shadows of my island.
But tonight, I don’t regret it. She belongs here. She belongs among masks and monsters. Among power and performance. She doesn’t merely fit into this world—she elevates it.
She rules it.
Her gown spills like blood over her body, spun from deep red velvet that drinks the candlelight like wine. The cunning slit climbs one thigh, taunting, dangerous. She moves like royalty. Like myth. The gold filigree mask—dusted with rubies—turns her into something untouchable.
I turn to the crowd gathering beneath us and raise a black gloved hand.
The orchestra stills. Every masked face turns upward, waiting.
“My honored guests,” I say, my voice low, gilded, carrying over the hush. “Tonight… you are graced by my queen.”
Gasps ripple like a breeze through fire.
“I present to you: Lady V… for Vengeance.”
A hush falls like ash.
I feel Valentina shift beside me. She turns to me, locking eyes. She’s trembling—but not from fear. No. She feels it too. The weight of every eye. The heat of every secret. The power rising between us is like dark magic.
For vengeance is mine. Even if my brother and father are not here to witness it, I have repaid it tenfold.
Arm in arm, we descend the staircase, slow and ceremonial. All watch.
At the base of the stairs, the musicians raise their bows. The first haunting notes of Total Eclipse of the Heart swell into the air—Exit Eden’s version, sharp and aching, my personal request.
Valentina seems to approve.
We step from the last stair onto the theater floor. All anticipate our impending dance. All eyes turn to us—Lady V and her king.
Her hand stays curled around mine. She doesn’t hesitate. She belongs here amongst Seattle’s elite—criminals, power brokers, collectors of secrets.
I draw her into me, and the dance begins.
Valentina was always skilled at dancing. One of few things her father insisted upon her learning. She mastered it. And while her mind may not remember, her being certainly does.
Her body answers mine like she’s been waiting her whole life for this choreography, for me.
She mirrors every step I lead—fluid, graceful, devastating.
My hand spreads across her lower back, the velvet hot beneath my palm, the filigree catching the light with every turn.
The scent of her perfume rises, sweet and feral. Like something that would ruin a man.
Around us, the crowd fades into shadows. The stage lights flicker as we turn, and her skirts whisper against the marble floor. Her slit parts with each swirl, teasing a wicked glimpse of her thigh.
The song builds to the crescendo, strings bleeding into vocals as sharp as daggers.
And still, she follows my every cue. I command her, pivoting her into a spin, slow and hypnotic, only to draw her back in until our bodies are flush again.
Her chest rises against mine, her breath hot beneath the edge of my jaw.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
The weight of her gaze through the mask is enough. She is no longer just Valentina. She is Lady V—for Vengeance. My queen.
Every step, every sway, she claims this place.
I claim her in return. With every pass of my fingers along her waist, every tight turn that makes her gasp, I brand her in full view of the audience.
A performance, yes—but also a warning. No one touches what’s mine.
No one sees beneath the mask. Not unless I allow it.
I could unmask her to the world. Announce her name. But I won’t risk it. Not yet. Not when danger still breathes in the corners of my world. Not when keeping her a secret might be the only way to protect her.
And I’ll never let her out of my sight. Not tonight. Not ever.
After the end of the waltz, I lead Valentina toward the bar, glowing with fluorescent light. I order her a vodka on the rocks, one of the best brands. I don’t intend on stealing her away into a back room, unhidden from the world. Hiding in plain sight after all.
Someone from the crowd steps forward. I recognize him. The son of a former KGB officer, with wine-red gloves and too much confidence.
“May I have the next dance?” he asks, bowing to her.
Valentina stiffens beside me, and I smile without warmth. “She’s already danced tonight.”
“Surely she can spare one more?”
My hand closes over his wrist before he can reach for hers. “No.”
A single word. A final one.
He stumbles back, and the crowd shifts, sensing something old and terrible stirring beneath my calm.
I look to Valentina, still silent at my side, her fingers finding mine like instinct. She doesn’t need to say a word. I already know. She belongs to me. If anyone dares touch her or so much as disrespects her, the night will end in blood.
“Roman,” my wife moans as I hold her hair before bringing her head down until her lips envelope my cock.
“Steady, Moya Samotsvet. You are ready for this.” I thrust into her mouth, holding back a deep groan when she swallows me into her throat.
I sit on the regal wing-back chair, black and leather, framed with gold filigree.
A flush spreads to her chest, infusing the upper slopes of her exquisite tits when my guests begin to arrive.
Power players. Politicians. Black Market mafia members, mostly leaders and their entourage.
All of whom I have aided in executing their enemies and keeping them in power. They owe me life debts…and more.
“Gentlemen,” I say, gesturing toward the lavish seating before me. My masked ball is far more than a spectacle. It is a calculated convergence—where alliances are reaffirmed, trade deals brokered, and silent debts collected. A theater of power.
Jaws drop at the sight of the enthralling woman sucking my hardness into her throat, but none let the sight stop them from taking their seats.
When Valentina pauses, her mouth stretched around my shaft, I narrow my eyes, tighten my grip on her hair, and bark, “Did I tell you to stop?”
Her eyes shimmer with tears, but my beautiful zhena continues.
While a part of me urges benevolence, compassion upon her fragile state, the better part of me—or worse—doubles down.
I have not spent all these weeks training her for nothing.
She is strong enough for this world. And hiding in plain sight sometimes requires a certain amount of degradation.
Enough for me to prove my prowess in exhibiting her for voyeuristic temptation, but also achieving the perfect balance of demeaning her to a glorified whore.
But I still dub her my queen. If they wish to view her as both, that is acceptable. But if any dares to call her a whore in my presence, they will not leave with their tongue.
Gavno! Her suction is strong, and she swirls her tongue along the underside while her dainty fingers stroke my heavy balls.
“Welcome, my friends,” I begin, my voice calm and commanding, carrying across the hall.
I cage a deep groan when she takes me deeper while gripping the base.
“You have all come tonight beneath the safety of shadow and silk. Behind masks, we are free to be what we truly are—unrepentant, ungoverned, and untouchable.”
I pause to cup her chin and tilt her face to me, nodding my approval. She blinks, showing the faintest smile.
I survey the room. “Every man here owes his throne, his territory, or his life to a choice and contract I fulfilled. And in this room, we celebrate our alliance, however thin our treaties be.”
I snicker with chagrin in my voice. “Tonight is not just tradition. It is necessity. A reminder that we thrive not by virtue, but by loyalty. Calculation. Brutality when required.”
I pause, then add with a crooked grin, “Politics bore me, as you well know. Murder, however…is my business. Assassination. But I digress.”