Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Kholod
The car was thick with the bitter aftertaste of cigars mixed with leather—a perfect match for my mood.
Outside, Philadelphia's streets blurred past in the falling snow, everything fading to gray and white.
The convoy moved silently toward the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul, the place that would soon become my battlefield.
Three years had dulled most details of that winter attack—washed away by blood and time. I only remembered the bone-cutting cold, and that single thread of orange blossom scent cutting through the ice and snow.
I survived. Kieran and his crew? I damn near wiped them off the map. People come and go, but this bracelet—it was the only proof that snowy night ever happened.
I had Dmitri tear through every connection, searching Philadelphia and beyond for the bracelet's owner. The trail twisted and turned, finally pointing to the crumbling Bellucci family. To a woman named Noelle Bellucci.
When Dmitri dropped her photo on my desk, something between pure joy and deeper obsession seized me instantly.
The girl in the picture had soft, flowing hair and clear brown eyes like a forest stream. She wasn't smiling—just staring at the camera with distant defiance in her expression.
She was beautiful. And those pure eyes? They matched the kindness I remembered from that beam of light.
I went to see her myself, bracelet in hand. The Bellucci house was a shabby old place, worn thin but still pretending to have class. Her mother Sofia's careful, almost groveling attitude made my skin crawl.
"I want to see Noelle."
"Yes, yes, she'll be right down." Sofia's smile turned even more desperate to please.
When she walked into the living room wearing simple home clothes, irritation flickering across her face at being disturbed, my heart did something it hadn't done in three years—it forgot how to beat steady.
"Is this yours?"
After she sat down, I pushed the bracelet toward her.
She picked it up, studied it carefully, confusion filling her eyes. After turning it over and over, she set it down and gave me a vague answer. "Maybe... I can't remember."
Can't remember?
Those words hit me like ice water, dousing the fire that had been burning in my chest. How dare she forget? That bracelet was the only thing I'd managed to grab in all that darkness and blood!
I crushed down the violence that surged up, leaned forward, locked my eyes on hers, and said exactly what I'd come to say—the obsession that had eaten at me for three years. "Noelle Bellucci, marry me."
She jerked like she'd been stung, her beautiful eyes wide with disbelief.
"Do you know what you're saying?"
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
"No way." She refused flat out, her expression complicated.
"Why?"
"Kholod Morozov, you have the nerve to ask me why? You should know better than anyone."
"I don't understand. Spell it out."
"Between us..." She took a deep breath. "Marriage is impossible."
"We're both single. Why is it impossible?"
"How can you say something so shameless?"
"Marry me, and the Morozov family will handle Bellucci's debts."
The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
"You think you can buy me?" Noelle shot to her feet, her chair scraping harshly, flames in her eyes ready to burn me alive.
"It's what you deserve."
She laughed bitterly. "So to you, I'm no different from a diamond in a jewelry store?"
"I'm just solving a problem."
"Solving a problem?" She pointed at me, furious. "You're solving YOUR problem! You never once considered me!"
Something exploded in my chest. "Noelle, don't test my patience!"
"Patience? Let me tell you something, Kholod Morozov—even if every man on earth dropped dead, I still wouldn't marry you!"
I laughed. Pure rage.
Perfect. She'd not only forgotten, she'd rejected me in the most brutal way possible.
The urge to destroy everything screamed through my veins.
I wanted to wrap my hands around her delicate neck, force her to tell me what gave her the right to forget, what gave her the right to refuse—but looking at her pale, stubborn face, I did nothing.
I stood up, looking down at her, and left the bracelet on the table.
"You'll remember. You have to remember."
Back in the car, I only said one thing to Dmitri.
"Dig."
The investigation results landed on my desk fast. Turns out she was convinced her father's death was my fault—absolutely ridiculous. Old Bellucci gambled himself into debt, got cornered by loan sharks, and jumped off a building. Now, somehow, that blood was on my hands?
I never planned to explain. Morozovs don't justify themselves to anyone.
If she was dead set on calling me a killer, then fine. I'd be exactly what she wanted. I'd make her spend her whole life paying for this debt she'd stuck me with.
But her resistance was fiercer than I'd expected. I decided to give her time, let her see reality—accepting me was her only choice.
I had her watched, officially for protection, really to see what she actually cared about.
She locked herself in her room all day, curtains drawn tight, like she was hiding from the whole world.
The few times she fought with Sofia, it was always over stupid shit—table manners or posture.
Every gift I sent came back untouched with the same message: "Tell your boss to give it up," sometimes with a few curses thrown in.
It drove me fucking crazy. I could control billions in shipping routes, make the entire East Coast underworld bow down, but I couldn't read this woman's mind.
I'd just finished handling dock business and should've gone straight back to the office, but when the car passed near her place, I changed my mind.
"Go to the Bellucci house."
The driver hesitated but quickly turned around.
I waited outside her building for ages, hoping to hear her voice—even if she was fighting.
Then she walked out of the apartment building wearing a perfectly tailored black cocktail dress that showed off her slender neck and smooth shoulders.
She had light makeup on, her long hair swept up in an elegant twist, walking in thin heels.
She'd never dressed like that for me. Not even when her mother forced her to see me last time.
"Follow her." My voice came out colder than I'd intended.
The car tailed her taxi all the way to Rittenhouse Square. I watched her walk into Parc, and five minutes later, I followed.
I spotted her immediately.
Across from her sat some guy in his forties, receding hairline, custom suit that couldn't hide his gut. He had this sleazy smile plastered on his face, one hand holding his drink, the other creeping toward her.
A blind date. She was on a fucking blind date.
I took a corner table, ordered whiskey, but my eyes never left them.
"Noelle, you're more stunning every time I see you." The guy's voice was slick enough to make me sick. "I heard the Bellucci family's having some troubles? Don't worry, I've got pull at the commerce association. These things are nothing."
Noelle kept her eyes down and said quietly, "Thank you, Mr. Williams."
Her submission felt wrong. Foreign.
"Call me Oliver." The man's grin got more disgusting. "We'll be family soon enough, won't we?"
He reached out and covered her hand where it rested on the table.
I gripped my glass tighter.
Noelle tensed but didn't pull away. Instead, she gave him this sweet, obedient smile and nodded.
I'd imagined her looking shy and compliant in my arms countless times. Now she was giving that look to someone else—some piece of trash I could crush without thinking. The glass almost cracked in my hand.
"I understand your situation," Oliver got bolder, stroking the back of her hand. "Marry me, and you won't have to worry about anything. I'm older, sure, but I'll take good care of you."
"You're too kind." Her voice was barely audible.
Oliver was clearly encouraged. He stood up and moved to her side. "Come on, let's drink to celebrate meeting each other."
His hand landed on her shoulder, fingers rubbing her bare skin.
My sanity was hanging by a thread.
Noelle's eyelashes fluttered, but she still picked up her glass.
"Good girl," Oliver whispered in her ear. "Want to see my new apartment tonight? Amazing view..."
His other hand slid toward her waist.
Noelle finally shifted away, her voice tight with nerves. "Mr. Williams, please don't..."
"What's the problem? We're getting married." Oliver, emboldened by alcohol, grabbed her arm and tried to pull her up. "Come on, you need someone to take care of you. I'll keep you comfortable for life."
"No, I'm not ready..." Noelle started struggling, but he was obviously stronger.
"Stop playing games." Oliver lost his patience and yanked her to her feet. "I've seen plenty like you. Who are you trying to impress?"
Noelle went white as a sheet. "Let go of me!"
I set down my glass and stood up.
"Let go of me!" Her cry drew stares from around the room.
Oliver got pissed and started dragging her toward the door. "Ungrateful bitch! You should be honored I'm interested!"
I crossed the room and grabbed Oliver by the collar.
"What the fuck—" His curse died in his throat the second he saw my face.
I smashed my fist into his nose. He went flying, crashed into the next table, sent dishes shattering everywhere.
The restaurant erupted in chaos.
I turned to Noelle. She was holding her bruised wrist, looking at me with complicated eyes.
"Come with me."
"I don't need your fake concern."
"Noelle, don't make me get rough in here. You know what that bastard was trying to do to you."
"Of course I know."
"Then are you really that desperate?" I grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "Will you spread your legs for just anyone?"
"Kholod Morozov, yes, I'm exactly that desperate. Now you should understand—I'd rather marry scum like him than you." She didn't even flinch, like she was admitting to every accusation I'd thrown at her.
"Do you know what you're saying?"
"I know exactly what I'm saying." She laughed coldly. "So a woman like me could never be worthy of the great Mr. Morozov. Please, just leave me alone."
She broke free and headed for the door.
I stood there, watching her walk away.
She'd forgotten me. She'd rejected me. She'd rather marry any random piece of trash.
This was betrayal.
All my so-called patience and careful planning became a joke in that moment.
Three days later.
"Boss," Dmitri reported. "Kieran O'Connell's been getting bold at the docks. The cops raided our Kensington warehouse last night, took a whole shipment. Evidence points to him—looks like he's trying to use the police to hit us, expand his territory."
A starving dog living off my scraps, and he has the balls to bare his teeth.
"Handle it." The words came out flat, emotionless. "Clean."
"Understood." Dmitri nodded, then continued. "Also, like you ordered, everyone who was pressuring the Bellucci family has backed off. Sofia's on board, too."
I smiled coldly. That greedy woman had agreed almost without hesitation.
Fine. Saved me the trouble.
The car stopped at the church's side entrance. The snow was heavier now, falling thick and covering the building in solemn white.
I didn't get out immediately. The window reflected my blurred image—hard features, expressionless, eyes holding three years of obsession and absolute determination.
Dmitri opened my door. Cold air rushed in.
"Everything's ready?" I straightened my cuffs.
"Yes, boss. Everyone inside is ours." Dmitri said quietly. "The priest knows what to do."
I stepped out, my shoes crunching through the snow.
I should've stopped caring whether she was willing, or whether she hated me.
I'd been searching for three years. Waiting for three years. This light that had wandered into my dark world—since it had lit my way once, it had to stay forever.
Whether through love or hate.