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Author's POV
The night was not meant for ordinary eyes.
No reporters, no cameras, no tabloids.
Only silence, shadows, and whispers — the kind that carried in the blood-soaked corridors of the underworld.
The villa chosen for the gala was deep in the countryside, a fortress disguised as luxury, its gates opening only for those who had already sold their souls. Armed men stood like statues at every corner. Inside, chandeliers glowed but no music softened the air; this was no ballroom for pleasure, but a gathering ground of predators.
It was the Mafia Gala — a once-a-year congregation where dons, capos, and select lieutenants gathered. Deals were made, alliances tested, loyalty measured. To be invited was to be respected. To miss it was to be forgotten.
And tonight, Domina was expected.
The black convoy arrived silently. Alessandro was the first to step out, his sharp gaze scanning the perimeter like a general before battle. Meher followed, elegance wrapped in scarlet silk, her face calm but her eyes alert. Luka came next, adjusting his suit, the steel glint of a pistol barely visible under his jacket.
Then, last, the door opened for her.
Alina.
No… not Alina. Here, she was only Domina.
Her gown of black silk shimmered under the chandeliers, hugging her form, slit high enough for movement yet regal enough to command respect, her heels clicking against marble with deadly grace. Diamonds glittered in her ears, her choker cutting against her pale skin like a blade. Her expression was calm, almost detached, but her eyes — sharp, cold, unreadable — silenced even the murmurs of the crowd.
A mask of delicate lace obscured part of her face — not to hide her beauty, but to remind them she chose when and how to be seen. Her heels clicked against the marble as if the villa itself bowed beneath her.
The guards at the entrance lowered their heads. Not out of respect. Out of fear.
"Domina," Alexander murmured beside her, his tone low but reverent, "they've been waiting."
Her lips curved faintly, cold, detached.
"Let them wait. They should know who holds the leash."
A man near the entrance, a Capo from Milan, leaned toward his companion and whispered, "That's her? The ghost queen? The one who built Domina Global in less than three years?"
His companion smirked. "Not a ghost anymore."
Alessandro leaned closer to Alina as they entered.
"Remember, tonight isn't about words. It's about presence. Walk like the throne is under your feet, and they'll never question you again."
Alina didn't reply. She didn't need to. Her stride said everything.
Meher, walking slightly behind, chuckled softly. "Alex, don't waste your breath. She already looks like she owns the villa."
Inside, the atmosphere was thick. A long hall, its walls lined with dark wood and oil paintings of forgotten kings. The air smelled faintly of cigar smoke and whiskey. Men in tailored suits clustered in groups, women draped in satin at their arms. Conversations hushed as she entered.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"She came."
"Domina herself."
"I heard she doesn't even attend in person."
"Careful. She chooses who remembers her face."
Her presence burned through the silence. Calm. Cold. Unhurried.
They reached the main hall, where the Capos and investors gathered in clusters. Conversations lowered, eyes turned. Alina felt their gazes like knives on her skin — curiosity, doubt, envy, desire. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter without breaking her stride, lifting it lightly as though it were a crown.
A capo from Naples, Don Marcello, stepped forward, bowing his head lightly.
"Domina," he said, his voice oily. "Your absence has been felt. Finally, the shadow shows herself. The name whispered in the shadows has a face."
Alina's gaze lifted to his, sharp as glass.
"Absence," she said softly, "creates hunger. Hunger makes men desperate. And desperation, Don Marcello, makes them useful."
"And About Names are only whispers," she said coolly. "Faces are just masks. What matters is empire."
A ripple of uneasy laughter followed. Marcello's smile faltered.
The Don laughed, though unease flickered in his eyes. "Empire, eh? You speak like Alessandro himself."
"I learned from him," she said, her eyes briefly cutting to Alessandro with the faintest smirk.
From the other side, Capo Francesca — the emerald-eyed woman from Palermo — studied her carefully.
"Still hiding behind a mask?, People started thinking you were a myth" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and challenge.
Alina's expression didn't change.
"Masks are not for hiding," she replied smoothly. "They're for reminding others that the face beneath isn't theirs to own."
She tilted her head, the corner of her lips lifting faintly.
"Good. Myths can't be killed."
Alessandro suppressed a smirk. Meher exhaled quietly, as if impressed all over again. Luka's hand remained near his cuff, ready for trouble, though he knew none dared strike first here.
The air shifted. Even the music seemed quieter, as though waiting for her next word.
Luka stepped forward, his hand hovering protectively near her elbow, though he never touched.
"Shall we?" he asked softly. "The council is waiting."
Alina nodded once. "Let them wait. It will remind them who holds the clock."
Alessandro chuckled under his breath at her audacity. Meher gave a smile that was half pride, half warning.
At the center of the villa was a long mahogany table, carved with roses and daggers — the council's seat. One by one, the dons and capos took their places, but all eyes remained on the empty chair at the head.
Domina moved forward slowly, each step echoing like a verdict. When she reached the chair, she didn't ask. She didn't hesitate. She sat.
They moved deeper into the hall, where a long table awaited — dark oak, carved with roses and daggers, the seat of decision-making for Europe's underworld. The Capos sat one by one, but the seat at the head of the table remained empty until Alina reached it. Without hesitation, she placed her glass down, pulled the chair, and sat. Calm. Silent. Unchallenged.
The weight of that action silenced even the boldest tongue.
Her voice broke the stillness.
"Gentlemen. Ladies. I believe you have questions."
Finally, Don Marcello spoke again, cautious now.
"Domina, forgive the bluntness. We don't question your power. Only your loyalty. Domina Global grows fast. Too fast. Who stands behind you?"
Alina's gaze swept the table, cold and cutting.
"No one stands behind me. They stand beneath me."
Whispers rippled. Francesca narrowed her eyes. "And what about your face? Why now? Why reveal yourself? Why now? Why reveal yourself at this gathering?"
Alina set her champagne glass down, her fingers delicate but firm. Her voice was calm, her tone precise. each word fell like steel.
"Because order requires presence. Because too many have mistaken my silence for weakness. Because ghosts don't build dynasties. Queens do."
She leaned forward, her eyes scanning every face at the table.
"You want to know who leads Domina Global? Who commands your respect? Look closely. It isn't a ghost. It's me. And tonight I'm not here for your approval. I'm here to remind you where your power ends."
A murmur spread. Some nodded, some stiffened. Francesca's lips curved, a mix of amusement and respect.
"Bold," she said softly. "But boldness can be dangerous."
Alina's voice cut back like steel.
"So I can underestimate me."
A long silence. Then, slowly, One of Capo raised his glass, his voice firm.
"To the Queen of Domina."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Alessandro lifted his glass, his voice steady, commanding.
"To Domina."
Meher followed, her smile sharp as a blade. "To the queen who doesn't need a throne to rule."
Luka's eyes glimmered, his words low but certain. His eyes never left her face as he added softly, "To the woman who will rewrite the rules. To the one they'll never forget again."
Glasses clinked. Silence gave way to reluctant acceptance. For tonight, in this hidden hall of power, she was not a myth. She was their queen. For tonight, the stage belonged to her.
But Alina knew better. Presence wasn't victory. It was only the first move. And as the music swelled again and conversations resumed, she whispered to herself, unheard beneath the noise:
"Tonight they see me. Tomorrow… they'll fear me."
But as she leaned back, her face unreadable, Alina's thoughts were already far ahead. She knew tonight was not a victory. It was a warning. And every warning had its price.
The mahogany table gleamed under golden light, a battlefield dressed in velvet. The dons and capos sat in their seats, tense, some clutching cigars, some gripping crystal glasses, but none daring to lean back too comfortably.
At the head, Alessandro sat like a monarch carved in stone. To his right — Alina. Masked, serene, a queen in black velvet. To his left, Luka, shoulders squared, jaw tight, radiating silent threat.
It wasn't three individuals.
It was one empire.
The room shifted as Alessandro finally broke the silence.
"Let us speak plainly," he said, voice deep and steady. "Shipments from the Adriatic were intercepted last week. Two million weapons disappeared. My sources say it wasn't the police."
His eyes narrowed, sharp as blades.
"It was one of you."
A ripple of unease moved across the table. Don Marcello fidgeted, his ring tapping against glass. Francesca leaned back, arching a brow, as though amused.
Alexander's gaze moved slowly — a predator searching the herd.
"You sit here," he continued, "because you claim loyalty to this council. To me. To Domina."
He paused deliberately, letting the name hang in the air like a knife.
"And yet loyalty bleeds. Who spilled it?"
Silence. Until Alina shifted.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Her eyes swept the table — calm, cold, unblinking. Don Ricci, a man who prided himself on never bowing to anyone, shifted under her gaze, his throat working nervously.
Finally, Francesca spoke, her tone soft but edged with challenge.
"You're suggesting betrayal within this room. Dangerous accusation, King. Dangerous even for a queen."
Alina's lips curved slightly, not in a smile, but in a blade-thin warning. Her voice was smooth and precise.
"Accusations are dangerous. Evidence is final."
She tapped the silver laptop in front of her. A file appeared on the projector screen behind her, glowing in the dim hall. Logs of bank transfers. Emails. Routes.
"Two million in weapons," Alina said calmly, "redirected to Vysotsky. Bought through Ricci's offshore account. Signed with his blood. Shall I read the password? Or will you confess?"
All eyes shot to Don Ricci. His face drained of color.
"That— that's impossible. Someone forged—"
"Enough." Alessandro's voice thundered like steel on marble. "You were sloppy. And Domina does not forgive sloppiness."
Ricci slammed his hand against the table. "I have given years of loyalty! You cannot condemn me on—"
Luka leaned forward, his voice low, lethal.
"Shut your mouth. If Domina says you bled, you bled. If brother calls you a traitor, you're already dead. The only question is how."
The table froze. No one breathed.
Ricci's eyes darted to Alina, pleading, desperate. But her expression was stone. Only her gaze — calm, unwavering — pinned him like an insect.
Finally, he broke.
"I... I only did it once," he whispered, voice cracking. "Vysotsky offered a double. I thought—"
"You thought wrong," Alina cut in, her tone slicing sharper than a blade.
"You thought money outweighs loyalty. You thought greed outweighs fear. You thought we wouldn't notice."
She leaned forward slightly, her mask catching the light, her eyes burning into him.
"You thought too much."
The room was dead silent. Even the hum of the chandelier seemed to fade.
Alexander raised his hand.
"Ricci. You have one last service to this council."
"What... what service?"
"To die well."
Luka stood, drawing his pistol with smooth precision. Ricci trembled, collapsing to his knees.
"Please! Please, mercy! Domina, I—"
Alina's gaze did not waver.
"Mercy is earned," she said softly. "You sold yours to Vysotsky."
The gunshot echoed through the hall. Ricci's body hit the marble.
No one moved. No one spoke. Until Alina reached for her glass, lifting it with perfect calm.
"Now," she said, her voice composed, cold, "shall we discuss business without rats gnawing at our feet?"
A slow murmur of agreement rose.
Francesca tilted her head, her emerald eyes narrowing. "Efficient. Ruthless. I see why they call you Domina."
Alina turned to her, her tone calm, but her words sharp.
"They don't call me Domina. They obey me as Domina."
For a moment, Francesca held her gaze. Then she smiled faintly, lowering her head in acknowledgment.
The council resumed. Deals were struck, territories discussed, alliances brokered — but the entire hall remained taut, every word chosen carefully, every gesture cautious.
Because tonight, no one doubted it anymore.
Alessandro was king. Alina was queen. Luca was an executioner.
And together — they were untouchable.
The mansion of Monte Manjaro sat on its cliffs like a beast watching the ocean, its tall windows glowing with amber light. By the time the black cars pulled through the wrought-iron gates, silence had fallen on the city below.
Alessandro stepped out first, tall, composed, his black coat sweeping the marble stairs. Behind him, Alina and Meher walked with the grace of a queen unbothered by bloodshed, her heels clicking softly against stone. Luka followed, adjusting his cuffs, always scanning, always watching the shadows.
They entered through the main doors, greeted only by the faint crackle of fire in the hall. No servants, no sound — just the echo of power.
Alina turned to the others, her mask still resting against her wrist. Her voice was low but firm.
"We need to talk."
Alessandro gave a curt nod. "Study. Now."
The three of them moved down the long corridor, past portraits of their lineage, until they reached the heavy oak doors of the study. Inside, shelves of leather-bound books climbed the walls, maps and files scattered across a long table at the center.
Alina sat first, removing her gloves, her gaze fixed on the flames licking inside the fireplace.
"It wasn't just Ricci tonight," she said, her voice calm, but dangerous. "There's something bigger moving."
Luka leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Go on."
Alina's fingers brushed over a black folder. She opened it, revealing photographs, bank logs, and a familiar name.
"Nadia."
Alessandro's jaw tightened slightly. "Your secretary."
"My former secretary," Alina corrected, cold. "She sold internal data to Vysotsky Corp. You saw her confession. But the money trail doesn't end there. I traced it further."
She slid another photo across the table. A middle-aged man with silver hair, sharp eyes, a lion tattoo barely visible on his wrist.
"They call him Leone. A fixer. A broker of secrets. He paid Nadia to break into Domina Global's encrypted servers."
Luka pushed off the wall, stepping closer. His hand brushed the photo, his eyes narrowing.
"Leone operates out of Trieste. Smuggler, information trader. He's clever, I'll give him that. But stealing from us? That's suicide."
Alessandro studied the file with cold precision.
"He wants leverage. If he gets into your servers, Alina... he doesn't just steal numbers. He steals identities. Deals. Routes. Everything."
Alina's eyes darkened. "And in the wrong hands, it's not just us at risk. Every alliance. Every soldier. Every piece of the empire we built."
The room fell silent for a moment, the fire popping in the hearth.
Finally, Luka broke it. "So what do you want me to do? Find him? Kill him? Or make an example?"
Alina's lips curved in the faintest smile — not of joy, but of calculation.
"No. Not yet. If we kill Leone too quickly, we warn the others hiding in the dark. I want him alive... long enough to bleed information. Every contact. Every buyer. Every name who dares to whisper against us."
Alessandro leaned back in his chair, fingers steeped under his chin. His voice carried the weight of final judgment.
"Then it's decided. Luca, you'll take a team. Track Leone's movements. Quietly. Bring him to us alive. Alina will handle the rest."
Luka nodded once, his smirk sharp, dangerous. "Alive. Understood."
Alina closed the folder with a snap. "Good. Because betrayal has a price, and I intend to collect every cent of it."
The firelight reflected in her eyes, sharp and merciless.
Alessandro reached over, brushing her gloved hand with his. Not soft, not tender — but firm, an anchor between king and queen.
"We are not prey. We are the hunters. Let the underworld remember that."
She met his gaze, calm and steady. "They already do."
For a moment, silence reigned — three rulers sharing the same thought, the same bloodline of ambition.
Finally, Alessandro rose.
"Enough for tonight. We act tomorrow. Rest."
Alina stood slowly, gathering her mask, her expression unreadable as always.
"Tomorrow, Leone will learn," she said softly, almost to herself. "What betrayal feels like."
And with that, the three of them left the study — Alessandro leading, Alina behind him like a shadowed queen, and Luca the silent wolf at their side.
Their empire was untouchable.
But the hunt had only just begun.
The palace lay in silence, the study's fire long extinguished. Somewhere down the hall, Luka barked instructions to his men, preparing for the night hunt. Alessandro retired to his wing, where heavy curtains fell over his room like shields.
But Alina did not sleep.
Her private chamber sat at the highest corner of the mansion, overlooking the black stretch of ocean that devoured the horizon. The room was large, but stripped of warmth — cold marble floors, a single desk by the window, maps of the world pinned like trophies. On the side table rested her black mask, still faintly dusted with glitter from the gala.
Alina sat on the edge of her bed, her hand pressed against her forehead, her breathing slow, measured. But her eyes… her eyes were fire.
She rose suddenly and walked to the tall mirror. Her reflection stared back — flawless, unbreakable, queen-like. Yet inside, there was rage.
Her voice, soft but cutting, broke the silence.
"They think I am untouchable. They think they can steal from me and walk away."
Her fists clenched.
"They don't understand. I built this."
Her mind slipped back — five years ago. The day her world had shattered. The day Shivansh was lost to her. The day her softness burned away.
She had left everything behind. Her name. Her family. Even her own reflection. She became someone new. Alina. The Domina.
Flashback
The abandoned church in Florence was freezing, its stained-glass windows shattered, its pews covered in dust. It was there she stood, alone, papers and blueprints spread across the altar. Domina Global — at that time, just sketches, diagrams, ideas.
"You're really going to do this?" Luka had asked, stepping out of the shadows. His face is younger than, but already sharp with loyalty.
Alina lifted her chin. "I don't want to survive. I want to rule. And if I build this empire, no one will ever break me again."
Meher had been next — soft, elegant, but with fire hidden beneath her eyes. She had walked forward, laying a single folder on the altar.
"Here," she said. "Accounts, dummy corporations. Safe routes. You'll need a clean front. I'll help build it."
Then Alessandro. The King. He had come last, silent until the very moment his voice rolled through the ruined church.
"You'll need more than plans," he said. "You'll need blood. Soldiers. A name that will make men shiver. I'll give you both."
And finally luka — grinning, dangerous, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "I'll make sure the world never forgets you. Alina will be their queen, but to us… you'll always be ours."
She remembered standing at that altar, each of them at her side, her trembling hand pressing her signature to the first charter of Domina Global.
That night, Domina was born.
Present
Alina blinked, pulling herself from the memory. She paced to her desk, running her fingers across the sharp steel letter opener lying there.
"Every betrayal makes me stronger," she whispered. "Every scar… is another crown."
And as the night deepened, the hunt began.
The night was heavy, the kind that pressed on her lungs and made the shadows cling to the walls. After the gala, after the flashback in her private chamber where memories of building Domina Global still echoed in her veins, Alina found herself alone once again. The world outside her windows glittered with lights, but inside her study there was only stillness.
Her phone buzzed on the desk.
A secure line. Not one that is called often.
She answered without hesitation.
The voice was calm but laced with urgency.
"Alina… you need to come back to India."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't speak.
The voice continued, softer now, as though choosing words carefully.
"Your mother is unwell. After your death anniversary… and after the prayers, her health collapsed. The doctors are worried."
Alina's hand rested flat on the desk. Her jaw tightened, but her lips remained sealed.
The voice hesitated before pressing on.
"There's more. We just got word—he had an accident. He's in the hospital. I thought you should know before someone else tells you."
For the first time, a small flicker crossed her eyes, but her voice was made of steel.
"That's good news," she said simply.
A pause on the other end. They both knew she meant it in her own way — good news because fate had delivered her an opening, good news because she now had reason to return.
The voice didn't argue, only moved to the last, most dangerous truth.
"And Alina, we also intercepted something else. They got a lead. A video. A photo. Somewhere, somehow, they caught your face on camera. If they dig deeper, if they follow it—your secret, your years of work, everything you've hidden—it won't stay buried."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"You need to come back," the voice urged, quieter now. "Come back before it is too late. Before they all know."
Alina's eyes stared ahead, cold fire behind them. One hand closed around the glass of water on her table, though she didn't drink. Her words were simple, sharp, final:
"okay,"
And she cut the call.
No goodbye. No wasted breath.
The room returned to silence, but her mind didn't.
For a long time, she sat there in the stillness, listening only to the faint ticking of the clock and the pulse of her own heart. Her mother… fragile, unwell. The years she had stayed away weighed on her like chains. Five years. Five long years since she had seen her family, since she had touched their hands, since she had allowed herself to be their daughter.
In those years, she had built an empire of shadows and steel. She had forged Domina Global brick by brick, blood by blood, with Luka, Meher, Alessandro, and little Riyan at her side. She had survived betrayals, wars, and loneliness. She had become something more than a woman—something they whispered about in fear, something the underworld bowed to.
But tonight, for the first time, she was not just Domina. Not just Alina.
She was a daughter. A woman who had left home to bury her grief and rise again in silence.
Her gaze shifted to the city lights outside. The towers glimmered like blades. She felt the burn of her own reflection in the glass.
"It's time," she whispered to herself.
Time to return.
Time to face the ones she had left behind.
Time to show them who she is now.
The girl who had once left India was gone.
The woman returning was fired incarnate.
And somewhere deep inside, though she would never admit it out loud, a small flame of love still trembled for the family that had waited all these years.
By the time the clock struck ten, sunlight had already filled every corner of the mansion. The scent of toasted bread and roasted coffee drifted lazily through the halls. In the dining area, Alessandro was leafing through a folded newspaper, Luca sat rigid with his phone in hand, scrolling through overnight reports, while Meher was quietly cutting fruit for little Rehan, who was making more of a mess than actually eating.
The clink of heels echoed from the corridor.
Alina walked in, her expression unreadable, her hair still damp from the shower, tied back in a careless knot. She looked calm — too calm.
Everyone turned, naturally, like planets pulled to her gravity.
"Finally," Luka muttered. "The queen decides to grace us."
She didn't smile. Didn't roll her eyes. She walked straight to the head of the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. The scrape of wood against marble felt like thunder in the silence that followed.
Her voice was steady, clipped.
"I need to go back to India."
The air shifted immediately. Alexander lowered the paper slowly. Meher froze mid-motion, knife hovering above the fruit. Rehan blinked up at her, crumbs on his lips.
Alina continued, her words sharp, without pause:
"My mother is unwell. Someone got a photograph of me. It's out there. Someone from his family knowns that I'm alive. If I don't go back now, if I don't show them on my own terms… it'll be too late. For my family."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Meher was the first to react. Her voice trembled.
"Your… your mother is unwell? You mean—she's still…"
Alina's eyes flickered, just once, betraying the smallest crack.
"Yes."
Meher's hand tightened around the fruit knife. Her face softened, worried flooding in. "Then we go. We don't wait. We—"
"No." Alina's voice cut in, sharp as a blade. He slammed his phone face-down on the table. "We don't run back like fools. Not yet. First, we deal with Leona. That's unfinished business, and if we leave it hanging, she'll tear apart everything in our absence."
"She's right." Alessandro's voice was calm, deep, and steady. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Alina. "Your family matters, yes. But this empire… this underworld you control… it also matters. One wrong move, and both collapse. We strike Leona first. Clean. Final. Then we fly to India."
Luka met his gaze. Her face didn't flinch, but her fingers tapped once against the table.
"Fine," she said at last. "We finish her. Then we go."
Meher let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Luka leaned back, tension still burning in his shoulders.
It felt like the storm had settled, but the weight of her words lingered. She had dropped a bomb, and every single one of them was still carrying the aftershock.
Later, when the plates had been cleared and the plans laid, Alina stayed behind in the dining hall. Little riyan shuffled closer to her chair, tugging gently at her sleeve.
"Are we really going to India?" he asked, voice soft, innocent.
Alina's lips curved — not quite a smile, but something warmer than her usual mask. She bent slightly, lowering her voice for him alone.
"Yes, little lion. We're going. You'll love it there."
His eyes lit up. "What's it like?"
She paused, the question pulling her back to a place she hadn't touched in five years. Her voice softened, almost like a whisper.
"I have three brothers," she said slowly, as though unsealing a memory. "two older, one younger. A mother and father who once kept the world away from me. And three best friends. One boy, two girls. They were… my world once."
Riyan's mouth fell open in awe. "You never told me!"
"No." Alina's eyes darkened slightly, shadows flickering behind them. "Because I buried that part of me. Locked it away. But now…" She exhaled, steadily, and controlled. "Now I don't have the luxury of keeping them hidden anymore."
Riyan leaned closer, curious as ever.
"What are their names?"
Alina hesitated, then spoke to each one like a prayer, like a secret too long:
"See, I can't tell you the name of my parents because they are elderly okay but I can tell other names like my brothers, my sister my besties, my jaan, ishika, prisha and arav, my younger brother Arjun, and my two unexpected brother first ritvik bhaiya, he is ishika brother and dhruv bhaiyu, you know I never thought that he will leave everything for me and take care of my family in my absence but he did that's why I love him. They all are my family like you guys I also love them like I love you little lion."
For a moment, the silence between them wasn't heavy — it was soft. Almost fragile.
Riyan grinned, childlike, satisfied.
"Then I can't wait to meet them."
And Alina, the woman in the underworld called Domina, the queen who could make men bow with a single look… only placed a hand gently on his head.
"You will."
Morning sunlight streamed in through the tall glass windows of Domina Global's top floor. Inside her private cabin, Alina sat in a sharp black suit, posture immaculate as always. Her desk was lined with files in perfect stacks — meeting minutes, new contracts, pending authorizations. Her fingers moved swiftly across a laptop keyboard, pausing only to sign a document with her fountain pen.
The intercom buzzed once. Her manager stepped in, holding another folder.
"Domina, here's the report you asked for. Also—" He hesitated. "About Nadia's replacement. We'll need to start searching—"
Alina didn't look up.
"Start the interviews. I want efficiency, loyalty, and silence. Nothing else. Find me someone who won't sell their soul for a handful of money."
"Yes, Domina."
She closed the file, leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed briefly out the glass wall at the sprawling city below. For five years, this had been her kingdom. Built on blood, brilliance, and betrayal. And she ruled it with an iron calm.
Her phone buzzed on the table. The screen glowed with one word: Luka.
She answered without hesitation.
"Yes?"
His voice was low, steady, laced with violence waiting to be unleashed.
"We've got a lead. Leone was sighted leaving a warehouse outside Trieste. He won't stay long. If I move tonight, I can catch him before he runs."
Alina's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Good. Don't let him vanish. Bring him to me alive."
"Alive," Luck repeated, though there was a hint of annoyance. "You know I'd rather end it clean."
"I don't want to be clean," Alina snapped. "I want to be messy. I want every name in his book before his last breath. Do you understand?"
Silence. Then:
"As you command, Domina."
The line clicked shut.
Alina leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly, eyes on the black horizon again. Somewhere out there, Leone thought himself clever. He thought he had outplayed her.
But he didn't understand.
No one outplayed Domina.
By nightfall, the atmosphere at the mansion had changed. The chandeliers were dimmed, casting long shadows against the polished floors. In the study hall, the air was heavy — not with books or knowledge, but with anticipation.
A man knelt in the center of the room, wrists bound behind his back, his head forced down. His breathing was ragged, sharp from the beating he had already endured. His eyes darted upward nervously, only to find three sets of gazes piercing him from the darkness.
Alessandro leaned against the edge of the desk, his voice steady, quiet.
"You know who we are."
The man swallowed hard. "Y-Yes… Alessandro Russo."
"Good," Alessandro said softly. "Then you know lying won't save you."
Luka paced behind the prisoner, his fury barely contained. "Three years. Three fucking years you had Nadia feeding you crumbs. Do you think we wouldn't notice? Do you think we don't audit our own shadows?" He kicked the back of the man's chair, making him stumble forward.
The prisoner gasped. "It—it wasn't me! It was just business—"
"Business?" Alina's voice cut through the room like a blade.
She stepped forward from the shadows. Cold. Controlled. Her heels clicked against the marble, each step making the man flinch harder.
"You call me to be betraying my business?" Her tone was calm, measured, terrifying. She crouched slightly, so her eyes were level with his. "You planted Nadia in my company. You had her spy, copy files, send information out. You risked my empire. My people. My work. And you call it business?"
The handler stammered. "I—I was only following orders!"
"Whose?" Alessandro's voice hardened.
Silence.
Luka grabbed the man by his hair, jerking his head back violently. "Whose?" he snarled.
The handler's lips trembled. "…Vysotsky… the Vysotsky family… they wanted information on Domina Global's operations. Said the company was too clean, too powerful. They paid me… to place her there."
Alina, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, her voice sharp and disgusted.
"And you sold yourself that easily? For money?"
"I— I had no choice," the handler gasped.
"There is always a choice," Alina replied coldly. "And yours was betrayal."
The man's eyes widened as she straightened up, circling him slowly like a predator sizing up prey.
"What did Nadia send you?" she demanded.
"Financial reports. Blueprints. Shipment schedules. Some encrypted files I couldn't open—"
Alina's gaze sharpened instantly. "Encrypted files?"
"Yes! I tried—I swear I tried, but she said they were locked under triple keys, that even she couldn't touch them."
Alessandro exchanged a glance with Alina. His expression remained calm, but his eyes hardened.
"You'll stay alive," he said finally.
The handler blinked in confusion. "Wh—what?"
"You heard me," Alessandro said, straightening. "You're worth more breathing than dead. You'll keep talking. You'll tell us who gave you orders, who paid you, what they plan next. Piece by piece. Until there's nothing left to hide."
Luka leaned down, his voice a growl.
"And if you think of lying again, I'll personally make sure your tongue is the first thing I cut out."
The handler shivered violently.
Alina's face remained impassive. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
"Understand this. I don't forgive betrayal. I don't forget betrayal. You'll stay here. In this house. In this cage. And every word you give me will decide how long you breathe."
The man's head fell forward in defeat. "Y-Yes… Domina."
Alina turned away, her expression unreadable. Alessandro gave a small nod to the guards at the door, who dragged the handler away into the shadows of the basement.
When the door closed, the silence that followed was thick.
Finally, Alessandro spoke.
"He's a pawn. Vysotsky is the hand that moved him. We cut one, we'll have to deal with the other."
Alina's eyes lingered on the door where the handler had been taken. Her jaw was tight, but her voice was calm.
"And we will. One by one. Until there's no hand left to move."
The night outside was heavy with silence when the guards dragged the handler away. No one spoke for a moment—Alessandro's last words were still hanging in the air. Then, almost instinctively, they began moving back to the cars waiting at the gates.
The convoy rolled through the darkened streets until they reached the estate. The moment the doors opened, warm yellow light spilled from the entrance. Inside, the air was different—no longer than choking tension of interrogation, but something calmer, almost domestic.
Meher was already waiting in the main hall, arms folded across her chest. She tapped her heel impatiently against the marble floor when she saw them.
"You took your sweet time," she said sharply. "I had dinner laid out half an hour ago."
Luka smirked faintly, brushing past her. "Interrogations don't exactly come with a timer, sister in law."
"Don't start with me, Luka." Her eyes flicked to Alina, then softened. "You need food. And rest. All of you."
Alina gave the faintest nod. Her voice was quiet. "We'll come. Let us freshen up first."
Meher sighed, relenting. "Fine. Ten minutes. Don't make me drag you out myself."
They all dispersed into their separate wings of the house. Alina entered her suite, peeled away the blood-darkened jacket, and set it aside with a controlled exhale. The warm shower washed away the night's weight, but not the thoughts clawing at her mind. By the time she emerged in a clean ivory blouse and black trousers, her mask of composure was back in place.
When they all gathered again, the dining table glowed under soft chandeliers, laid neatly with silver and porcelain. The smell of spiced lentils, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread filled the air. They took their seats—Alina at the head, Alessandro to her right, Luka opposite, and Meher in her usual place beside Alessandro.
Conversation began slowly, over the clinking of cutlery. Then Meher, as always, cut directly to the matter.
"So," she said, setting down her glass, "you mentioned this morning that you have to go back to India. Right?"
Alina paused, her fork hovering midair, then nodded once. "Yes."
Meher leaned forward. "Then tell us when exactly. I'll need to call the pilot and arrange the schedule. According to the timing, everything."
Alessandro glanced at Alina. "You've decided already?"
"Yes," Alina said calmly. "Tomorrow night. I'll go first. I have things to handle there before anyone else comes. In the next evening, I'll meet everyone. That's the plan."
For a moment, silence fell. Then Luka frowned. "You're going alone?"
Alina's eyes narrowed. "I said it's the plan."
Before Luka could respond, Alessandro's voice cut in—calm but firm.
"No. You're not going alone."
Everyone's eyes turned to him. Alina arched one brow. "And why not?"
Alessandro placed his glass down slowly, his gaze locked on her. "Because the situation isn't stable yet. You're stepping back into India while enemies are still looking at your movements. If they discover where you're going, if they sense weakness, it will not only be dangerous for you—it will drag your family there into it."
Meher's lips pressed thin. "He's right. We can't risk exposing them."
Alina exhaled, almost impatiently. "So what do you suggest, bhaiya?"
"I'll handle it here first," he said. "Sort out what needs sorting. Then Meher and I will follow you after two or three days."
Meher turned to him instantly, eyes wide. "What? Why me?"
Alessandro's tone softened, but his reasoning was immovable. "I can't leave everything exposed, Meher. You know that. We have to secure matters here before moving. If something goes wrong in our absence, it won't just be our families at risk."
Meher stared at him for a moment, her jaw tightening. "You always do this—thinking you have to carry the whole weight."
"And you always think I'm trying to keep you away," Alessandro countered, his voice low. "But this isn't about us. It's about safety."
Luka raised a brow. "So what—you'll stay here like some kind of watchdog while Domina flies off alone?"
"No," Alessandro corrected. "She won't be alone."
Alina looked at him sharply. "Who then?"
Alessandro turned to her, steady. "you and Riyan."
The table stilled. Even Meher blinked. "Riyan? You want him to go with her?"
"Yes." Alessandro nodded. "Because I can't trust leaving him behind here either. And you know he can leave without us but without her that's impossible and —" he hesitated, his gaze flicking to Alina—"he won't leave her side. Not for a second."
Alina leaned back in her chair, studying him. "You're sending him because you can't be there yourself."
"Because I can't leave Meher unprotected here either," Alessandro corrected. "And because little Riyan may be able to stay away from his mother and father for a while… but he cannot stay away from you."
The words silenced the table for a long heartbeat.
Meher's expression softened just slightly, though her voice remained stern. "So you're saying Alina goes with Luka and riyan. And we follow after?"
"Yes," Alessandro said. "That way she has immediate protection. And I can close matters here before they spiral."
Luka finally leaned back, his smirk faint but knowing. "So it's settled, then. Aline leaves tomorrow. With me and little Riyan."
Alina's gaze lingered on Alessandro, sharp and unreadable. For a moment, no one could tell whether she agreed—or whether she was about to tear the plan apart.
Then, at last, she gave a single nod.
"Fine. Tomorrow. You and little lion comes with me. The both of you, follow after."
The decision locked into the room like steel. And the dinner carried on, quiet but heavy, every word measured against the weight of tomorrow.
The grand dining hall was quieter now. Plates are half-finished, glasses drained, and the heavy talk of strategy finally gives way to lighter murmurs. Laughter had touched their table once or twice, but under it all, each of them carried the same tension in their bones.
When the clock struck midnight, Alessandro pushed his chair back with a sigh.
"Enough for tonight," he said. His voice was low but firm. "We've settled what needs settling. The rest… we'll face tomorrow."
Meher stretched her shoulders, giving him a side look. "That's your way of saying we're all too tired to argue more, isn't it?"
"Exactly," Luka muttered, smirking as he folded his napkin.
One by one, they rose, exchanging soft goodnights as they prepared to part for their wings of the mansion. But before anyone could leave, Alina's voice broke the quiet.
"Wait."
They all turned. She stood at the head of the table still, her posture regal, her eyes dark with determination.
"I want you to know my plan before tomorrow comes."
The room stilled. Alessandro moved closer, standing beside her now, his arms crossed. "Speak."
Alina's voice was calm, measured. "I'll take off tomorrow at 7 pm. . My flight will be the first land in delhi, then connect to Jaipur. It will take time—India is not just across the corner. And there's a time difference you'll all have to keep in mind. So don't expect my first call too soon after I land."
Alessandro leaned back against the table, hands tucked in his pockets. "I'll take good care of everything here. You don't need to worry about the estate."
"And I'll take care of you all," Alessandro added, looking at her. "Even from here. He may be with you, but I'll still be watching over him. You won't have to carry that weight alone."
For the first time that night, Alina's hard gaze softened slightly. "Then I don't have to worry about him," she said, voice quiet. "Because you're here."
Alessandro's jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on her a moment too long before he nodded. "I'm not worried about Riyan. I'm worried about you."
The air shifted. Luka tilted his head, smirking faintly to cut the tension. "He means, Domina, you're about to step into fire. And you'll be face to face with the people who stole pieces of your life. That's not something any of us can shrug off."
Alina straightened. "Then let me remind you all—I built this empire in silence, away from their eyes. I know what waits for me there. And I'm not going back weak."
Meher stepped closer, her voice softening. "We know. But promise us one thing—" she reached out, resting a hand briefly on Alina's arm—"when you get there, don't lose yourself in rage. Remember why you're going back. For your mother. For your family."
Alina didn't answer immediately. Her eyes lowered, shadowed by thoughts no one else could reach. Finally, she gave the smallest nod. "I'll remember."
Little Riyan, who had been silent until now, piped up in his small but firm voice. "I'll take care of you too, muma."
That drew faint smiles from all of them. Alina leaned down, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "I know you will."
Alessandro's eyes burned quietly as he looked at her. "I'll come to you as soon as it's safe to leave things here. I won't stay longer than I have to."
Alina met his gaze, steady. "Until then, don't worry about me. Just keep everything here locked down. And when the time comes… come fast."
"Always," Alessandro said simply.
They exchanged no more words after that. Only nods, small gestures of loyalty that meant more than language. And then, one by one, they wished each other good night and drifted back into the shadows of the mansion—each retreating into their private worlds of work, preparation, and restless thoughts.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
The morning after the storm of decisions, Alina's day unfolded as it always did—merciless, disciplined, uninterrupted.
Her calendar was stacked from dawn. By 9 a.m. she was already in her glass-walled office, her voice clipped as she moved from one conference call to another. Numbers, shipments, negotiations, the never-ending trail of empire management—all of it passed across her desk. Luka drifted in and out of her cabin, occasionally sliding a new file her way, occasionally reminding her to eat something.
"Domina, the Vysotsky shipment route needs redirecting," one manager's voice buzzed through the speaker.
Alina barely looked up. "Then redirect it. If they resist, freeze their accounts for forty-eight hours. They'll come begging."
By noon, the calls had blurred together. She never flinched, never allowed fatigue to touch her expression, but in the silence between meetings, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes closing for a moment too long. Her empire was thriving, yet her mind wasn't in these walls. Her mind was already halfway across the ocean.
Meher peeked in once, setting a plate of fruit on the desk. "You'll collapse if you don't eat," she murmured.
"I don't collapse," Alina replied, picking up a piece of apple anyway. Her tone was cold, but Meher caught the flicker of distraction in her eyes.
Meher placed the plate of fruit on Alina's desk, her tone half-command, half-affection.
"You'll collapse if you don't eat," she said lightly, adjusting the edge of the plate before stepping back.
Alina's pen hovered above the paper for a moment. The words hadn't been harsh, yet something in them pulled her mind sideways.
It wasn't the first time.
Her gaze flicked to Meher's retreating back, the soft swish of her sari-blouse sleeves, the effortless authority in her walk. For a fleeting second, Alina felt the tug of years—of all the times this woman had been there when everything threatened to crack open.
She thought of the night she had collapsed from exhaustion three years ago, her body refusing to keep up with the merciless empire she was building. It was Meher, not a doctor, who had been at her side first. Cool clothes pressed to her forehead, soft words in her ear, firm hands making her drink water when even lifting her head felt impossible. She remembered Alexander's worry, Luca's frustration—but it was Meher's presence that steadied her, that forced her back into herself.
And yet, she wasn't just a caretaker. No.
Meher wasn't some ordinary housewife hovering in the background. She was sharp, driven, commanding in her own right. A CEO. Founder of one of the fastest-growing cosmetic and skincare brands in Italy—already spilling across Europe, reaching the shelves of New York, Tokyo, Paris. People adored her line for its innovation, the blend of science and artistry only Meher could envision. She wasn't in Alina's shadow—she cast her own.
Sometimes, when the demands of her brand loosened their grip, she would sweep into Domina Global's glass fortress as though it were her second home. Dropping Rihan with Alexander or Luca, she would spend hours with Alina—sometimes advising, sometimes mocking, sometimes just sitting there with her, bringing warmth into the steel corridors of the empire.
Girls' time, Meher would say. Though "girls' time" often meant Meher stealing files off Alina's desk, teasing her mercilessly, or daring to taste coffee from Alina's untouched cup.
A faint, unwilling smile touched Alina's lips at the memory.
Meher was older, yes—her bhabhi, her sister, in every sense of the word. But Alina often wondered if Alessandro irritated her less than Meher did. She could slice through Alina's patience with a single offhand comment, needle her in ways Luka never dared. She could irritate, provoke, and yet… she could heal.
That balance was rare. Dangerous. Precious.
Alina drew a sharp breath, pulling herself back. Enough. Not now.
Her pen hit the paper again, her walls slamming back into place. Work. Always work. Her empire would not forgive distraction.
And so she buried the thought, the faint ghost of Meher's laughter, and drowned herself once more in lines of figures and steel-edged words.
The day dragged forward. Documents signed. More calls. A dispute settled. Another betrayal sniffed out. On the outside, nothing was different. To her people, Domina was exactly the same—untuchable, calculating, and in control. But only Luka noticed the way her hand tapped against the desk too often, or how she stared at her phone screen during pauses, as though expecting something more than just schedules.
By evening, the meetings wound down. The building quieted. Lights flickered off floor by floor until only her office still glowed against the skyline.
The marble corridors of Alessandro's palazzo gleamed with evening light, the chandeliers already burning warm amber as Alina walked in. Her heels echoed like a metronome against the stone floor, each step measured, steady, deliberate.
They were all waiting for her.
She had called them hours before, telling them to assemble in the living area—no excuses, no delays. By the time she entered, the air was already thick with anticipation. Luca leaned against the mantel, his arms crossed, eyes sharp. Meher sat gracefully on one of the velvet chairs, her face unreadable but watchful. Alessandro was there too, a steady presence, his gaze fixed on Alina as though he could read her even before she spoke. Others—trusted associates, shadows of her empire—sat in silence, waiting for her to break it.
Alina did not sit. She placed her file on the mahogany table in the center and stood tall, her hands resting lightly on its edges. Her jaw was taut, her face a mask of icy calm, though under her ribs her heart beat harder and faster than she cared to admit.
"I have a plan," she began.
Her voice was steady, clipped, the kind of tone that left no room for interruption. And yet, there was something dangerous in it, something raw, like a storm barely contained.
"you all know I'm going to India. Delhi."
A ripple passed through the room—quiet, uneasy. No one spoke, but she felt their eyes on her, questioning, doubting, afraid.
"I know what it means," she continued. "I know I'll be revealing my identity there. The mask I've carried for years will fall. And still, I will go."
Her fingers curled slightly on the table's edge. For a moment, she hesitated, as though her voice might falter. But then the words tumbled out, sharper than she intended.
"I want that man to hurt. More than he ever hurt me."
Her throat tightened, but she forced the words through, each one edged with venom she had been storing for years.
"I saw him with another woman."
The sentence seemed to hang in the room like smoke. Her composure cracked for half a second—the tiniest flicker of something pained in her eyes—but then her expression hardened again, cold, detached.
"I will not let him believe he destroyed me. I will not let him walk freely with the satisfaction that he broke me. So here is what I will do: I'll go to them, stand in their midst, and tell them of my engagement."
Her lips curled faintly—not a smile, but a blade of mockery.
"Yes. I will invite them all to witness it. I will place the invitation in his very hand. And I will watch him swallow the taste of it."
Her words cracked, just faintly, when she said his hand. Beneath the steel, there was the tremor of memory—what she had once held, once cherished. A love that had burned so completely that even after a year, even after betrayal, it still left its ashes clinging to her chest.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself, forcing her features into an icy mask.
Her heart was roaring, but her face remained stone.
The room was silent. Even Meher did not move, though Alina could feel her bhabhi's eyes on her, sharp and knowing. They all knew her too well—knew that her coldness was a shield, that beneath it was a wound that still bled. But no one dared to voice it.
Alessandro was the first to break the silence. His voice was calm and deliberate.
"And the plan? Beyond the invitation?"
Alina straightened. Her tone sharpened, her shield sliding fully back into place.
"I will message them If they want to know about Isha, let them come to Jaipur Palace," she said. "They believe she may still be alive.Or She is not. They will came is. That will be enough to lure them, to make them listen. I will use their own questions, their own desperation, to draw them in."
Her eyes swept across the room, daring anyone to challenge her.
"This is not only about information. This is about power. About control. I'll show them I am untouchable, even in their world. They will come, and they will watch, and they will bleed silently inside when they realize they lost their chance to break me."
Her voice dipped lower, colder.
"And he—he will know. He will know that while he was with someone else, I was building an empire. That while he thought me shattered, I was already planning the day I would hand him his own ruin, gift-wrapped."
The last words left her mouth in a whisper, laced with fury, with pain, with the kind of love twisted into hatred.
For a moment, she almost lost herself—her heartbeat so loud it filled her ears, her throat tightening as if to choke her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing the tremor down, forcing her body to obey her mind.
Cold. Detached. Always detached.
No one spoke.
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