**Chapter 1** *Anastasia* *Age 25* “I refuse to be married,” I assert, my voice steady but my heart racing. My palms are slick with sweat as I grip them tightly, digging my nails into my skin, a desperate attempt to channel the turmoil surging through me. Before me stands a woman cloaked in authority, her silver brows arched high in disbelief, her embroidered jacket and tailored black slacks exuding an air of regal elegance. Despite the bloodline that links us, she feels entirely foreign—a stranger more than a grandmother. "You have no ground to stand on, Anastasia," she retorts, her Russian accent lacing her words with an icy detachment. A low growl of frustration bubbles within me as I grapple with the contempt suffusing her tone. Beside me, my brother's hand tightens possessively on my shoulder, grounding me as he interjects, “That’s not what we agreed upon during our phone call.” She regards him with an inscrutable expression. “You speak as if we owe you something when, in truth, it is you who desperately need our assistance.” The weight of her words drags down into my stomach like a stone. Just two weeks have passed since our father’s funeral, and already he has ensnared us in a web of debt we had no inkling about. He had borrowed heavily from the Salvatore organization, amassing a mountain of obligations that crashed down on us like a tidal wave the day after his death. The Salvatores—unlike the noble Order of Saints—abide by no code. They are not a hidden society; they are a ruthless crime syndicate. Their promises are laced with ominous threats, and I feel the gravity of their warning settle over me: late payments will mean consequences beyond our darkest fears. The chilling calm with which they had sat in our living room felt like a scene from a nightmare, one that transformed my reality overnight. The ultimatum was clear: either we repay every cent, or we spend the rest of our lives repaying in ways I shudder to contemplate. It was evident what fate awaited us, particularly for women, in their organization. And so here we stand, seeking aid from the very grandmother who remains a stranger to me. As the eldest of the Romanov clan, and a significant figure within the hierarchy of power second only to the Order itself, she possesses the resources to pull us from despair. Yet, she demands our presence here in New York City, requiring us to prostrate ourselves before her judgment. The anticipation of this moment led me to believe it might be a straightforward transaction: face her, bow low, and swallow down the remnants of our pride. I realize now how naive that notion was. Betrayal runs deep between our families—a wound opened by my mother. “Marriage isn’t necessary. We’ll repay you generously once we restore our businesses,” my brother insists, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, determination radiating from him. With a sharp tilt of her head, she regards him with clear disdain. “Look around you. Do you honestly believe I am in need of your money?” The grandeur of the room encloses us: an ornate ceiling adorned with gold flourishes, opulent decor that echoes the power of ancient bloodlines—a castle, not merely a residence. The marble floor beneath our feet is cool to the touch, elegantly marbled with rich browns, while heavy velvet curtains cascade around the expansive windows. Every facet of this place screams extravagance, drawing a stark contrast to the crumbling legacy our family has left behind. In the shadow of this royal spectacle, she stands as an icy statue, unmoved as she awaits our acceptance of our undesired fate. She could not be more different from her daughter—the mother I cherished—who wore kindness like a second skin. The memory stabs at me, a reminder of my unspeakable loss, and the guilt swells, suffocating me. A part of me wants to plead, to fall to my knees before this woman, but I sense intuitively that such desperation would only fuel her disdain. “If I agree to marry, will you grant us financial aid?” I blurt out, and as the words leave my lips, a shiver races down my spine. “It’s a starting point. And do not forget, your brother is the heir to our family. He will need to marry as well.” “What?” The single syllable escapes me like a gasp, and I stumble backward into Nikolai, whose complexion immediately drains of color. He stiffens beside me. “I refuse to become your heir.” “Refusal?” She cocks an eyebrow, cold amusement lacing her features. “You speak as if you have a choice. Marry, both of you, and we shall provide the means to save your family's company. That’s why you’re here. You wouldn’t have come unless it was absolutely imperative.” The dread settles in my chest, making each breath feel laborious. I knew they would demand something in return—though I did not foresee this twisted condition. Nikolai has exerted every ounce of strength to salvage the Volkov name. He is meant to lead, not abandon his future for the suffocating legacy of Romanov. My mother fled them for a reason, and I have no desire to unravel those secrets. The treacherous reputation that lingers around the Romanovs fills my heart with fear for my brother. A familiar guilt twists in my gut as I recall how my desire for help led to her untimely demise. Had I not reached out to her, she would still be here with us, and our lives would not be spiraling downward in this chaotic nightmare. Now here we stand, with the unforgiving Salvatore organization looming close, their threats a constant specter darkening our lives. I glance sideways at my brother, his resolute stare boring into our grandmother. He understands the gravity of our situation as clearly as I do. The weight in his gaze reflects our shared understanding: we need her money. He turns between her and me, and suddenly I see that familiar look—the one that says he’s ready to sacrifice everything once again. My heart tightens at the thought. I can’t allow that—he’s given so much already, and I cannot let him throw away the one thing that could rescue him from this fate. I won’t relent. “There has to be an alternative. Something upon which we can capitalize,” I plead, urgency coloring my tone. The glint in her eyes feels like a predatory glance, and the sensation sends ice through my veins. “We’ll assist you if you can retrieve what your mother took from us,” she replies with a cold smile. My brow furrows as I turn to Nikolai, confusion shimmering in my eyes, but he remains as puzzled as I am. “We possess nothing of yours,” he asserts, resolute. “Of course, you don’t. She didn’t steal it for you,” she counters. “How do you suppose a runaway secures protection from the Order of Saints? You think they allowed your mother and father to slip through unscathed?” I step forward, only to find Nikolai’s firm grip restraining me. “Our father was a Saint by birthright,” I exclaim, incredulity sharpening my voice. She laughs lightly, a chilling sound that sends shivers rattling through me. “Lies. Your mother fled with your father when he was nothing but an Unsainted, desperately trying to escape judgment. The only way they could protect themselves was by purchasing it from the Order.” “That’s absurd! The Order wouldn’t entertain such a notion,” Nikolai insists, his conviction unwavering. “Oh, but it appears you have misplaced faith in their integrity. The Order can indeed be bought, although at a hefty price,” she counters, satisfaction curling the edges of her lips. My brother’s eyes flash with disbelief. “You think money can sway the position of a Saint? It’s invaluable!” “Precisely.” She lowers her voice, her gaze sharper than ever. “That’s why they demanded something that can never be bought—something that belongs to me.” I scramble to assemble my thoughts, searching for any knowledge of fierce heirlooms or tokens of significance but find nothing. “What do you mean?” I finally ask. “The Kokoshnik Tiara,” she pronounces, relish dripping from her words. “It’s been passed down through the generations, originating from your very lineage. An item that is coveted by many.” Her piercing gaze bores into me. “We anticipated your mother to return it, but with her passing, it has slipped from our grasp. I’ve heard whispers that you play a role in this tragedy.” Nausea rises in my throat as her words slice through me—her knowledge of my guilt painfully acute. I feel exposed, the painful truth of my actions echoing back ominously. With a deep breath and a resolve I barely comprehend, I offer, “I’ll return it.” Her expression shifts, tilting her head curiously as if measuring the authenticity of my resolve. “What exactly are you proposing?” Nikolai’s hand constricts around my arm, anxiety etching lines across his handsome features. “Ana, don’t—” But I steel my gaze, refusing to allow fear to overtake me. I know the gravity of this decision—stealing from the Order would mean death, yet the thought of him sacrificing anything else for me is insufferable. “I will retrieve it. No matter the cost.” “Ana, stop this madness! It’s too dangerous!” Nikolai protests, desperation lacing his words, but I disregard him. The smile that unfurls across our grandmother’s face sends chills skittering down my spine. “Nikolai, you will remain here. You are the heir after all. What better leverage could I have?” Her eyes shift back to me, sharp and calculating. “Let me do it. I can manage it. I’m already a Saint,” Nikolai argues. There’s steel in his voice, a raw strength I’ve not witnessed before, but he’s not taking into account what this would place upon his shoulders. He has fought for our family for too long. “No,” I assert firmly. “I will do it.” Nikolai’s breath hitches, but our grandmother dismisses him, a frame of pure calculation standing before us. “Good. Just be careful; I wouldn’t want you to end up dead as well.” Her tone masks a threat woven deep within her false concern. Whether I live or die holds no meaning to her—only the tiara. I carry my chin high, meeting her gaze squarely. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.” Sarcasm drips from my every syllable, watching as the tension tightens around her lips. Whatever darkness is waiting, I will face it. I will ensure she pays for this price I must now bear, for I am sworn to protect my brother and our legacy. “I promise.”