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You Buried My Daughter, I Burned Down Your Empire
NovelShort
Hoàn thành
Don Vincent Volkov brought our five-year-old daughter, Sofia Volkov, along with his mistress, Roxanne Vega, to an underworld social gala attended by powerful crime families. During the event, Roxanne ...
Chương (3)
第1章
I handled my daughter’s funeral arrangements myself.
From the moment the hospital released her body to the final signature at the crematorium, I did everything alone. The staff spoke to me in hushed voices, their eyes heavy with pity. Some of them had seen Sofia when she was still breathing, when she was still clutching that medicine meant for another woman. They avoided saying too much, but their silence carried more compassion than my husband ever had.
For two full days, Don Vincent Volkov never called.
Not once.
Ten years of marriage collapsed into those forty-eight hours of absence.
I neither ate nor drank. Grief hollowed me out until even breathing felt unnecessary. I printed the divorce agreement myself, placed it neatly on the coffee table in the mansion bearing the Volkov crest, and waited for him to return from wherever he had chosen to be.
When he finally walked in, he did not ask about his daughter.
Instead, he said coolly, “Where’s the medicine I told you to make Sofia deliver? Did she send it to the grave with her? Because of her delay, Roxanne was hospitalized for two days.”
For a moment, I almost laughed.
Send it to the grave?
Yes.
That was exactly where it went.
He removed his tailored coat with irritation and tossed it onto the sofa. The sharp scent of a woman’s perfume drifted through the room, sweet and unfamiliar, clinging to the fabric like an accusation.
I felt my chest tighten. Without a word, I walked to the drawer, took out my allergy pills, and swallowed them dry. The fragrance in the air was already making my throat itch.
He noticed and scoffed. “What are you trying to prove? Roxanne’s the one allergic to alcohol. Now you’re copying her? If she’s in the hospital covered in rashes, why aren’t you there apologizing?”
His voice rose as he continued, “Where is Sofia? Tell her to come out and apologize right now. Roxanne was generous enough not to blame her. She was miserable and still defended that child. You’ve spoiled Sofia beyond control. I’ll deal with her myself tonight.”
The word deal made something inside me snap.
I picked up the divorce papers and threw them in front of him.
“Sign them,” I said steadily. “Stop pretending you care about disciplining her. You have no right to raise your voice at her again. I’ll remove myself from your life and clear the way for you and Roxanne.”
Rage overtook his face instantly. He stepped forward and crushed the papers beneath his shoe before bending to tear them apart.
“Sofia did something wrong, and you’re turning it into a spectacle?” he barked. “Just because Roxanne is forgiving doesn’t mean I let that girl grow wild. And now you’re talking about divorce because I want to discipline my own daughter? Have you lost your mind?”
His words struck like bullets.
I stood up too quickly, and my vision blurred as dizziness washed over me. Still, I forced myself to speak.
“Discipline? What crime did Sofia commit that deserved being sent alone at night across the street? Do you even know what happened to her on the way—”
He cut me off sharply. “Enough. I asked her to buy medicine. So what? The streets were full of people. Nothing could have happened. Did she run to you crying again? You’ve raised her to be weak.”
With that, he pulled a small box from his suit pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of me.
“Will this stop your tantrum? Now call Sofia out here. I’ll speak to her myself. From now on, you stay out of how I teach her.”
I stared at him in silence.
In that instant, I understood something with terrifying clarity.
There was no reason to tell him that Sofia was dead.
He would not grieve.
He would only ask whether Roxanne had been slighted.
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
I reached forward and opened the box. Inside lay a bottle of perfume.
The same scent clinging to his coat.
He had not even bothered to be discreet. He had simply purchased two identical gifts, handing one to me as casually as one tosses spare change to a beggar.
Every perfume contains alcohol.
He knew that I was severely allergic to it and had never once worn fragrance in our entire marriage. Meanwhile, Roxanne, who constantly claimed to be allergic to alcohol, bathed herself in perfume without hesitation.
But he never cared enough to notice.
In the past, I had accepted every gift he gave me with gratitude, no matter how careless or unsuitable, because I loved him. I convinced myself that intention mattered more than thoughtfulness.
Perhaps that was why he believed my love had no value.
Perhaps that was why he believed our daughter’s life had no value either.
When Sofia’s face surfaced in my mind, tears finally gathered in my eyes.
I looked at him and said quietly, “Sign the divorce. Sofia won’t trouble you again. She doesn’t need forgiveness, because she never did anything wrong.”
Her only misfortune was being born into the Volkov crime family.
My refusal to back down darkened his expression.
“I’ve had enough,” he snapped. “I brought you a gift and you still want more? Sofia isn’t a toddler anymore, and you’re threatening divorce over discipline? Let me warn you now, if you leave, don’t even think about taking custody. I’ve been more than generous to you.”
Generous.
The word echoed mockingly in the room.
After venting his anger, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, as if this argument were nothing more than one of our usual quarrels. For ten years, whenever he lost his temper, I was the one who softened first. I would cook his favorite dishes, wait beside him, and allow the silence to dissolve on its own.
He likely believed this would be no different.
He would sleep, wake up, and find me in the kitchen like always.
But this time, there would be no reconciliation.
When he disappeared upstairs, I gathered the house keys and placed them neatly on the table beside the torn divorce papers. I signed my name again on a fresh copy and left it where he could not miss it.
Then I walked out of the mansion I had lived in for five years, leaving behind the empire, the title of Mrs. Volkov, and the man who never even realized his daughter had already gone to the grave.
第2章
I had loved Vincent Volkov in silence for five years before I ever became his wife, and I spent another five years married to him, believing that devotion could eventually turn into affection. To stand beside him openly as Mrs. Volkov, my mother paid the ultimate price. To walk away from him, I lost my daughter.
My mother had served the Volkov estate for most of her life. She was more than a housekeeper; she was practically a shadow to Catherine Marconi, the Don’s wife, tending to her needs day and night. The family trusted her, relied on her, and rewarded her loyalty with steady raises and quiet gratitude.
The night everything changed, she had accompanied Catherine to a private shopping district owned by one of the Volkov affiliates. On their way back, armed men ambushed their car. They were failed businessmen ruined by one of the syndicate’s deals, desperate enough to kidnap Catherine and demand ransom from the Volkov family.
My mother did not hesitate.
An aging woman with no weapon to defend herself, she threw herself in front of Catherine when the car door was yanked open. The kidnappers had not expected resistance from someone like her. In their panic, one of them drew a knife.
She fought them with nothing but her bare hands and sheer will. She stalled them long enough for the Volkov bodyguards and police to arrive. Catherine was rescued unharmed. The kidnappers were captured.
My mother was the only one left bleeding on the pavement.
Catherine’s face had drained of all color. She knelt beside my mother, holding her hand, urging her to stay conscious while they waited for the ambulance. My mother understood that she would not survive. Even as her strength faded, she worried only about me.
She knew I had admired Vincent for years.
With her last breath, she made Catherine promise that I would one day marry him.
Catherine froze when she heard that request. She knew her son’s heart belonged elsewhere. But as my mother’s raised hand trembled and weakened, Catherine clenched her jaw and gave her word.
Through tears, she swore that she would see me wed to Vincent.
My mother died believing she had secured my future.
At her funeral, people whispered that fate had been cruel but generous at the same time. I had lost my only family, yet I had gained entry into the most powerful crime family in the city. They spoke of wealth, protection, status.
None of them understood that I would have traded all of it just to have my mother back.
My father had died when I was young. My mother and I survived by clinging to each other. She never knew that she was my entire world.
On my wedding day, Catherine held my hands and wept openly. “Your mother can rest peacefully now,” she told me between sobs.
I nodded, though my face felt numb and drained of life.
Vincent played the perfect gentleman in front of the assembled capos and allies. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe I had found someone who would eventually grow to love me.
That illusion shattered the moment the guests left.
When we were alone, he leaned close and murmured in a voice so cold it made my blood freeze. “You used your mother’s death to secure this marriage. Are you satisfied? The woman I love is not you. I agreed only because my mother insisted. In public, I’ll act as your husband. In private, my heart belongs elsewhere.”
He kept his word. In front of the family, he treated me with measured courtesy. He provided everything a Don’s wife was supposed to have. But our marriage was nothing more than a carefully staged arrangement.
When Sofia was born, he did not smile. He stood beside the hospital bed and said indifferently, “Now neither my mother nor I owe you anything.”
I believed that once he held his daughter long enough, his heart would soften. I thought time would bring him home to us.
Instead, time proved how naïve I was.
After Sofia’s birth, I was the only one who remained trapped in that illusion.
The marriage bought with one life would now collapse because of another.
When I left the Volkov mansion, I returned to the rundown apartment where my mother and I once lived. I brought Sofia’s ashes with me. The cemetery controlled by the syndicate had a three-day waiting period before burial.
On the day of the interment, I had just opened the door with the urn in my arms when a force slammed into me. Someone had kicked me hard enough to knock me to the ground. I barely managed to steady the urn before it slipped.
I looked up and saw Vincent standing over me, fury blazing in his eyes.
Behind him, Roxanne Vega stood flanked by armed bodyguards, her face half-hidden by a white mask.
Vincent stepped over me and entered the apartment without permission, shouting Sofia’s name as if summoning a disobedient subordinate. He kicked open doors one by one, growing more impatient each second when he found no sign of her.
Finally, he strode back to me and grabbed my collar. “Where is Sofia? Tell her to come out right now.”
I tightened my arms around the urn. “You have no right to say her name,” I replied coldly. “Take your mistress and leave.”
My words ignited him.
“Mind your tone,” he warned. “Don’t make me teach you how to speak.”
He continued, “You pushed Sofia into doing something vicious. I was willing to have her apologize, and you interfered. Have I been too lenient with you all these years?”
A chill crept through me. “What are you accusing her of?” I demanded. “As long as I’m alive, you will not lay blame on her.”
For one foolish second, I had thought he might have learned about Sofia’s accident and come to accompany us to the cemetery.
Instead, Roxanne stepped forward, slowly removing her mask.
Her face was covered in red rashes. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at Vincent. “It’s alright,” she said softly. “Maybe Sofia didn’t understand what she was doing. She probably didn’t mean to cause my allergy.”
Her false gentleness only fueled his anger.
“Stop defending that child,” Vincent snapped. “Alessandra put her up to this. She used Sofia to ruin your face.”
My mind went blank.
“That’s your daughter,” I shouted. “What exactly are you planning to do to her for this woman?”
Before I could say more, his hand struck my face. The sting was sharp enough to make my ears ring.
“I told you to watch your words,” he roared. “Has no one taught you manners since your mother died? You encouraged Sofia to pour alcohol into Roxanne’s skincare products. You knew she’s allergic. How could you be so cruel? And now you’re dragging your own child into this mess?”
Rage surged through me. “Sofia is five years old,” I shot back. “Do you think she even understands what alcohol is? It has a strong odor. It evaporates quickly. Anyone would notice. Yet she applied it to her own skin. And you believe this nonsense?”
He shouted over me. “Only Sofia went into Roxanne’s room. There were no servants in the house. If not her, then who? The security footage shows everything clearly. Stop denying it. After I finish questioning you, I’ll hand you both over to the police if I have to. Now bring Sofia out.”
His voice echoed in the small apartment.
He was demanding to see a child who was already ashes in my arms.
第3章
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt and forced the words out. “You keep talking about surveillance. Then show it to me. I won’t stand here and let anyone drag my daughter’s name through the mud.”
Vincent did not hesitate. He unlocked his phone with a few swift taps and flung it at me as though tossing evidence onto a courtroom table.
On the screen was footage from inside the Volkov mansion. A small figure appeared in the frame, wearing a dress identical to the one Sofia had worn that day. The girl had a hat pulled low over her face and moved with an unsteady gait as she entered Roxanne’s bedroom.
She walked toward the vanity, took a small bottle out of a bag, and poured its contents into a jar of skincare cream. The video cut off immediately afterward.
I noticed the timestamp.
Two days ago.
By that time, my daughter had already been reduced to ashes.
A bitter laugh escaped me, though tears streamed freely down my face.
Roxanne stepped forward delicately, her voice trembling with false vulnerability. “Alessandra, I’m not trying to accuse anyone. I only want to understand why Sofia would do such a thing. She’s still young. It’s not too late to guide her properly. You can’t let her grow up thinking this is acceptable.”
Her hypocrisy made my blood boil. I pushed myself up and spat directly onto her rash-covered cheek.
“Stop pretending you care about Sofia,” I said coldly. “You don’t even know who that person in the video is, yet you’re already pinning it on us. Or are you so desperate to sit in Mrs. Volkov’s seat that you’ll frame a child?”
Vincent’s restraint finally snapped.
Before I could react, his foot slammed into my stomach. The force knocked the air out of me, and my fingers loosened instinctively.
The urn slipped from my grasp.
It hit the ground with a hollow crack. The lid popped off and rolled away. The container toppled, and a cloud of pale gray ashes spilled across the rough concrete floor, spreading in a thin, tragic layer under the harsh light.
For a moment, I felt nothing at all.
All I could see was the gray dust scattered before me.
My scream tore through the narrow hallway.
Ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, I dropped to my knees and threw myself over the ashes as though I could shield them from further harm.
Vincent tilted his chin slightly and gave a subtle signal. Two bodyguards stepped forward, each gripping one of my arms and hauling me upright despite my struggle.
My eyes remained locked on the ground. My lips moved soundlessly. No voice came out.
Vincent crouched in front of me, lowering his voice into a dangerous whisper. “Where is Sofia? I’m giving you one last opportunity to answer.”
I could not respond. My mind had gone numb.
He straightened slowly, nodding to himself as if reaching a conclusion. “So you won’t talk. You think it’s amusing to ruin someone’s face, is that it?”
One of the bodyguards handed him a bottle of medical alcohol.
Vincent unscrewed the cap and poured the liquid directly onto the ashes scattered on the floor. The alcohol soaked into the gray powder, turning it into a murky paste.
He bent down, scooped up a handful of the mixture, and without hesitation smeared it across my face.
The sudden chill made my entire body tremble, but he seemed only more enraged by my reaction. He pressed harder, rubbing the ash and alcohol into my skin as if grinding it in.
“Since you like playing these games, I’ll personally give you a treatment,” he said mockingly. “How does it feel? Say something. Can’t you hear me asking you?”
The alcohol seeped into the skin that his earlier slap had already split open. A burning sensation tore through me, twisting my features in agony. My cries echoed down the decrepit corridor.
Unmoved, he declared, “You want a divorce? Fine. I’ll give it to you. But don’t ever expect to see Sofia again.”
He wiped his hands casually on a bodyguard’s suit as though cleaning off dirt, then pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant.
“Get the police involved and find out where Alessandra has hidden Sofia,” he ordered coldly. “Have the lawyer prepare divorce documents immediately. I’m taking full custody of my daughter.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before a hesitant voice answered.
“Don Volkov… Sofia has already passed away. She was cremated. The accident happened the night you attended the banquet with Ms. Vega. She was struck by a motorcycle.”
The voice faltered before continuing, “We were unable to reach you at the time. I arranged a burial plot on Mrs. Volkov’s instructions. Today is the day of the interment.”
Silence fell heavy in the hallway, thick as the ashes still clinging to my skin.