Chapter Five - Chloe
As I prop my laptop on the bed and connect to the video call, relief washes over me when Elise’s face fills the screen. “Hey, you,” I greet her, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I settle into the cushions.
Elise’s laughter fills my bedroom, warm and familiar. “Better now that I’m talking to you, but let’s get to you. I’ve been thinking about that auction all day. Can’t believe that guy outbid you with such a jump. How are you holding up?”
I let out a sigh, my fingers idly tapping on the laptop. “It’s been a roller coaster, Elise. Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about it either. Not just the bidding war but the whole aura that guy had. It’s like he knew something we didn’t, or like he was playing a different game entirely.”
Elise’s expression grows concerned. “He did seem pretty intense. The way he just shut down the auction with that final bid…. Do you think you’ll try to find out more about him?”
I bite my lip, considering. “I think I have to. There’s something about him that doesn’t quite add up. It’s not just curiosity; it feels more like a gut feeling that I should know more about who he really is. Especially if he’s going to be popping up at more auctions.”
“Sounds like you’re gearing up for a bit of detective work. Need a sidekick?” Elise leans forward, her face teasing.
“Always,” I laugh. “Seriously, I might start with some light digging. Maybe check out some of the local collectors’ circles he might move in. If he’s as big a player as he seems, there should be some chatter about him, right?”
“Right,” Elise says, nodding. “You know, if you need to hack into some highly secure art databases, I just might know someone who could help.” She winks, making me chuckle.
“Let’s keep it legal, for now, Elise. I’ll keep that offer in my back pocket,” I respond, my mood lifting slightly. I sip my coffee, the warm bitterness helping to focus my thoughts. “Anyway, beyond my sudden plunge into the world of art espionage, what’s new with you? How’s the job going?”
Elise rolls her eyes with a smile. “Same old, same old. Deadlines, drafts, and more drafts. Let’s not talk about work now. I want to hear more about your plans. When do you start this grand investigation?”
“Soon, I think,” I muse, already planning my first moves. “Tomorrow, I might swing by a few galleries, talk to some contacts. Nothing too intense to start with—just feeling out the situation, you know?”
“Sounds like a plan, Holmes,” Elise teases. “Whatever weird art underworld you’re about to dive into, be careful. Keep me posted, okay?”
“I will, Watson,” I promise, a playful seriousness in my tone.
I end the call, and roll onto my side to reach for my cellphone on the bedside table, only to pause at a knock on my door.
“It’s Dad, Chloe. We need to talk.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “Come in.”
He opens the door, hovering by the threshold. “I need to see you in my office. It won’t take long.”
Worry gnaws at me as I close my laptop with a sharp click and follow my father to his office. The atmosphere feels unusually oppressive as we enter the room that has always been a command center for our family’s decisions—decisions that, until now, had rarely involved me in such a direct and personal way.
“What’s going on?” I ask cautiously as I settle into the chair across from his desk. His presence, usually so commanding and assured, is edged with a tension that makes the air between us thick.
Dad sits down, his fingers interlocked tightly in front of him. He looks up, meeting my eyes with a seriousness that immediately sets off alarm bells in my mind. “Chloe, I’ve made a decision for the good of the family. It’s not one I’ve taken lightly.”
My stomach churns with unease. The formal tone, the grave look on his face—it’s all too clear that whatever he’s about to say is going to alter everything. “What decision?” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He hesitates, his gaze momentarily flickering away before locking back on to mine with a resoluteness that almost scares me. “You’re going to be married. His name is Erik. It’s an arrangement I’ve made with the Sharov Bratva. This is crucial for our business and our survival.”
The words crash into me with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Married. To a member of the Bratva? A flurry of images and scenarios races through my mind—shadowy figures, whispered deals, the dangerous allure of the underworld that has always been a backdrop to our family’s outward respectability.
“Are you serious? You’re just… handing me over to them?” The words escape my lips before I can temper them, raw with disbelief and rising anger.
Dad’s face softens slightly, but the resolve in his eyes remains unyielding. “It’s not like that, Chloe. This is about alliances, about protecting what we’ve built. You’re the only one who can do this for us.”
I want to scream, to stand up and argue that there are other ways, anything other than selling me into a strategic marriage like some pawn in a grand chess game. The weight of generations, of the empire built by our family, bears down upon me. Deep down, I know outright refusal isn’t an option. It’s not just my life that hangs in the balance, it’s our entire family’s legacy and future.
Yet, the idea of being pushed into a marriage, especially one tied so closely to the criminal world I’ve tried so hard to keep at arm’s length, feels like a betrayal. Not just by my father, but by the very family ideals I grew up with—ideals that now seem as flimsy as the paper they’re printed on.
“How can you expect me to accept this? Don’t I have a say in my own life?” My voice is steady, though it takes every ounce of my control to keep it so.
Dad’s response is measured, his tone one of regret laced with inevitability. “Chloe, you do have a say. And you’re saying yes because you understand the stakes. You know what’s at risk if we don’t secure this alliance. It’s not just about the business; it’s about our family’s survival.”
The finality in his statement makes it clear that the decision is made, with or without my consent. The walls of the office seem to close in around me, the portraits of past generations on them watching silently as my fate is decided in the very room that witnessed their own trials and triumphs.
“I need time to think about this,” I say quietly, standing up.
Dad nods, understanding yet unyielding. “Take your time, but remember, the sooner we act, the better protected we are.”
“Fine,” I say after a long pause, the gears in my mind clicking into place. My voice remains steady, but a flicker of determination ignites in my eyes, a silent vow to not let this situation steamroll me. “I’ll meet him first.”
Dad looks taken aback by my sudden concession, his eyebrows arching slightly. Yet, after a brief moment, he nods in agreement. “Of course, that can be arranged,” he assures me, his tone reflecting a mix of relief and surprise. He probably expected a confrontation, a storm of objections. Instead, I’m choosing a different tactic.
As I leave the office, my resolve solidifies with each step. This marriage, if I must enter it, will be on my terms—or as close to that as I can manage. This isn’t surrender; this is strategy. If I am to be tied to someone for the sake of our family’s legacy and survival, then I need to know exactly who I’m dealing with and what kind of partnership, if any, could be forged between us.
Back in my room, I start laying out my plan.
First, I need information—everything I can gather about Erik Sharov and the Bratva. Knowledge will be my primary weapon and defense in this game. If I’m to negotiate my position effectively, I need to understand the board and the other players intimately.
I spend the next hours deep in research, scouring the internet for any scraps of information on the Sharov Bratva and its reputed leaders. The Bratva is enigmatic, wrapped in layers of rumors and half-truths, but I dig for verifiable facts, connections, and historical patterns that might give me an edge.
Once I feel sufficiently armed with knowledge, I draft a list of conditions and boundaries that I would insist on before any marriage agreement is finalized. These include complete transparency about the Bratva’s dealings that might affect me directly, a formal agreement on any shared business ventures, and, most crucially, an understanding that my autonomy in certain personal and business aspects remains non-negotiable.
After drafting my list of conditions and boundaries for the proposed marriage, the need to talk it through with someone becomes pressing. I reach for my phone and dial Elise, needing the sound of a friendly voice to help calm the swirling chaos in my mind.
“Hey, Elise,” I start as soon as she answers, trying to keep my tone light.
“Chloe! How are you? Anything new on the mysterious auction guy?” Her voice is filled with curiosity and concern, her mind still on the last big upheaval in my life.
I hesitate, caught between the need to share everything and the necessity of keeping certain details under wraps. “No, nothing new on that front,” I reply, sidestepping the real issue. “Just been busy with… family stuff.”
Elise’s tone softens, picking up on my mood. “Sounds intense. Want to talk about it?” she offers, always ready to lend an ear.
I sigh, walking over to the window and looking out at the cityscape. “It’s just… family obligations, you know? Sometimes they ask more of you than you’re ready to give.”
“I get that,” Elise responds warmly. “You’re tough, Chloe. You can handle more than most. You don’t have to carry everything on your own, either.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Thanks, Elise. It means a lot to hear that, especially now.”
There’s a pause on the line, a silence filled with unspoken questions. Elise’s next words are cautious, probing gently. “Is there anything specific you want to talk about? Anything I can help with?”
I wish I could tell her everything—that my father has arranged a marriage for me to solidify a business alliance with a Russian Bratva, of all things. That I’m drafting terms for my own life, as if it were just another business deal.
I know I can’t. Not only would it put Elise in a difficult position, but it could also risk more than just family secrets.
“It’s just… navigating some tricky family dynamics,” I say instead, keeping my words vague. “I have to make some decisions that could affect a lot of things.”
“Well, whatever it is, just know I’m here for you,” Elise says, her voice filled with warmth and unconditional support that makes me wish I could be more open with her.
“Thanks, Elise. Really, it helps just talking to you,” I admit, feeling a bit lighter for having shared even the edges of my burden.
“If you ever do want to go into details, you know I’m here, right? No judgment, just support. No pressure, either. We can also just talk about how much we hate slow walkers or something equally trivial,” she jokes, trying to lift the mood.
I laugh, grateful for her attempt to cheer me up. “I might take you up on that sometime. For now, though, just having you listen is more than enough.”
“We should catch up soon, have a proper chat. Maybe a night out to distract you from family drama?” Elise suggests.
I wish I could, but by then… will I still be able to?
Still, I answer. “That sounds perfect. I’ll look at my schedule and let you know. Maybe next weekend?”
“Perfect. It’s a date! Take care of yourself, Chloe. You’re not alone, okay?”
“Will do. Thanks, Elise. Talk soon,” I say, ending the call with a heavy but grateful heart.
As I put down my phone, I’m struck by a profound sense of isolation. Elise’s kindness and reassurances are a balm, but they can’t fully penetrate the deep-seated anxiety about the life-changing decision looming over me. It’s a decision that involves a world she doesn’t know exists—one of shadowy alliances and dangerous liaisons.
I turn away from the window, my reflection staring back at me—a woman caught between two worlds, belonging fully to neither. The thought is sobering, and for a moment, I allow myself to feel the full weight of my loneliness.
There’s no one in my life who truly understands the gravity of my family’s world, the constant balancing act between outward respectability and the murky undertows of our business dealings.
As night falls over the city, I realize that while I can draw on the support of friends like Elise for emotional strength, the path I must walk requires a different kind of ally—one who knows my secrets as well as I do.
Until I find that person, my strategy must be one of cautious solitude, my decisions guided not just by the desire to protect myself, but to safeguard those unaware of the true nature of my world.
The resolve that solidifies in my chest is cold and hard, but necessary. I will meet my new fiancé, I will negotiate my terms, and I will do so with the full knowledge that this isn’t just about securing my future, but about controlling it as much as I am able. In a world where choices are often made for me, this time I will make my own.
Chapter Six - Erik
In the secluded calm of my private office, lined with old books and the strategic maps of our operations, I sit deeply engrossed in finalizing a critical deal. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, echoing the covert nature of my work.
The soft hum of the computer accompanies my methodical typing as I craft an email concerning an arms shipment crucial to our expansion. Each word is selected with precision, each phrase calculated to maintain our iron grip on the trade routes.
As I send the email, Semyon, my right-hand man, enters without knocking, a familiar intrusion I’ve long since accepted. He carries a fresh cup of coffee, placing it on my desk with a slight smirk, as if aware of the long night ahead of me.
“Erik,” he begins casually, leaning against the rich mahogany of my desk, “there’s been talk about the court case again.” His voice, though light, carries a seriousness that instantly shifts my focus from international dealings to more personal threats.
I pause, feeling the weight of his words. “What exactly are they saying now?” I ask, my tone even, masking the underlying concern.
“They’re pushing for a trial date. Seems like they think they’ve got enough to go on,” Semyon informs me, his eyes sharp, gauging my reaction.
A flicker of annoyance passes through me. This case has been a lingering shadow, allegations tying me to brutal acts tied to our darker dealings. “They think wrong,” I respond coolly. “Ensure our legal team is on it. I want daily updates. We’ve slipped through tighter nooses than this.”
Semyon nods, his demeanor showing a mix of reassurance and caution. “Already on it. Erik, this isn’t something you can just intimidate or buy your way out of. They’re serious this time.”
I lean back, my fingers steepled in thought. “Serious or not, the Bratva has faced worse. Make sure everyone knows their part. We’ve never been a group to falter under pressure. This will be no different.”
Semyon nods, a gesture of affirmation as he settles into the chair opposite my desk, an unspoken acceptance of the graveness of our situation. His features harden, reflecting the resolve that underpins our operations. “I’ll ensure our legal team is doubling their efforts. Do you want to review their defense strategies yourself?”
“Yes,” I respond without hesitation. “Arrange a briefing. I want to go over every detail. We leave nothing to chance.” My voice carries the weight of command, an echo of the numerous battles we’ve weathered together—legal or otherwise.
“Understood.” Semyon’s agreement is succinct, his efficiency as reassuring as ever. He shifts slightly, the next question clearly weighing on him. “What about external pressures? There’s talk that this case might attract more scrutiny to our operations. The media, rival groups, even international law enforcement might use this as a lever against us.”
I consider his point, my mind racing through potential scenarios. “Increase surveillance on all communications. Tighten security around our operations. Start misinformation campaigns if necessary. We can’t afford any leaks or weaknesses to be exploited.”
Semyon’s nod is sharp, his understanding of the stakes clear in his focused expression. “I’ll coordinate with our teams. Should we bring anyone else into the loop, maybe secure some external support?”
“Only those absolutely necessary,” I reply cautiously. “Trust is a luxury we can’t afford with everyone. Reach out to our contacts in the East. They have experience with these matters and might offer some discreet support.”
“Will do.” Semyon makes a note on his digital pad, his movements precise. His next question cuts deeper, probing the personal layers of the crisis. “How are you holding up with all this? It’s not just the Bratva on trial; it’s you.”
The personal nature of the inquiry momentarily breaches the professional facade I maintain. “I’m as prepared as I can be, Semyon. This isn’t just about surviving a trial; it’s about proving a point to anyone who thinks they can use the legal system to manipulate or control us.”
Semyon studies me for a moment, his usually impassive face tinged with concern. “Just remember, you’re not alone in this. The whole organization stands behind you. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
I nod, the solidarity a slight comfort against the looming battles. “I know. I’m counting on that. This case… it’s a message. We need to send it loud and clear—we are not to be trifled with.”
“As always, we’ll be ready,” Semyon assures me, his loyalty as unwavering as the steel in his spine.
With our immediate plan set, Semyon prepares to leave, but I stop him with a final thought. “Keep an eye on the internal reactions as well. Times like these can stir unrest or doubt even among our own. I don’t want any surprises.”
“Of course. I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” he promises, straightening, heading for the door, and going silent for a few moments. Then his voice cuts through the quiet of my office as he leans casually against the wall by the door, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You’re calm for a man about to be married,” he teases, watching me with an expression that’s equal parts jest and curiosity.
My fingers pause over the keyboard, and I lift my eyes to meet his gaze. There’s a moment where the weight of his words hangs in the air, mingled with the stale scent of old books and the sharper tang of fresh coffee.
I offer him a half smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “It’s not happening today, is it?” I reply dryly, my voice devoid of any real humor.
The smirk on Semyon’s face fades slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. He pushes off from the wall, taking a few steps closer. “No, it’s not. It’s still a big deal, Erik. Marriage isn’t just another business deal… at least, not for most people.”
I resume typing, my focus sharp as I craft a response to another urgent message. “Perhaps not for most, but for me, it is precisely that—a transaction, a duty to the Bratva.” My tone is matter-of-fact, as if I’m discussing the weather or some trivial fact of life. “Family and emotional ties have never been a part of my world, Semyon. I don’t see that changing.”
“Doesn’t it bother you, even a little?” Semyon probes, not quite ready to let the topic drop. His brow furrows slightly, a rare sign of concern in his usually impassive demeanor.
I stop typing, lean back in my chair, and consider his question. For a moment, I allow myself to ponder the implications of what’s being asked of me—to tie my life permanently to someone else, to share more than just business strategies and tactical moves but a name, a home, a supposed life.
“It’s at least a year away,” I state, a deflection that feels hollow even to my own ears. “A lot can happen in a year. Until then, I have more immediate concerns to occupy my time.”
Semyon nods, seemingly satisfied with my response, or perhaps just accepting that pushing further would be futile. “True enough. We all know you’re not one to rush into anything without weighing all the angles.”
I pick up the coffee he brought, the warmth of the cup seeping into my palms. I take a long sip, letting the bitter liquid linger on my tongue as I gaze out the window at the darkening sky.
The city sprawls before me, lights twinkling like distant stars, a universe unto itself with me as one of its many anonymous architects.
The conversation shifts then, as I set the coffee down and turn my attention back to the screen. “Make sure the legal team is prepared to push back on any attempts to accelerate the court proceedings. I want us to control the timeline as much as we control the narrative.”
“Understood,” Semyon replies, his voice back to business as usual. He takes a few notes on his digital pad, then looks up. “Anything else you need from me tonight?”
“Just one more thing,” I say, my eyes still on the monitor. “Keep an eye on the internal chatter about this marriage arrangement. I need to know if there’s any unrest or concern among the ranks. It’s crucial that we present a united front, now more than ever.”
Semyon nods once, sharply. “I’ll handle it.”
As he finally leaves the office, the silence settles around me again, thick and almost tangible. I stare at the screen, the words blurring slightly as my thoughts drift to the future. This marriage, this alliance—it’s a necessary step, one that will secure our position and expand our influence.
Yet, as much as I try to view it through the lens of strategy and necessity, Semyon’s words linger in the back of my mind, a nagging reminder that not all things can be neatly categorized and filed away.
For a brief moment, I allow myself the luxury of wondering about Chloe, about the woman who will become my wife. What is she thinking right now? Does she view this arrangement with the same detached pragmatism, or does she harbor doubts and fears about being drawn into the Bratva’s orbit?
I pick up my coffee again, the dark liquid swirling in the cup as I consider the lengthy span until the wedding.
“A year,” I murmur to myself, a reminder that there’s ample time to maneuver, to plan, and to perhaps, understand exactly what this marriage means beyond the papers and the power plays.
I take a sip, allowing the warmth and bitterness to wash away the momentary unease that tugs at the edges of my thoughts about the impending marriage. With a year ahead, there’s no need for haste.
Setting the cup down, I turn back to my computer, ready to immerse myself in the complexities of our current operations, when my phone vibrates against the smooth surface of the desk. The sudden buzz breaks through the silence of the room, pulling my attention away from the glowing screen. I glance at the phone, noting the unknown number displayed.
My first instinct is to dismiss it as another unsolicited attempt from outsiders to reach me, something I’m accustomed to deflecting. However, curiosity, an infrequent visitor, nudges at me this time. I pick up the phone and swipe to unlock it.
The message is brief and to the point: Hey, this is Chloe Hart. Should we meet?
The simplicity of the text, coming from such an unexpected source, draws a faint smirk from me. So, she’s making the first move—a bold and direct approach that piques my interest slightly more than I anticipated. It’s unusual, refreshing even, that she would reach out personally rather than go through the formal channels our families might usually employ.
I study the message for a few more moments, contemplating my response. This is the woman I’m to marry, a stranger not just in presence but in intention.
Her reaching out directly suggests a forthrightness that could prove either a valuable trait or a complication in our arranged alliance. Either way, it stirs a curiosity in me to learn more about her, to gauge her motivations and perhaps her expectations of this union.
Unlocking my phone, I type a response with deliberate calmness, the businessman in me mixing oddly with the personal nature of this contact: Ms. Hart, I appreciate your directness. Meeting sounds like a sensible first step. When and where would you prefer?
After sending the message, I place the phone back on the desk and lean back in my chair, my gaze drifting to the dark cityscape visible through the large windows of my office. The night is deep and full, mirroring the myriad thoughts that now crowd my mind.
Meeting Chloe Hart not only as a formality of our impending marriage but as a necessity to understand who I will be aligning my life with is intriguing. She is no longer just a name tied to a strategic alliance; she is about to become a significant part of my world, and I of hers.
My contemplation is broken by the quick buzz of a reply. Picking up the phone again, I see her response light up the screen: Tomorrow, if that’s convenient for you. There’s a quiet café, neutral ground for both of us, downtown at three?
See you there, I reply.
As I set the phone down once more, the reality of the situation settles in. This meeting, while seemingly straightforward, could very well set the tone for our relationship moving forward. It’s a new chapter, one that requires the same strategic consideration and careful handling as any of my Bratva dealings.
The rest of the evening passes in a mix of anticipation and usual business, as I prepare mentally not just for another day of leading a complex and often merciless organization, but for a personal encounter that could redefine much of my future.
As I finally leave the office, the city around me feels both familiar and strangely new—much like the path I find myself now walking, towards a meeting that is anything but ordinary.