5. Chapter 3
Z asha
Later that night, I find myself replaying Mara’s offer.
I’ve faced down men who begged with blood in their teeth and lies in their eyes. I’ve broken bones and taken confessions that should’ve stayed buried. But nothing—nothing—has rattled me like the sound of her voice in that corridor.
My meeting with her father went as expected—efficient, transactional, and sharp-edged. The route is ours. We’ll move the shipment through Cartagena without interference. I should be thinking about the shipment, the ports, the guard rotations, and night movement. I should be focused, but I’m not.
All I see is her face—serious, poised, yet burning beneath the surface. Her words cling to the back of my mind like smoke that has refused to clear off.
"I want us to marry."
Every instinct tells me to dismiss our conversation because she’s too young—too soft and too protected to grasp what she is proposing or to whom she is proposing it.
But she wasn’t fragile when she stood in front of me.
She was fire.
And beneath the calculated proposal, beneath the calm she wore like silk, there was something honest in her eyes. A kind of desperation she was determined not to show.
It sticks with me.
I head to my balcony and light a cigar. I need air. I need space. I need to stop replaying every goddamned word of that conversation.
“If you say no, I’ll smile through an engagement I didn’t want.”
“Fuck.”
The cigar burn soothes my fingers and gives my mouth something to do. I lean against the rails, watching and admiring the darkness that covers the earth, wondering what kind of animal I would be if I were one.
Probably a damn nocturnal animal. Maybe a saltwater crocodile due to its strength and bite force. This animal perfectly describes me because I’ve learned to survive and thrive even in the harshest conditions, and I definitely possess the strength and bite force capable of decapitating most men.
My mind reels back to Mara against my will. I know she wasn’t bluffing, and that’s what really gets me. She meant every word. She laid it out like a map, and for once, the path didn’t end in blood or betrayal. It ended in strategy.
A one-year marriage. No emotion. No obligation. No chains.
Only freedom for her. And what about the bratva? We would have unlimited and unhindered access to the most coveted Panama Canal route.
But something about her proposal bothers me because the idea of marrying her just to let her go feels…disturbing.
And that? That’s the part I can’t explain.
I arrive at the safehouse early. It is quiet when I get in. Viktor and Lev are in the den, dark suits abandoned for black tees and shoulder holsters. They're talking low over an open laptop and two untouched glasses of scotch. I drop into the armchair across from them without a word.
Lev eyes me first. “Well, look who’s finally here.”
I grunt.
“I’m happy you were able to talk Thiago into agreeing to let us use the route?” Viktor says without looking up.
“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll have full control over the port run starting next month. But he wants no overlap with his Cali shipments, though.”
Viktor nods. “Good. That’ll buy us some space with the East Coast handovers.”
Lev leans back, swirling the scotch he hasn’t touched. “You’re brooding.”
“I’m not brooding.”
Viktor looks up now, sharp-eyed. “You are brooding.”
“So?”
“You don’t brood,” Lev says. “You glare. You scowl. You gut people. But this? This is actual brooding. It looks weird on you.”
I shoot him a look, but Lev only grins.
“Something happened?” Viktor asks, his tone quieter now, more precise.
I hesitate.
I could lie. Say I’m tired. Say Thiago talked too much. But they’d see through it, and I respect them too much for bullshit.
“His daughter Xiomara cornered me before I walked in.”
Lev raises both brows. Viktor stills.
“What do you mean, cornered?” Viktor asks slowly.
“In the corridor. She knew you were sending me. She was waiting.”
“What for?” Lev asks. “Some daddy-daughter intel swap?”
“She asked me to marry her.”
Silence. Thick and complete.
Viktor blinks once. Lev chokes on nothing.
“She what?” Lev asks. “Is she blind or what?
I ignore Lev. “She said she wants a one-year marriage. No strings. No mess. Just long enough to give Thiago the alliance he’s always wanted.”
Lev whistles. “Damn.”
Viktor leans forward. “She said that?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Because she wants freedom,” I say. “She knows her father’s looking for someone to marry her off to. She wants to beat him to the punch. Her logic is solid—he gets what he wants, we get a foothold, and she gets to walk away after twelve months.”
Viktor runs a hand down his jaw, contemplative.
“And you?” Lev asks, eyes narrowing. “Do you want this?”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“But you didn’t say no,” Viktor adds.
I lean back, scrubbing a hand over my face. “It’s a bad idea marrying Thiago’s daughter and divorcing her.”
“Maybe,” Viktor says. “But bad ideas have built empires.”
Lev chuckles.
I glance at Viktor. “I think he’ll come to us if I don’t go to him. Mara looks like she is stubborn, and she’ll find a way to pitch it without me involved.”
“And if she does, it’s still not a bad deal,” Viktor says. “She’s right about her father. We’ve tried twice. If we make the proposal this time, we’ll control the terms.”
Lev nods slowly. “And Zee—if it’s really just a year, what’s the worst that could happen?”
I say nothing. Because I’ve already thought about that. I’ve already imagined a year of being near her, having her scent and softness surround my space, and knowing it’s temporary. Knowing she’s not mine to keep.
And that?
That might fuck me up in more ways than I care to admit.
By mid-morning, we’re back at Delgado’s estate.
No spectacle. No grand announcements. Just Viktor, Lev, and me, walking through the gates with one purpose in mind.
Mara isn’t here—and she doesn’t know we’ve come. This is my move now. She made hers yesterday, and I am making mine today.
We’re led down a quiet corridor to Thiago Delgado’s private study. It’s a room that reeks of control—dark woods, heavy silence, and a weight in the air that tells you exactly who’s in charge.
Delgado rises as we enter, eyes sharp, watchful. “Viktor. Lev.” His gaze settles on me last, lingering with quiet calculation. “Zasha.”
We shake hands. His grip is steady, testing, but I don’t flinch.
“To what do I owe the unexpected visit?” he asks smoothly, eyes narrowing just enough to make his point.
I meet his gaze, voice even. “We’re here to propose a formal alliance between our families.”
His brow lifts, head tilting slightly. “A formal alliance?”
“A marriage,” I say. “Between me and your daughter.”
For the first time, a flicker of something crosses his face—interest, edged with caution. He leans back slowly in his chair, fingers drumming once on the desk.
“After all these years,” he says, voice calm but probing, “you come forward now. Are you sure this arrangement will succeed? The last attempts didn’t exactly hold.”
I don’t hesitate. “It will hold. And if you accept our proposal, I’ll marry your daughter immediately.”
That earns a pause—a beat of quiet calculation as Delgado studies me. His fingers still on the polished wood, his eyes never leaving mine.
“And this decision,” he says slowly, “has nothing to do with your conversation with my daughter in the East Wing corridor yesterday?”
I hold his gaze, respectful but firm. “Your daughter greeted me in passing. I know where to channel a proposal of this nature—and it’s through you.”
A flicker of something—approval, maybe—crosses his face. He leans back a little, his gaze sharpening.
“Go on.”
“This alliance cements what’s already been working between us,” I say evenly.
“You have unmatched reach in South America. We have dominance on the East Coast and deep European ties. Together, we’re stronger, untouchable.
You get the formal link you’ve sought in the past. We gain secure access to your routes, and shared protection that no rival can breach. ”
Delgado’s jaw tenses. “You understand that marrying my daughter makes you accountable to my family. If she’s hurt—”
“She won’t be,” I cut in smoothly but respectfully. “I understand the weight of what we’re proposing. I won’t dishonor her—or this alliance.”
His eyes pin me in place, searching for weakness, but I don’t blink.
“And you agree to this fully?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t,” I answer. “I stand by every word.”
Silence stretches between us for a long moment before Delgado finally gives a slow, measured nod.
“I’ll consider it,” he says. “And I’ll speak to my daughter.”
We stand, shaking hands again—this time firmer, heavier, loaded with unspoken possibilities.
As we turn and leave, Viktor and Lev fall into step beside me. We don’t speak as we exit because we all know: the game has shifted.
And now, the clock is ticking.