Chapter 16 Nova
NOVA
The Volkov Syndicate estate was more like a compound, with a huge, sprawling mansion in the centre surrounded by several houses and other buildings that could accommodate a large number of their associates. I’d never been, but I’d heard enough about it over the years to build up a picture.
“Wow. This looks…” I trailed off, staring out of the limousine window as we stopped in front of a set of towering metal gates that slid open on our arrival.
Two men suddenly appeared from nowhere, waving us forwards.
As we drew level with the guard hut, one of the men held up his hand, instructing the driver to lower the window while they scanned the car with X-ray wands.
Ryker rolled the window down, letting in the soft sounds of the two of them conversing in what was probably Russian.
My gaze slid to the guard hut, where I could see a series of monitors flicking between different areas of the compound and a TV balanced on top of a filing cabinet, showing highlights of a football game.
As the guards waved us through, I noticed the security camera high on the wall, tracking our vehicle’s movements.
We came to a stop in front of the largest building, an imposing Grade II listed gothic-style mansion, all towering spires and mullioned windows.
“Game face,” Ryker murmured as a staff member opened the doors, ushering us inside.
The ballroom we entered was at least double the size of Thorpe Manor’s, opulent in an understated, subtle way.
It struck me all over again just how wealthy the Volkovs were, and I swallowed hard.
This deal was so important to my family, and I couldn’t risk ruining it.
For my brother’s sake, if no one else’s—he was the one due to inherit the family business when our father decided to hand the reins over.
“This is…” I trailed off, unable to find the words. “How many times have you been here before?” I said under my breath.
My brother’s gaze flicked to mine for a second. “Too many times. Business.”
Of course. The business I wasn’t allowed to be directly involved in. Not that I envied Ryker having to get his hands dirty, but I loathed the way I was expected to essentially act like a piece of art—beautiful and admired, but only ever from a distance.
Ryker released my arm, straightening up as Anton strode over, clad in a bespoke tailored black suit, his blond hair swept back from his face. An expensive, woodsy scent hit my nose as he reached us.
“Ryker. Happy birthday.” His tone was completely flat. Ryker didn’t respond with words, just a brief nod of acknowledgement as Anton handed him an envelope.
His brows rose when he opened it and scanned the contents. “A vodka line?”
“Yes.” Anton remained just as expressionless as my brother. “A new premium product, now yours. Shipped directly to your port. A show of trust, for you to do with what you will.”
“I—”
“This one is in your name. Not the Thorpe name. Nor the Volkov name. We look forward to seeing what you do with it.”
I didn’t miss the subtle, threatening undercurrent in Anton’s voice, but I also noticed the way my brother’s throat was working.
His own vodka line, in his name, not attached to our family.
Knowing the Volkovs, there were probably countless invisible strings attached, but the fact was, this was the first time Ryker had been given anything that our family hadn’t engineered.
I met Anton’s icy gaze. “Why?” The word slipped from my throat before I could pull it back.
A humourless smile curved over his lips as his eyes slid to my brother’s. “Because we all have to make the best of a bad situation.” His gaze snapped back to mine. “You will receive your gift later.”
My gift.
The gift neither of us wanted.
The engagement ring.
“Nova.” Anton’s voice was strong and steady, carrying through the ballroom from our position in the centre of the dance floor.
He gazed down at me, his eyes never leaving mine, as icy and unreadable as ever.
I swallowed hard as he took my hand in his.
My other hand trembled as I smoothed down my pale blue silk dress, subtly shaking it out so the hem was no longer caught on my shoe.
This was it. My mother had briefed me on some of the Volkov customs, and I knew he wouldn’t be expected to go down on one knee for the occasion.
“Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” He repeated the words in Russian and Swedish, honouring both his parents.
His father was Belarusian and the Pakhan of the Volkov Syndicate, not to mention a key associate of the Kozenki Bratva.
His late mother was Swedish, and it was rumoured that she’d also been a minor royal.
I heard murmurs of approval from the surrounding crowds, and I exhaled, trying to ground myself. “Y-yes,” I whispered, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. With that, Anton slid the ring onto my finger. It took everything I had to remain still, to stop the tears from falling.
My gaze dropped to my hand. The ring was a heavy, foreign weight on my finger, a shackle binding me to him. A perfectly cut diamond solitaire, glittering ominously under the chandeliers.
“We will dance,” he said to me, his voice low, and I nodded.
What else could I do? All it took was a quick gesture with his hand, and the music began again.
Sweeping me into a simple waltz, he murmured something under his breath, but the ringing in my ears was too loud for me to make it out.
All I could see was my hand, the diamond catching the light, refracting into countless tiny rainbows as we spun around the dance floor.
All I could feel was the weight of my responsibilities, the physical reminder of something I’d have to see every single day.
The waltz finally ended, and Anton dipped his head, raising my hand to press a kiss to it. “I know you do not want this,” he said softly, “but we must do what is right.” His gaze slid over my shoulder, and something flashed in his eyes that I couldn’t read.
“Jayesh,” he said. “Come and dance with my bride-to-be.”