Chapter Six
In which you have got to be fucking kidding me.
Andrey…
Iris's pouty mouth is open and she's staring at me as if she's stepped sideways into some other reality.
I can see her lips moving like she's trying to reform my words into a sentence that makes more sense to her.
I sit perfectly still, fingers laced as I watch her.
She doesn't get uneasy the way most people do. Perhaps she's too stunned.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me." The words come out flat, not high, or agitated. Just a certainty that she knows that I am, no doubt, toying with her and that we'll get this legal nonsense all wrapped up and taken care of.
"Oh, I'm quite serious. I require a wife. You're intelligent, halfway through college at a prestigious institution, and already educated in the ways of the Bratva."
"You know there has to be at least three or four hundred girls within a two-block radius who would leap at the chance to be Mrs. Emotionless Robot," Iris snaps. "And you're old. You're like what, forty?"
I barely suppress a smile. "I'm thirty-two."
"Yeah, I'm not into the big daddy energy," she says.
This is a patent falsehood, of course. The few men in her life that Roman and Violet approved of were all older. Meanwhile, her sister Rose is satisfied with that vapid accounting major who looks like he would take a punch much better than giving one.
I'm not impetuous. Everything I do is planned six steps ahead, with multiple contingencies should something go awry. When I got a call from Detective Jerome from the Long Island Division, it all clicked into place.
***
"Mr. Morozov? I wanted to alert you that your…
a relative, I guess, is here in our holding cell.
She was picked up on a charge of receiving stolen goods.
" He chuckled. "She gave us a fake ID, but one of the officers recognized her from a fundraiser for her sister's youth shelter.
I knew you would prefer to get this call first."
I'd been lifting weights when he called, I was dripping with sweat, wearing only shorts. Blood was pumping through my veins, muscles swollen.
"Thank you, Detective." I slipped back into Bastard Attorney mode along with my suit, and after a few more phone calls, I was on my way to the Long Island jail.
***
She slaps her shackled hands on the steel table, and it rings through the room. "I am not marrying you! You're like some terrifying design of what AI thinks a human being is supposed to look like! You're mean and possibly sociopathic!"
"That's fair," I nod.
I doubt she hears the helpless noises she's making as she marshals her next argument.
"Why on earth would you want to marry me?
I'm twenty years old. I know everyone thinks that I'm nothing more than a petty thief and boy obsessed.
" She sweeps her hand along her head and chest. "What here could possibly make you want to marry me?
You're so much older, and I'm ninety percent certain the kind of women you date are stick thin, sinewy blonde models who are just as chilly as you are. "
Doing her the courtesy of thinking about it for a moment, I say, "I don't have a type. But you are ideal for my needs, and I offer the defense you desperately need if you want to stay out of jail."
"I could –" She lays her hands flat on the table. "Roman will be here soon and he won't make me marry you." She says it with such certainty. It's sweet.
She doesn't fully understand our family yet, and the expectations and requirements that come with the luxurious life my cousin has been giving her.
Will he be furious? Of course. Will he try to beat the living hell out of me? Most likely. But Roman is Bratva, he will understand. She is my solution and it's time for me to get this issue taken care of.
"This is insane and impulsive, which is totally not like you because, as everyone knows, you don't have any emotions. Seriously, just tell me why," she begs.
"You… fit my needs." I tap my finger on the table thoughtfully, and her eyes go to it.
"Stop the tapping!" she snaps. "Give me that at least, this is like some sort of Edgar Allan Poe-style torture."
I tap my finger another two or three times to let her know she does not tell me what to do before I take pity on her.
"I'm in a bit of a time crunch. Again, you're beautiful, you're intelligent, and you understand the world of the Bratva and don't appear to be terrified of it.
You will have to stop the petty crime, however.
It is unbecoming for the wife of a Supreme Court Justice. "
Iris frowns, and I can see her sharp mind adding up all the clues.
"As a single guy, you're not considered steady enough for the bench?
That's why you're pulling off this genuinely stupid plan.
What makes you think that I won't make your life a living hell?
Like, get drunk and dance on tabletops at some big judgey event?
" She's starting to warm to her vision. "I could wear pink baby doll dresses everywhere and call you my big, bad, Bratva Daddy. "
That almost makes me smile.
"You won't. You have a strongly honed survival instinct, and the future of our family depends on your performance. Would you really want to damage what your sister Violet has built with Roman?"
Her pretty face sours. "That is the shittiest threat ever and you should be ashamed of yourself. Really? Threatening your own cousin? What a dick move."
"I am incapable of being ashamed. However, it doesn't have to be this way. You're making a fuss, you're young. That's understandable. But you are still going to marry me."
Her face is getting distinctly pale and she sways a bit in her chair. "I – I want to talk to Roman. I need to talk to him and we'll fix this –"
Straightening my tie, I shake my head. "You won't be speaking to anyone until you've made this decision and we're married."