Sergei
I watch Sofia move through the crowd. The black dress draws attention exactly the way I knew it would. Every head turns when we enter. The other family heads are already seated, drinks in hand, conversations pausing mid-sentence when they see her.
I see a few of the women smirk. They’ve all had their own arranged marriages. They respect her defiance.
“Sokolov.” Castellano stands first, extending his hand. “Congratulations.”
I shake it, keeping Sofia close to my side. “Thank you for coming.”
The Yee brothers approach next, offering their congratulations with the polite distance that characterizes all our interactions. The Irish contingent follows. Everyone is here. Everyone sees.
That’s the point.
Sofia handles herself well. Better than I expected, actually. She shakes hands and accepts congratulations. I realize she knows most of them. They all ask about her father. She has practiced her response. She smiles, kisses cheeks and asks about families to deflect.
I feel a sharp, unwelcome surge of pride.
We’re halfway through the first course when I hear the commotion.
“Sir,” one of my guards appears at my elbow. “Yuri Baranov is here. Demanding entry.”
Sofia’s hand freezes halfway to her wine glass. She looks at me. I see the flash of fear before she masks it.
“Let him in,” I say, my eyes still holding hers.
“Sergei—” she starts.
“Let him in,” I repeat. “He’s going to find out eventually. Might as well be now. Let him see.”
The guard nods and disappears. Conversations around us have gone quiet. Every man in this room has survived long enough to know what that kind of quiet means.
Yuri storms in, eyes scanning the room until they land on us. He looks from me to Sofia. She’s wearing a black dress, but even so, he knows what this is.
I stand slowly, buttoning my jacket. Sofia rises beside me. Her hand catches mine for half a second. That brief contact sharpens everything.
Kirill stands beside me. I feel another one of my men behind me.
“Yuri,” I say calmly. “What a surprise.”
The other family heads are all watching. No one moves. I feel the tension. It’s a weapon-free dinner. At least that’s what the invitation stated. I know damn well everyone is strapped. My men are. They’re all waiting to see if bullets fly.
“What the fuck is this?” Yuri demands, gesturing between Sofia and me.
“A wedding reception,” I reply. “Would you like some champagne?”
His face darkens. “You married her.”
“Observant.”
“My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail,” Yuri says.
“It didn’t,” Sofia replies.
Yuri chuckles. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
No one moves. This isn’t over.
“When I heard the news, I had to come see for myself.” He looks at Sofia, and I see the calculation in his eyes. “I’m happy for you, cousin. Marriage is a big step. I imagine you’ll be quite busy now—settling into your new life, supporting your husband’s operations.”
I feel Sofia stiffen beside me.
“I’ll work with Mikhail to ensure there is a smooth transition,” Yuri says. “We should get together sometime next week to go over some of those contracts. I was told you had changed the passwords. We’ll take care of that. Are you taking a honeymoon?”
“No,” Sofia answers.
“Oh, come on, Sokolov, you can spare a week to take your new bride on a honeymoon.”
“No, you will not go over contracts,” Sofia says. “I’m still running the Baranov bratva. I’m still my father’s heir. The only difference is now I have an ally. A very powerful ally.”
Yuri looks like he’s been slapped. “No.”
“I don’t know what would make you think you have a claim to my throne.”
That’s my wife.
Something dark and satisfied moves through me.
“You’re a child playing dress-up,” Yuri sneers.
“And you’re a man who flew across the world to steal something that was never yours,” Sofia shoots back.
I see the rage flash across Yuri’s face. He takes a step toward her, and I move without thinking. My hand is on his chest before he can get closer.
“Careful,” I say quietly. The word carries enough menace to stop him cold.
He looks at my hand, then at my face. “You’re making a mistake, Sokolov.”
"No. You're about to make one." I lean in slightly, dropping my voice so only he can hear. "Let me be very clear. Any further attempts on Sofia's life are a direct insult to me. Touch her again and you'll spend whatever time you have left wondering when. Not if. When."
“You can’t protect her forever.”
“Forever is longer than you have.”
Yuri jerks away from my hand. He’s breathing hard, trying to regain some control. Some dignity.
“The deal is off,” he announces loudly enough for everyone to hear. “The partnership. All of it. Off.”
I smile. Can’t help it. “We never had a deal, Yuri. I never agreed to your proposal. You assumed. That’s your problem, not mine.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ll regret this.”
“I doubt it.”
He looks around the room, taking in all the witnesses. All the family heads watching this confrontation. He’s losing face with every second he stands here, and he knows it.
“I’m going to the restroom,” Sofia says.
She’s not running, but she’s stepping away. I want to go with her. Not to the restroom. But to the space she’s escaping to.
But I can’t. I will not leave Yuri in this room without me watching.
I snap my fingers to get Nelson’s attention. He moves, falling in behind Sofia.
Yuri is trying to save face. He shakes a few hands. And then he walks to the bar to where Viktor Romanov is nursing a drink. An enforcer and one of the legitimate business managers from the Baranov empire. A man who should be loyal to Sofia.
I watch as they shake hands. It’s brief but everyone saw it. It’s a signal. A message.
I file the information away. Viktor just showed his hand. Showed where his loyalty lies. That’s valuable intelligence, even if Sofia doesn’t realize it yet.
Yuri heads for the door, but he pauses at the threshold. Turns back to look at me.
“This isn’t over,” he says. “Not even close.”
And then he’s gone.
Slowly, conversation resumes. People pretend nothing happened. But we all know things are about to get rough. The peace we’ve enjoyed for the last year is over.
“Well,” Kirill says from beside me. “That went well.”
I almost laugh.
Sofia returns and sits back down. She reaches for her wine glass and drains half of it in one swallow.
“It’ll be okay,” I say.
“How about we agree not to lie to one another.”
“Fine. Tonight, we finish dinner. We smile. We make sure everyone in this room knows we’re united.”
“I don’t feel very united.”
“I don’t care how you feel right now. I care how you look.” The words come out cold. I see her flinch. I don’t try to make it better. I want her pissed. I hate seeing her scared.
“You’re right.” She straightens. “This is performance. I can perform.”
And she does. For the next two hours, she plays the perfect bride. Leans into me when appropriate, maintaining the illusion that this is a real marriage.
“We’ve done this long enough,” I say.
“What?”
“I’m ready to go.”
She nods once. Doesn’t speak. I see her throat work as she swallows.
I get Nelson’s attention. Kirill goes out to get the SUV. Three men surround her as we walk to the waiting SUV. I don’t trust Yuri. He might be lying in wait.
The ride back to the brownstone is silent. Sofia stares out the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I catch her trembling. Just slightly. Enough that I notice.
I don’t comment on it.
I could try and ease her fear. I don’t because I know she won’t appreciate it. She has to do this on her own.
When we pull up to the house, Nelson is there to help her out. I notice her holding onto him.
I don’t like seeing her lean on another man. I like even less that my reaction is immediate.
If he forgets his place, I’ll remind him.
“I’ve got her,” I snap.
“We’ll be here,” Kirill says.
I lead Sofia inside. She’s nervous.
I head straight for the bar. “Drink?”
“Yes.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I pour us each a scotch. I don’t want her drunk, but she needs to take the edge off.
I watch her drain the glass before she sets it down with shaking hands.
“Sofia.”
She looks up at me. I see the fear she’s trying so hard to hide.
“I think we need to establish some boundaries,” she says. “We’re married. That’s what I agreed to. That’s it. Nothing else.”
I could force the issue.
But I won’t.
She needs this control.
“I don’t expect anything from you tonight,” I say. “Or any night. This marriage is about protection. Nothing more. Unless you want more.”
“I don’t,” she says quickly.
“Then we’re clear.”
I finish my drink and set the glass down. “You’ll need to sleep in my bed. At least for the first week or two. My staff is loyal, but we can’t afford rumors.”
“Your bed?” she whispers.
“It’s a large bed.”
I’m a dick. She could sleep in the guest room. But I want her in my bed. That’s something I decided about five minutes ago. And there is a real risk of rumors.
“I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow,” I say.
She hesitates. I see the fear, but she’s pushing through it.
I lead her upstairs and into my primary suite that dominates the second floor.
Her eyes take in my bedroom. The large bed. Fireplace. Seating area. Bathroom door. Window. Distance between the bed and the door. She’s calculating her escape routes.
Good girl. I’d be more worried if she weren’t.
She nods but doesn’t move. Just stands there in that black dress, looking like she wants to bolt.
This is already asking more of my self-control than I anticipated.
I don’t crowd her. I don’t tell her to get into bed or offer to help her take off the dress.
I strip off my jacket and take my time to fold it over the back of the chair. I kick off my shoes in the general direction of the closet. I loosen my tie. I drape it over my jacket.
I keep my movements slow. Deliberate. Non-threatening.
I start to unbutton my shirt. One. By. One.
I get it undone and shrug it off my shoulders.
I hear a soft gasp.
Her eyes are locked on my chest. On the tattoos that cover my torso, my arms, my shoulders.
On the green snake that winds around my neck.
Her face has gone pale. She’s staring at that snake like she’s seen a ghost.
“You,” she whispers. “It was you.”