Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dmitri
Pietro holds up a hand before I can continue. "No one in this room is ready to hear why you chose her. We're talking about our baby sister."
Fair enough. I close my mouth and wait.
The Don leans back in his chair.
"I've respected you and your family since the beginning, Baganov. Your father built something solid. You've maintained it. I hope you won't prove me wrong."
"I don't intend to."
"Now." Pietro straightens, and the shift in his posture signals we're moving from family matters to business. "Whatever we run together—fifty-fifty split. Clean down the middle."
I nod slowly. Expected.
"We don't care what the Russians already own," Nico adds, his arms crossed over his chest. "Your existing operations remain yours. This alliance creates new ventures. Those get split evenly."
"Agreed."
Lorenzo speaks for the first time since I entered. "Political connections flow both ways. Your family has reach in certain circles we don't. We have access to others you need."
"Mutual benefit." I incline my head. "My father's connections in city council, the port authority, they transfer to me. You'll have access."
"There's the matter of Vittoria's assets," Pietro says carefully.
My spine stiffens. Here it comes.
"She owns a substantial amount. Her share of the family businesses, personal investments, trust funds from our father." Pietro watches my face like he's waiting for something. "It's considerable."
I know exactly how much Vittoria Sartori is worth. Yuri compiled the financial reports weeks ago. The number has seven figures before the decimal point.
"I don't want any of it."
Silence falls over the room like a heavy blanket.
Bruno's wheelchair creaks as he shifts forward. "What?"
"Her money stays hers. Separate accounts, separate assets." I hold Pietro's gaze without flinching. "I'm not marrying your sister for her inheritance."
Pietro stares at me for a long moment. His jaw works like he's chewing on my words, testing them for lies. I let him look. I have nothing to hide on this point.
Finally, he nods. A single, sharp movement.
"That's... unexpected," Nico admits.
"I assumed you were going to ask for more than that."
Nico uncrosses his arms and leans forward.
"We could," Nico says. His voice is flat, matter-of-fact. "We could demand controlling interest in your distribution networks. We could require quarterly audits of your books. We could insist on veto power over your business decisions."
I wait. There's more coming.
"But we're not selling her." Nico's dark eyes bore into mine. "We're not auctioning off our sister to the highest bidder. We're securing that she won't be played. That she won't end up married to someone who could destroy her."
The room goes quiet again.
They're protecting her.
All of this was never about alliances or business advantages. It was about finding someone who wouldn't break her.
Vittoria doesn't know.
"One last thing."
I turn to face him. Lorenzo has been quiet throughout most of this meeting.
"The Sartori family has codes," Lorenzo says.
"Lines we don't cross. Human trafficking.
Forced prostitution. Exploitation of the vulnerable.
" He pauses, letting each word land with weight.
"If the Baganovs ever start working in any of these areas, the deal is off.
Vittoria gets a divorce. The alliance ends. "
My jaw tightens.
If anyone else had implied I would traffic human beings, I would have put a bullet between their eyes.
The suggestion alone would be enough to start a war.
My father built the Bratva on principles—ruthless, yes, but principled.
We deal in weapons, drugs, in information, in influence.
We control territory and eliminate competition. But we don't sell people.
Never.
But these aren't enemies making accusations. These are men who have watched their world destroy innocents. Men who have seen what happens when organizations abandon their codes. They're not insulting me. They're drawing a line in the sand.
The same line my own family drew generations ago.
"The Baganovs don't deal in flesh," I say quietly.
"We never have. We never will." I meet Lorenzo's gaze without flinching.
"My mother died bringing my youngest sister into this world.
My father went mad with grief and killed the doctor who couldn't save her.
He was wrong to do it, but he did it because he loved her.
" I pause. "We understand the value of human life, even when we're taking it. "
Lorenzo studies me for a long moment. Then he nods.
"Good."
Pietro opens the folder and slides a stack of papers across the desk.
"Our lawyers drafted these last night. Standard alliance terms, financial separation clauses, the conditions Lorenzo just outlined.
" He taps the top page. "Read them. Have your people review them. We'll sign when you're satisfied."
I take the folder but don't open it. "I'll have them back to you by tomorrow."
"No rush." Pietro's voice softens slightly. "Your father... how long does he have?"
The question catches me off guard. I expected business, not sympathy.
"Days," I admit. "Maybe less."
"Take the time you need," Pietro says. "The papers can wait."
I nod once. Stand. Igor rises beside me, his posture still rigid with tension.
"I'll be in touch."
Vittoria
"Come in."
Megan pushes through the door carrying a black box tied with silver ribbon. "This arrived for you, Miss Sartori."
"Thank you, Megan."
She nods and slips out, closing the door behind her.
I turn the box over in my hands. The weight suggests something substantial inside. My fingers work the ribbon loose, and I lift the lid.
Nestled in black velvet sit a pair of rose gold handcuffs, lined with soft leather, with a chain connecting them. Beautiful and terrifying.
A cream envelope rests beneath them.
I unfold the note, my pulse already quickening.
Solnyshko,
6 PM tonight. Grand Theatre.
Bring these.
—D
Heat floods through me instantly. My thighs press together as I imagine what he plans to do with these.
Fuck. I'm already wet and he's not even here.
I trace my finger along the smooth metal, thinking about his hands securing them around my—
My bedroom door flies open.
"Babe! You will NOT believe what Dylan just—"
Amanda freezes mid-sentence, her platinum hair swinging.
I shove the cuffs behind my back. Too slow. Way too slow.
Her blue-green eyes lock onto my hands. Then the box. Then my flushed face.
"OH MY GOD!" She screams loud enough to wake the dead. "ARE THOSE—"
I launch myself across the room and clamp my palm over her mouth. "Are you insane? The whole compound can hear you!"
She mumbles something against my hand, her eyes enormous and gleeful.
"If I let go, will you keep your voice down?"
She nods frantically.
I release her. She immediately whisper-screams, "Are those handcuffs? Did your hot Russian fiancé send you handcuffs?"
"Amanda—"
"Let me see!" She darts around me and snatches the box from my bed before I can stop her. "Oh my God, these are gorgeous. Rose gold? Leather-lined? Vittoria, this man has taste."
"Give those back."
She holds them up to the light, completely ignoring me. "There's a note. What does the note say?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. Your face is the color of marinara sauce."
I grab for the cuffs. She dodges, laughing, and we end up tangled on my bed, both of us giggling like we're back in our college dorm.
"Fine!" I wheeze, shoving her off me. "Fine. I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to scream again."
Amanda crosses her heart solemnly, then ruins it by bouncing on the mattress. "Tell me everything. Start from the beginning. Why did he cancel last week? What happened at the dinner with James? Why are you suddenly engaged? I've been dying, Vittoria. Dying."
I pull my knees up to my chest, the cuffs cool against my palm. "His father is dying. Cancer. He only has days left."
Amanda's excitement dims. "Oh. That's... that's awful."
"Yeah." I think about Dmitri's voice in the car, stripped of its usual confidence. "He told me in the car after he basically kidnapped me from dinner with James."
"Wait, what?"
So I tell her. All of it.
James's smugness, his threats about the Sartori family growing vulnerable. Dmitri appearing out of nowhere like some avenging angel in a three-thousand-dollar suit. The way he called me his fiancée in front of everyone without asking permission. The confrontation with Pietro afterward.
"And you just... went along with it?" Amanda asks.
"I confirmed it." I shake my head, still not entirely sure why. "He didn't give me a choice, but when Pietro asked if it was what I wanted, I said yes."
"Because it is what you want."
"I don't know what I want."
Amanda gestures at the handcuffs in my lap. "Babe. He sent you bondage gear with instructions to meet him at a theater. You're blushing so hard I could fry an egg on your cheeks. You know exactly what you want."
I groan and fall backward onto the pillows. "He's infuriating. He stalks me. He makes decisions without consulting me. He threatened to kill any man who tries to marry me."
"And?"
"And I can't stop thinking about him." The admission escapes before I can catch it. "When he held my hand in the car... Amanda, my father died when I was thirteen. Dmitri's losing his now. We just sat there in the dark, not talking, and it was the most connected I've felt to anyone in years."
Amanda lies down beside me, her shoulder pressing against mine. "That's not nothing, V."
"I know." I stare at the ceiling. "That's what scares me."
Amanda's silence stretches for exactly three seconds. Then her eyes widen.
"Oh no." She sits up fast. "No, no, no. We are not doing the sad thing right now."
My throat tightens. "I'm not—"
"You're about to cry." She claps her hands together, the sound sharp enough to make me flinch. "Nope. Absolutely not. We have things to do."
"We don't have things to do."
"Oh, hell yeah we do." Amanda springs off the bed with the energy of someone who's consumed three espressos.
"We are going to grab lattes and cookies from that new spot on Division Street.
Crumbl or something? No, wait—Batter & Bloom.
It's been all over my feed for weeks. Their brown butter sea salt cookie supposedly changed someone's entire life trajectory. "
I stare at her. "A cookie changed someone's life trajectory."
"According to TikTok, yes." She grabs my hands and hauls me upright. "And who are we to argue with TikTok? Come on. Up. Now."
"Amanda—"
"You have approximately four hours before you need to be at that theater with those gorgeous cuffs.
" She's already rifling through my closet.
"Which means we have time for emotional-support sugar and caffeine.
Also, you need to tell me more about this Russian man who apparently wants to tie you up in a theater, because that is unhinged and I am obsessed. "
Despite everythingI laugh.
"Fine." I push myself off the bed. "But I'm not talking about the cuffs."
"You absolutely are." Amanda tosses a cream sweater at my head. "Put this on. It makes your boobs look amazing."