Chapter Ten - Dimitri
The Volkov meeting is set for Thursday at a neutral location—a restaurant in Brighton Beach that’s been hosting Bratva negotiations since before I was born.
The owner knows better than to ask questions, knows to keep the private room empty and the staff deaf to whatever discussions occur behind closed doors.
I arrive deliberately late, a calculated move that establishes hierarchy before a single word is spoken.
Felix and Oleg flank me as we enter, both armed, though weapons won’t be drawn. This is diplomacy, not war.
Not yet, anyway.
The Volkovs are already seated—Viktor, the patriarch, flanked by his two sons and his daughter Elena. She’s dressed for the occasion, elegant in designer clothing that probably cost more than most people make in a year. Pretty in a conventional way, polished and poised and completely uninteresting.
Damien sits at the head of the table, expression neutral. This meeting was his idea, part of ongoing efforts to strengthen alliances and consolidate territory. The Volkovs control shipping routes we need access to; we control real estate developments they want a piece of.
An engagement between their family and ours would seal the arrangement.
I’m the offering.
“Dimitri.” Viktor stands, extending his hand. “Good of you to join us.”
I shake briefly, then take my seat across from Elena. She meets my eyes with practiced confidence, a small smile that’s meant to be demure and inviting.
I feel nothing.
“Let’s get to business,” Damien says, and the room settles.
The negotiation unfolds exactly as expected. Viktor outlines the benefits of alliance—access, protection, mutual profit. Damien counters with our own offerings, the leverage we bring. Numbers are discussed, territories mapped, profit percentages calculated with precision.
Through it all, Elena watches me. Waiting for acknowledgment, for interest, for any sign that this arrangement is acceptable.
I can’t give her what she’s looking for.
Every time I try to focus on the discussion, my mind drifts to Janice.
To the way she’d looked at me three days ago when I pressed metal against her throat—terrified and furious and still somehow defiant.
To the admission she’d made without hesitation, claiming responsibility for the exposé like it was something to be proud of.
To the heat I’d seen flash in her eyes despite the fear, despite everything.
She should have run. Should have quit her job, left the city, disappeared into obscurity where I couldn’t reach her.
Instead, she’s still in New York. Still consuming my thoughts in ways that make focusing on Volkov negotiations impossible.
“The engagement would be announced next month,” Viktor is saying. “Formal ceremony to follow within six months. This gives both families time to organize.”
“No.”
The word drops into conversation like a stone into still water.
Viktor stops mid-sentence. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. I won’t be proceeding with this arrangement.”
Silence descends, thick and heavy. Every eye in the room turns to me. Damien’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
“Dimitri, this is unwise,” he starts.
“I appreciate the Volkovs’ interest,” I say, continuing to address Viktor directly. “I’ve found my own bride. The engagement won’t be necessary.”
Viktor’s face flushes red. “Your own bride? This is the first we’re hearing of this.”
“It’s recent. Very recent.”
“Who is she?” One of Viktor’s sons leans forward. “What family?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“It absolutely is our concern,” Viktor snaps. “We’ve been negotiating this arrangement for months. Resources have been committed, agreements made.”
“Nothing was finalized. No contracts signed.” I keep my voice level, almost bored. “I’m simply informing you that I’m no longer available for this particular alliance.”
Elena speaks for the first time, voice tight with barely controlled anger. “You’re humiliating us. In front of everyone.”
“That’s not my intention.”
“Isn’t it?” Her composure cracks slightly. “You sit here, waste our time, then announce you’ve found someone else? This is deliberate disrespect.”
She’s right. It is deliberate.
Two days ago, Felix’s intelligence team uncovered something interesting about the Volkovs. Shipping routes that don’t just move legitimate cargo. Containers that disappear from manifests. Money that flows to organizations I’d rather not be associated with, even by alliance.
The Volkovs are trafficking. Not drugs or weapons. People. Women and children, specifically.
I won’t bind my family to that. Won’t legitimize it through marriage, no matter what strategic benefits it offers.
Damien would tell me to compartmentalize. Business is business. Personal morality doesn’t factor into alliance decisions.
He’d be wrong.
“I apologize for any inconvenience,” I say, standing. “My decision is final.”
Viktor stands as well, both hands flat on the table. “You can’t do this. We had an agreement!”
“We had a discussion, which is not the same thing.”
“Damien.” Viktor turns to my brother. “You authorized these negotiations. Are you going to let him destroy months of work?”
Damien’s gaze flicks to me, assessing. “Dimitri. A word outside.”
We step into the hallway, leaving the Volkovs seething behind us. The moment the door closes, Damien rounds on me.
“What are you doing?”
“Exactly what I said. Declining the arrangement.”
“Why?”
I could tell him about the trafficking. Show him the evidence Felix compiled. Make this about principle and family reputation.
Instead, I say, “I don’t want to marry her.”
“This isn’t about want. This is about strategic alliance.”
“Then find another way to secure it. I’m not available.”
Damien studies me with those ice-blue eyes that miss nothing. “This is about the woman. The one from your marketing firm.”
“This is about me making my own choices regarding who I marry.”
“You don’t get to make those choices. Not when they impact the entire family.”
“I just did.”
The hallway goes quiet. Damien doesn’t raise his voice; he never needs to. His authority comes from absolute certainty, unwavering control.
Right now, I’m defying both.
“You mentioned a bride,” he says finally. “Who is she?”
“Someone I’ll introduce when the time is right.”
“Dimitri, you can’t be serious.”
“This conversation is over, Damien. I’ve declined the Volkov arrangement. Handle the fallout however you see fit.”
I turn and walk away before he can respond, Felix and Oleg falling into step beside me.
Behind us, I hear raised voices as the Volkovs erupt. Viktor’s shouting something about disrespect and consequences. Elena’s quieter voice is underneath, tight with humiliation.
Let them rage. I’ve made my decision.
The only question now is whether I meant what I said about having found a bride—or if I just created a problem I’ll need to solve before Damien demands answers I don’t have.
***
We’re three blocks from the restaurant when Felix breaks the silence.
“That was reckless.”
“It was necessary.”
“The trafficking intelligence could have been presented privately. You didn’t need to humiliate them in front of everyone.”
“Yes, I did.”
Oleg glances between us. “So what’s the actual plan here? You told them you have a bride. Do you?”
I don’t answer immediately. My mind is already racing ahead, calculating possibilities, mapping out scenarios.
Janice Woods nearly destroyed everything I built. She admitted it to my face with defiance that should have made me pull the trigger instead of just threatening it.
She’s brilliant, dangerous, and consumes my thoughts in ways that compromise my judgment.
She’s also completely unsuitable. Twenty-four years old, no connections, no protection, no understanding of the world she’d be entering. Marrying her would be insane.
It would also solve multiple problems simultaneously.
The Volkov rejection needs justification. Claiming a bride provides it.
Janice needs to understand that actions have consequences. That crossing me creates debts that must be paid.
I need her close. Need to break down whatever walls she’s constructed, need to reclaim what she took from me, need to stop being haunted by a woman I knew for three months four years ago.
Marriage accomplishes all of that.
“I’m working on it,” I say finally.
Felix’s expression suggests he knows exactly what I’m working on and thinks it’s a terrible idea. He’s probably right.
I don’t care.
We reach the car, and I slide into the back seat. Pull out my phone and scroll to the surveillance reports that arrive daily now.
Subject remained at office until 8 PM. No contact with ProPublica staff or journalists. Has been researching Rudenko companies.
She’s looking for leverage. Ways to protect herself, escape routes if things escalate.
I compose a message to my assistant.
Schedule meeting with Janice Woods. My office. Tomorrow, 10 AM. Mark it as an urgent client emergency. She won’t refuse.
The response is immediate.
Confirmed. Should I inform her supervisor?
No. Direct invitation only.
I pocket the phone and stare out at the city sliding past. Tomorrow, I’ll present Janice with a choice that isn’t really a choice at all.
She can marry me—become my wife, accept the protection and prison that comes with my name, pay for what she did in ways that don’t involve bullets.
Or she can refuse, and I’ll demonstrate exactly what happens to people who try to destroy me and think they can walk away unscathed.
Either way, this ends with her exactly where I want her.
Bound to me in ways that can’t be undone with exposés or distance or four years of trying to forget.
Felix’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “You’re going to marry her. Woods.”
“Her name is Janice.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Damien will never approve.”
“Damien doesn’t get a vote.”
“He’s in charge. He gets every vote.”
I turn to face Felix directly. “Then I’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, I’m solving the Volkov problem and the Janice problem simultaneously.”
“By creating a bigger problem?”
“By taking what’s mine.”
Felix shakes his head but doesn’t argue further. He knows when I’ve made a decision that can’t be reasoned with.
Oleg, sitting in the front seat, turns back to look at me. “So you’re really doing this? Marrying some random woman just to avoid the Volkovs?”
“She’s not random.”
“You knew her for what, a few months? That was four years ago.”
“It’s long enough.”
“For what?”
“Long enough to know she’s mine,” I say instead. “Whether she accepts that yet or not.”
The car goes quiet. Outside, the city pulses with its usual chaos—millions of people moving through their lives, unaware that somewhere in the machine, decisions are being made that will reshape everything.
Janice will be at my office tomorrow at ten. By noon, she’ll understand exactly what her exposé cost both of us.