Chapter 2 Yuri
YURI
The blood on the asphalt reflects the rotating lights of emergency vehicles, creating patterns that shift and dance across the broken glass scattered throughout the street.
I stand at the edge of the scene, watching uniformed officers string yellow tape around what remains of two lives that impacted my world for over twenty years.
Dominic's body lies on a stretcher, having been removed from Semyon’s vehicle.
My son's pale blue eyes stare unseeing at the sky, his expensive suit darkened with stains I refuse to examine too closely or the rage will take me over.
Twenty-two years old, reckless and arrogant and mine, now reduced to evidence in a crime scene that will consume the headlines for weeks.
Semyon Mirov rests face-down beside his Mercedes, still, but his body is mostly covered with a sheet.
The partnership that was supposed to secure our families' futures ended with bullets and betrayal, leaving behind only questions that demand answers I may never find.
My phone vibrates against my chest.
I ignore it, focusing instead on the details the police will overlook in their eagerness to close another Mob-related killing.
Three vehicles, based on the tire tracks and shell casings.
Military-grade weapons, judging by the damage to the car and surrounding buildings.
Professional execution, no witnesses willing to come forward.
This was not random violence or a deal gone wrong.
This was a message written in blood.
"Mr. Gravitch." A detective approaches me, his badge identifying him as Zhukov.
"We need to ask you some questions about your son's activities."
"My son is dead," I reply without looking away from Dominic's body. "His activities died with him."
"The preliminary investigation suggests this was related to a crime syndicate… Something about an arms deal gone wrong…" The detective's eyes are focused on me, narrowed in suspicion, and I don’t like it.
He has no clue who he's fucking with.
It's the sort of thing that gets lesser men killed.
I turn to face Zhukov, letting him see the full weight of my attention.
He's younger than I expected, probably assigned to this case because his superiors want to maintain distance from anything involving the Gravitch name.
Smart move on their part.
Less smart on his.
"My son was twenty-two years old," I tell him confidently, and my tone is laced with a warning his eyebrows pick up on.
They rise as I continue. "He knew nothing about international arms deals or missing shipments. If someone sold you that story, they lied."
But even as I dismiss Zhukov's theory, I know he's closer to the truth than I want to admit.
Dominic's been restless lately, eager to prove himself worthy of inheriting my position.
He'd asked too many questions about our overseas connections, shown too much interest in the profitable ventures he wasn't ready to understand.
If he'd tried to broker his own deal with Kozlov's people, if he'd promised delivery on merchandise he couldn't provide…
The detective opens his mouth to respond, but movement across the street captures my attention.
A woman in white emerges from behind the ambulance, her dress luminous against the chaos surrounding her.
Even at this distance, even through the haze of smoke and flashing lights, I recognize her immediately.
Inessa Mirova.
Tomorrow's bride, now tonight's orphan.
She moves stiffly, shoulders limp, face contorted with grief.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, her posture slumped.
The ivory silk of her wedding dress—the same gown she was supposed to wear while promising herself to my dead son—now bears dark stains that can only be her father's blood.
Her dark brown hair falls loose around her shoulders, framing a face that shows grief and shock but no weakness.
"Excuse me," I tell Zhukov, already walking away from his questions and toward the woman who represents either salvation or further ruin for both our families.
She sees me approaching and straightens her spine, lifting her chin in a gesture of pride and defiance.
Up close, she's very striking, even after the crying she's done.
She’s tall and slender, with pale skin that makes her gray-green eyes appear almost luminous.
But it's the steel in her bearing that catches my attention, the refusal to crumble despite losing everything in the span of a few hours, the very instant she sees me.
Just like her father would’ve wanted.
"Miss Mirova." I stop just beyond arm's reach, respecting the invisible barrier her posture has created around her.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Are you?"
Her voice carries the hint of an accent that becomes more pronounced under stress, Russian vowels bleeding through the polished English she uses for business.
"Or are you sorry for your loss?"
The question reveals intelligence and perception I don't expect from a twenty-three-year-old fashion designer, even one raised in the shadow of her father's empire.
She understands that Semyon's death affects me as much as it grieves her, that our carefully negotiated alliance died with the two men now covered by white sheets.
"Both," I answer honestly.
"Your father was a good partner. My son was…" I pause, searching for words that acknowledge Dominic's flaws without dishonoring his memory.
"He had potential he'll never realize."
She studies my face with those remarkable eyes, looking for lies or manipulation or false comfort.
Finding none, she nods then lets her head drop, a gesture that somehow manages to be both acceptance and dismissal.
"The wedding is canceled," she says, as if I might not have reached that conclusion on my own.
"Yes."
"The contracts are void."
"Most of them."
This catches her attention, and I see the businesswoman surface beneath the grief-stricken daughter.
"Which ones remain binding?"
I glance around at the police officers and emergency workers who might be listening, then gesture toward a quiet corner where we can speak without an audience.
She follows, her bloody wedding dress trailing behind her across the broken asphalt.
"Your father's death leaves your company vulnerable," I begin once we're far enough from curious ears.
"Without his connections, without the protection his partnerships provided, you'll face challenges you can't handle alone."
"What challenges?" Inessa's eyes flick around like a frightened kitten ready to pounce.
It's really quite adorable, and she would be so very edible if she weren't half my age and the near widow of my only son.
I find the naivety endearing, but it's also dangerous.
She is so ignorant of everything Semyon meant to protect her from.
And sadly, the onus falls on me to educate her quickly before her downfall ruins my life.
"Your mother will move quickly to contest his will. She might try to claim half of everything you've built."
The possibility hits her visibly, though she tries to hide the impact.
I watch her mind work to understand as her eyebrows rise, and her posture shifts to a more defensive one, understanding how precarious her position has become in the span of a single evening.
"Beyond your mother's claims," I continue, "there are contracts that died with your father tonight.
Business relationships that required his personal guarantee.
Competitors who will see his death as an opportunity to destroy everything for you and for me.
We're in this together now, whether you like it or not. "
She stares at the blood on her dress, then looks back at me with anger in her eyes.
The steel in her resolve strengthens and she squares her shoulders.
"What do you want from me?" she asks.
I like the fire I sense inside her spirit.
It will do us both good in the coming days, but I will have to bend it my direction or she will be a handful.
"Your company provides excellent cover for certain financial activities," I reply carefully.
"Fashion is international, involves large cash transactions, and draws little regulatory attention when managed properly."
"You want to use my business to launder money?"
Her eyes narrow at me, as if she doesn’t already realize what sort of man her father was and what business transactions we've been involved in.
"Your father and I had arrangements that benefited everyone involved. Those arrangements don't have to die with him."
She turns away, watching the paramedics prepare to load her father's body into the ambulance.
The ivory silk of her dress catches the rotating emergency lights, creating an almost ethereal glow around her slender frame.
Even with dried blood on her porcelain skin, she's ravishing.
Maybe more so.
She is in this world and not surprised by it, so there's nothing to lose in plucking her low-hanging fruit.
"My position is complicated now," she finally says.
"Without Batya's guidance, without the marriage alliance…"
"The marriage alliance doesn't have to disappear."
She turns back to face me, confusion replacing some of the grief in her expression. "Dominic is dead."
"Yes. But the need for an alliance between our families remains. Your company still requires protection. My operations still need legitimate businesses to process transactions. The benefits of partnership haven't changed."
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed immediately by shock.
She sputters for a second, clenching her hands in her dress as she looks around frantically.
I follow her eyes and see another young woman staring at us, perhaps a friend.
But Inessa's words snap me back to attention.
"You cannot be suggesting…"
"Marriage," I tell her, dropping my tone to a low growl. "To me."
My suggestion is audacious and practical in equal measure, and I surprise myself with how confidently it rolls off my tongue as if I've been planning it for days and not only just stumbled upon it.
She stares at me, jaw hanging, as if I've proposed something obscene, which perhaps I have.
But desperation breeds unconventional solutions, and we're both desperate now—or she will be when the cloud of grief passes.
"You're my dead fiancé's father," she whispers, and she takes a minute step backward, so small I'd have thought it was the wind tossing her dress, but there is no breeze.
"I'm the man who can keep your empire intact while you're grieving and vulnerable."
"This is madness." Inessa shakes her head, taking a larger step away from me, and while I'd like to shake her hard to wake her up, I can't be seen as coercive if I want her to comply with me.
I slide a hand into the small of her back and one on her shoulder, pulling her into my tight embrace, as if comforting a grieving daughter.
"Sanity is a luxury neither of us can afford tonight, Ms. Mirova, and you'd do well to remember that I was your father's business associate, but I'm still a dangerous man."
The ambulance carrying her father's body pulls away from the curb, its lights fading into the darkness.
Inessa stiffens, and I feel her fists pressing against my chest, but even she is wise enough to know not to fight me in public.
Just as easily as I can save her entire kingdom, I could finish her before the clock strikes midnight.
There is a reason we have an alliance in parley.
But by tomorrow night, our enemies will know exactly how exposed we've become.
Surely, even at twenty-three years old, she's smart enough to understand how vulnerable she is.
"I need time to consider this," she says.
"You have until dawn. After that, other forces will begin moving, and our options will narrow considerably.
Don't mistake this hit on your father's life as a warning.
They'd have just as easily killed you. Our enemies don’t want this alliance any more than you want to consider me a viable option for salvation.
" I let her go and see the fear in her eyes, catch the hint of quivering in her lip.
Then I reach into my jacket and withdraw a business card wrapped in my handkerchief, extending it toward her.
She takes it without looking, her attention focused on some point beyond my shoulder where the last officers are documenting the scene.
"My private number is on the back," I tell her.
"When you're ready to discuss terms, contact me. I'll be awake, waiting."
I turn to leave, but something tells me this isn't going to be easy.
Viktoria is going to swoop in like a fucking vulture and ruin it, and if I don't move to stop that from happening, everything I've built—a fucking lifetime of hard work and shed blood—will be for nothing.
I need a drink.
I need to dig the pain of losing my only child out of my heart.
And then I need to decide exactly how I will force Inessa Mirova to continue this alliance, even if I have to put a gun in her side to make it happen.