Chapter Six
Damian’s POV
I watched from a safe distance as flames consumed what should have been three million in heroin and synthetic opioids, the kind of product that moved through shell companies and legitimate fronts without leaving fingerprints.
The same shell companies that Elena's lawsuit was systematically exposing.
"Confirmation?" I asked into the comm unit, my breath fogging in the cold.
Yuri's voice crackled back, steady despite the chaos. "Building's clear. No casualties on our side. They evacuated before we arrived."
Of course, they had. Someone had warned them. Someone inside our organization was feeding information to rivals, and Elena's lawsuit was forcing them to become increasingly obvious about it.
"Pull back," I ordered. "Leave the burn. Let them explain the loss to their suppliers."
I disconnected before Yuri could respond, watching chemical flames paint the warehouse district in shades of orange and red. The message was clear enough: the Bratva was aware, mobilized, and closing ranks. We weren't hiding; we were hunting.
But even as our forces demonstrated outward dominance, I knew the truth that kept me awake most nights: we were more exposed than we'd been in decades.
Elena's lawsuit had cracked open our infrastructure like a geode, revealing the rot inside our legitimate shell.
Every filing created pressure. Every disclosure narrowed the traitor's options.
The lawsuit had just crossed its first real threshold.
*****
Dawn found me in the secure conference room in Red Hook, the same space where I'd first presented Elena's threat to my brothers. Except now the threat had evolved into something more complex, more like a weapon.
Time was the enemy now. Every day Elena lived, she became simultaneously more dangerous and more valuable.
And the Pakhan's patience was running out. And the others who were present—Roman, Konstantin, and Alexei—weren’t any less concerned. We had gathered to pore over the intel we’d been able to gather overnight.
"Tell me something good," Viktor said without preamble, dropping into his chair like a king claiming a throne.
"The Kozlov shipment is ash," I reported. "Clean operation. No casualties. But they knew we were coming."
Roman's jaw tightened. "Active leak."
"And even bolder." I spread surveillance photos across the table—images captured over the last seventy-two hours showing known associates, unusual meetings, phone records that didn't quite add up.
"Elena was right. The lawsuit is forcing whoever's feeding information to move faster. They're making mistakes."
"Have we identified them?" Konstantin leaned forward, his scarred knuckles white against the table's edge.
"Not yet. But the next filing will." I pulled up the draft documents Elena had shown me, now annotated with Roman's financial analysis. "This names specific transactions from the last six months. Dates, amounts, routing numbers. Information that only exists in our internal systems."
Alexei whistled low. "Whoever leaked this will panic the moment these go public."
"Exactly." Roman tapped one particular transaction. "This one's especially problematic. It's a wire transfer that moved through three intermediaries before landing in a Cayman account. The only people who knew the full routing were myself, Viktor, our primary accountant Marcus Chen, and—"
"Yuri," I finished.
“Hm,” Viktor uttered, the single sound carrying more meaning than could be ignored.
“Brother, that’s his right-hand man,” Konstantin pointed out.
“Well, Damian, you have to resolve the Elena problem once the next filing goes through. Permanently, this time,” Viktor ordered.
That was the exact moment I made my decision. A permanent one—just a different one.
The Bratva law didn’t grant protection through mercy, but through ownership. While a woman outside the Bratva is expendable, a woman under the protection of the Lobanov Bratva is untouchable. Currently, Elena existed in a lethal in-between.
So, I’d just bring her under the right category.
"She's more useful alive," I said, keeping my voice level despite the tightness in my chest. "Every filing gives us leverage. Every disclosure she controls gives us weapons against our enemies."
“But she’s exposed,” Roman said. “That doesn’t bode well for us at a time like this. You know that.”
“We can very well do without her control over disclosure,” Viktor declared. “So I disagree with you.”
I should have accepted it. Should have nodded and confirmed the order and done what I'd done a hundred times before—eliminated a threat with professional efficiency and no emotional attachment. But even the thought of accepting his order made me crazy with anger and something desperate.
“What if we can get her control over disclosure and also make sure she’s not exposed?”
Everyone looked at me with questioning gazes, except the Pakhan, whose expression was like that of a father watching his son attempt to put his over-the-clouds theory into practice.
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
“Elena Vasiliev is the most valuable asset we've acquired in years. She understands law and crime. She can navigate federal systems and Bratva politics. She's already proven she can identify structural weaknesses we didn't know existed."
“And you think she'll do that for us willingly? After the kidnap?” he questioned, raising a brow.
This was it. The moment when I committed to something I couldn’t take back.
“Marriage.”
The word landed like a grenade.
I heard a laugh that sounded like a snort—it was either Alexei or Konstantin.
“It’s containment. It’s the one solution that works for public optics, Bratva hierarchy, and even legal leverage,” I explained.
And my desperate, inexplicable need to keep her alive.
"Marriage also binds her to our family permanently," Roman remarked. "That's a hell of a commitment to someone who was our enemy three days ago."
"Was,” I emphasized. “She's not our enemy now. She's our asset. Marriage makes that official."
I could see Viktor calculating, weighing options with the same strategic mind that had kept the Lobanovs dominant for generations.
As if I were on trial, I went on. "It also provides legal cover. A wife can't be compelled to testify against her husband. Her lawsuit protections extend to Lobanov interests. Every piece of leverage she has becomes ours."
The silence that followed felt infinite.
Finally, Viktor leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "You're willing to marry a woman you've known for less than a week? To bind yourself to someone who could still betray us?"
"I'm willing to do whatever it takes to protect this family's future. Even if that means marrying our greatest threat to neutralize her."
"That's not neutralization," Konstantin observed with something that might have been amusement. "That's claiming."
"A Lobanov marriage is a political event. It signals unity. Strength. Control over a situation that appeared chaotic. It's better optics than a body in the river,” I disclosed.
Roman cleared his throat. "There's also precedent. Viktor married Emilia under less-than-traditional circumstances. Mikhail and Isabella's union was politically motivated. Same as my marriage to my baby girl. Konstantin and Alina's wedding happened during active warfare. Alexei and Mila—"
"We get it," Alexei interrupted, chuckling in a way that told me Konstantin was right when he said the mere mention of Alina’s name turned Alexei into a young boy again. "The Lobanovs have a history of complicated marriages."
"Complicated marriages that strengthened the family," I pressed. "This does the same."
“Besides, I wasn’t saying it as a bad thing. My angle is that this could work, too. I mean, it worked for all of us,” Roman clarified.
Viktor was quiet for a long moment, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of final judgment. "If this goes sideways—if she betrays us, runs, or causes problems—you eliminate the threat personally. No hesitation. No second chances. Understood?"
"Understood, brother,” I affirmed, nodding.
"And Damian?" Viktor's expression softened fractionally—the closest thing to concern I'd seen from him in years. "Make sure you know what you're doing. Marriage isn't a contract you can terminate when it becomes inconvenient."
"I know exactly what I'm doing." The lie came easily because I needed it to be true.
The meeting adjourned with grim efficiency. Plans were made. Security protocols established. Invitations would go out within hours to all Lobanov couples—a family summit disguised as a wedding that would demonstrate unity while we rooted out betrayal.
*****
“How did it go, boss?” Yuri inquired the minute I got into the car.
“Well,” I answered, trying to sound casual. “Marrying her is the perfect containment strategy.”
“But the Lobanov brothers are all married,” he remarked, chuckling as he drove onto the dark streets. “Except you.”
Then his head whipped to my side as he realized what he’d just pointed out.
“Boss, you’re marrying her?” he asked, shock clearly written over his features.
“Eyes on the road, Yuri,” I instructed. “I’m marrying her, yes.”
“You always said you’d never get married,” he uttered.
“Yes.”
“I personally don’t trust her being alive, boss.”
“Your personal concerns are noted,” I told him, looking out the window.
“No, I mean, I’m… congratulations, boss.”
“Hm,” I uttered, nodding. “Preparations start immediately. I don’t have a date yet, but invitations should be prepared to be sent. It’s going to be a rapid Bratva-sanctioned wedding. Get the lawyers to prepare the legal paperwork binding her lawsuit protections to Bratva interests.”
“Consider it done, boss.”
We got to my main warehouse in minutes, and I got into the swing of business as usual, while Yuri made calls in preparation for the wedding. It took intentional effort not to think of the impending union throughout the day.
But as I got into the bedroom I’d claimed as mine in the safe house, I acknowledged the truth I’d been trying to avoid.
I don’t just want Elena alive, I want her bound to me.
The thought was dark, intoxicating, and final. Desire intertwined with control, and both couldn’t be separated anymore.
*****
Going down to Elena’s room seemed to feel automatic. I was opening the door again before I could even let my acknowledgment breathe.
Elena stood by the window in moonlight, wearing a plain burgundy T-shirt and black joggers that couldn’t hide the flare of her hips despite being loose-fitting. She turned at my entrance, and I watched her expression shift from neutral to alert in the space of a heartbeat.
"Something's wrong," she said immediately.
“And you think that because…?” I prompted.
“I don’t know. You’re giving off a different kind of energy: closed off, predatory, decisive,” she revealed, shrugging.
“So, not only do you sense things quickly as a lawyer, you pick up vibes like a psychic, too,” I remarked.
She didn’t give a response, not even a change of expression. All she gave me was that steady look that told me she was waiting for what I really had to say.
"The situation has escalated." I kept my voice flat, professional, hiding the chaos underneath. "The traitor is getting desperate. You’re no longer safe being independent, arrangement or not."
Her face paled fractionally, but her voice remained steady. “Independent?”
"As opposed to what? Completely under your control?"
"As opposed to being protected by legal and political structures that make you untouchable." I watched understanding flicker across her face, followed quickly by suspicion. "You'll be relocated to a secure estate for a family gathering. Maximum security."
“I’m not some cargo you can ship off wherever you want to,” she lashed out, her upset tone telling me she knew she didn’t have the leverage to refuse this time.
It made me feel some kind of funny, uncomfortable way that I was backing her into a corner.
“You’re not cargo. But we both agree that your safety isn’t a bad thing, don’t we?”
She didn’t answer; she just looked on.
As I left her room, I finalized the last detail in my head: The wedding will happen within the next forty-eight hours.
Let’s get this over with.
It would happen, with or without her consent.