22. Eduard
EDUARD
The courtyard is still stained with blood when I finally turn away from Emma’s retreating figure.
Her fury radiates off her in waves, visible in the rigid set of her shoulders and the way her hands curl into fists at her sides.
One of the guards moves to escort her back to the secured wing, and for once she doesn’t fight.
She just walks, her boots crunching against gravel, her spine straight despite everything she witnessed this morning.
I watch until she disappears through the main entrance then force myself to focus on the real problem we’ve been avoiding for years.
Our fathers’ alliance died with them in that shootout.
The Novikov, Lenkov, and Balabanov families have operated separately ever since, maintaining contact but never truly unified.
The entire reason we attended that fucking auction was to help rebuild what was lost. We needed a wife who could bind our families together, someone strong enough to stand beside all three of us and help bridge the gaps our fathers left behind.
Rurik stands near the garage entrance, his pale blue eyes tracking the guards as they clean the execution site with efficient precision. Artur leans against the stone wall, his dark eyes distant. Neither of them speak, but I know they’re thinking the same thing I am.
We can’t keep delaying this.
“We need to call the meeting,” I say quietly.
Rurik’s gaze shifts to me. “Today?”
“Yes.” I move closer, lowering my voice even though the nearest guards are too far away to hear.
“The captains have been asking questions for weeks. They know we bought someone at the auction. They know she’s FBI.
And after what just happened, they’re going to want answers about what the fuck we’re planning. ”
Artur pushes away from the wall, his jaw tight. “They’re going to want to know if she’s a threat.”
“She is a threat,” Rurik says flatly. “The question is whether she’s a manageable one.”
I think about Emma standing in the courtyard, her gray-green eyes blazing with fury as she watched us execute a man for betrayal.
The way she challenged us, demanded we stop, and refused to look away, even when we told her to go inside.
She’s not manageable. She’s a fucking wildfire and we’re trying to contain her without getting burned.
But oh how fucking good that burn is when I’m deep inside her, her cries of ecstasy pushing me even further.
But we need her. Not just because we want her, though Christ knows I do.
I want her in ways that have nothing to do with strategy or family alliances.
I want to strip that anger off her body and replace it with heat.
Want to make her scream my name the way she did that night in the library.
Want to see her smile at me the way she did when we were dancing, unguarded and real.
I shake the thoughts away and focus on what matters right now.
“Call the captains,” I say to Rurik. “The ones we trust. We need to move forward with the alliance, and they need to understand what we’re building.”
Rurik nods once and pulls out his phone, already typing messages. Within minutes, responses start coming back. The captains will arrive within the hour.
The conference room sits in the estate’s eastern wing, a large space with tall windows overlooking the gardens and a long mahogany table that can seat twenty people comfortably.
Maps cover one wall, marked with territories, shipping routes, and border crossings.
Financial reports are stacked on the side table, thick folders containing years of records from all three families.
By the time the captains arrive, Artur and I have already spread the current operational documents across the table. Rurik stands near the window, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp as the men file in.
There are eight of them total. Three from Rurik Novikov’s family, two from Artur Lenkov’s, and three from mine, the Balabanovs.
All of them are men we’ve known for years, men who served under our fathers and stayed loyal after the shootout that killed them.
They’re older, experienced, and cautious in ways that come from surviving decades in this life.
The oldest captain, a thick-shouldered man who worked directly under my father, takes his seat first. His scarred hands rest on the table as his dark eyes sweep across the documents. “You’re finally doing it.”
“Yes,” Rurik says simply.
Another captain, younger but no less experienced, leans forward. “The families have been separate for twenty years. Merging operations now will create vulnerabilities. Other organizations will see it as weakness.”
“Or strength,” Artur counters, moving to stand beside the table. “Three families operating independently can be picked off one at a time. Three families unified under a single alliance become something much harder to destroy.”
The discussion begins in earnest. Rurik focuses on the financial networks, explaining how merging certain accounts and investments will strengthen all three families without exposing individual weaknesses.
He’s methodical, walking through spreadsheets and projections with the kind of precision that makes even skeptical men nod in agreement.
Artur handles the smuggling routes, pointing out overlaps and inefficiencies in the current system.
His family controls several key ports along the Baltic coast, while Rurik’s network dominates the Pacific routes.
My family manages overland transport through Eastern Europe.
Separately, we’re effective. Together, we could control a pipeline that spans continents.
I take the security side, making it clear that bringing the families closer will require absolute loyalty from everyone involved.
“We can’t afford leaks,” I say, my voice hard.
“What happened this morning was a reminder. Betrayal gets people killed. Not just the traitor, but everyone who depends on us for protection.”
The older captain’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the understanding in his eyes. He was there the night our fathers died. He knows what happens when trust breaks down.
The meeting stretches for hours. The captains debate how much authority each family should maintain while still cooperating under a stronger alliance.
Some want clear territorial divisions. Others argue for shared control over certain operations.
Rurik listens to all of it, his pale eyes tracking every argument, every concern.
Finally, he speaks. “Our fathers tried to build this alliance before they died. They failed because they didn’t have the foundation to support it. We do. We have the resources, the contacts, and the loyalty. What we need now is commitment.”
This isn’t really new news. They’ve known we’ve been working toward joining our families for years. It’s why we built this huge house, big enough for the three of us plus lots of extra rooms for family. But this is the first time they’re facing the reality of it.
The room falls silent. Then the older captain nods slowly. “You have mine.”
One by one, the other captains agree. Not all of them are enthusiastic, but they’re willing to try. It’s enough for now.
When the meeting finally ends and the captains leave the estate, the sun is already setting. My shoulders ache from tension, and my mind is still turning over the logistics we discussed. But there’s something else pulling at me, something I can’t ignore.
Emma.
I head toward the secured wing instead of joining Rurik and Artur in the lounge. The guards stationed outside her door straighten when they see me approaching.
“Open it,” I say quietly.
One of them unlocks the door and I step inside. The room is dim, lit only by the fading light through the windows. Emma stands near the glass, her arms crossed over her chest, her silhouette outlined against the darkening sky. She doesn’t turn when I enter.
“Come to explain yourself?” Her voice is cold, sharp.
“I came to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She finally turns, and the fury in her gray-green eyes rakes over me. “I don’t want to hear excuses or justifications or whatever bullshit you’re planning to say.”
I close the door behind me and move closer, keeping my movements slow and non-threatening. “What happened this morning—”
“Was murder,” she cuts me off. “You executed a man in your courtyard like it was nothing. Like his life meant nothing.”
“His life meant exactly what he made it mean,” I say quietly. “He chose to betray us. He knew the consequences.”
“He was desperate!”
“He was a liar.” I stop a few feet away from her, close enough to see the way her chest rises and falls with each angry breath. Close enough to notice the way her fitted sweater clings to her breasts and the curve of her waist.
“I’m not part of this.” Her voice shakes slightly, though whether from anger or something else, I can’t tell. “I’m a prisoner.”
I take another step closer. “You helped us improve our shipping routes. You offered tactical advice during the meeting. You danced with us, laughed with us…” I lean in closer. “Fucked us.”
Her hand comes up fast, aiming for my face. I catch her wrist before she can connect, my fingers wrapping around her delicate bones. She tries to pull free, but I hold firm, not hard enough to hurt but enough to keep her still.
“Let go of me,” she hisses.
“Not until you calm down.”
“I am calm!”
“Liar.” I pull her closer, close enough that I can smell the clean scent of her soap and see the flecks of green in her gray eyes. “You’re furious. You’re scared. And you’re trying to convince yourself that what you feel for us isn’t real.”
“I don’t feel anything for you.”
“Another lie.” My free hand slides to her waist, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater. “You felt something when Eduard kissed you in the library. When Artur fucked you in the training room. When Rurik made you come so hard you couldn’t remember your own name.”
Her breathing quickens, her pupils dilating despite the anger still burning in her eyes. “That was just sex.”
“Was it?” I lean closer, my mouth near her ear. “Because it felt like a lot more than that to me.”
She shoves against my chest with her free hand, and this time I let her go. She stumbles back a step, her face flushed. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to kill someone in front of me and then act like we’re building something together.”
“We are building something,” I say quietly. “Whether you want to admit it or not.”
“No.” She shakes her head, her dark hair falling loose from its braid. “You’re building an empire on blood and violence. I’m just trapped in the middle of it.”
The words sting more than I expect them to. I want to argue, to make her see that what we’re trying to create is more than just criminal enterprise. But I know she won’t listen. Not tonight. Not after what she witnessed.
I turn toward the door, my hand on the handle, when her voice stops me.
“Eduard.”
I pause, looking back at her.
Her gray-green eyes are hard, her jaw set with determination. “After what I saw today, I will never submit to becoming your shared wife.”
The words hang in the air between us, final and absolute.
I hold her gaze for a long moment then step through the door and pull it closed behind me. The lock engages with a soft click, and I stand there in the hallway, her warning echoing in my mind.
She thinks she has a choice. She doesn’t understand yet that the moment we bought her, the moment she walked into our lives, her fate was already sealed. Whether she submits or not, she’s ours.
And we’re never letting her go.