63. Octavia
The severed finger is cold to the touch. Revolting as it may be, I can’t bear to drop it. I don’t look away either. Somehow, that feels like a grave offense.
“A ring proves nothing,” Maksim says somewhere beside me, but there’s doubt in his tone.
Footsteps thunder across the floor as Alex storms out of the dining room. A door slams shut, rattling the frame.
But this ring proves everything. I can still see it glitter beneath the sunlight as he swung his knife, and I hear his cackling laugh when I’d dive into the grass to dodge the metal. It tapped against my first cigarette before the butt met my lips.
When I finally find the courage to set it down, it’s only to pick up the other item on the table. The note may be stained and damaged, but the parchment is expensive, with a printed signature already etched into the page.
Igor Popov.
I start reading from the top.
“I want the name of the idiot who shot the messenger instead of bringing him in for questioning,” Ivan says to someone by the door.
“Why would he do this?” Ben smacks the table. “We agreed to his terms!”
“We all knew his word was trash,” Nik says. “He was never going to give Kirill back. That’s why we need to launch the first attack before his deadline. We should’ve retaliated on day one, like I said…”
I frown, reading the letter twice more before setting it back on the table.
“Well?” Ben asks.
“Apparently, my wedding is set for Friday.” I wipe my hands down the sides of my pants. “He wants me to marry his enforcer. Kirill will be returned as a wedding gift once I comply.”
“That’s in two days,” Maksim mutters.
“What’s the fascination with him marrying you off?” Ben asks, snatching the note from the table. “He’s been trying to take our territory for ages. Why not focus on that?”
“Because they are one and the same,” I explain, gesturing to the madman’s self-indulgent scrawls.
“I am the Pakhan’s daughter. When his enforcer marries me, he will inherit the title.
” It’s the same logic I overheard our own soldiers gossiping about months ago.
Whoever locks down the daughter gets to take the crown.
“So, I guess he has no idea that you’re already married,” Ivan muses aloud.
Ben drops the letter, eyes widening.
“What?”
“Excuse me?”
Nik and Ben’s voices explode across the table. Even Maksim stops his manic pacing.
Ivan frowns. “You guys have a real communication problem.”
“Vasiliy and I married on the plane.” I rub my temple. It does nothing to alleviate the persistent ache. “I didn’t want to return so exposed, not when I knew he’d do anything to take Dad’s seat of power.”
“Great. So now we’ve already lost the one thing he’s willing to bargain for,” Ben says.
My blood heats. “It wasn’t his to have. Besides, Ivan’s right. He doesn’t know I’m married, so maybe this could work in our favor.”
“I’m not saying we should’ve handed you over in exchange for Kirill, but at least we had the last resort. We could’ve gotten you out of there at some point, after Kirill was returned and secure.”
Right. They would’ve come for me at some point. If I managed to survive that first night.
“He cut off his fucking finger, Ben!” Nik shouts. “He was never going to be true to his word! As far as I’m concerned, it was a damn good thing that Octavia took herself off the market, because he would’ve killed Kirill as soon as he got her.”
A door slams again in the distance. When Alex walks back into the room, his face is about three shades paler than usual. I wonder if he’ll tell Aunt Juliet about the message, or if he’ll choose to wait.
My chest aches.
“I never said we should hand Octavia over! All I said was that her trip to New York might have dried up some of our options…”
“There’s only one option,” Nik bites back. “We take our men and raid his shitty compound. Tonight!”
“That’s a stupid idea,” Ivan mutters, slipping back down into a seat.
There are too many pieces on the damn board. I slump down into my own chair, limbs stiffened with so much tension it’s a miracle they fold. Popov already set his demands on that first phone call. Nothing has really changed. The purpose behind this package was to deliver the clock.
Dad and I never played chess with the clock. The way he taught me was far more leisurely, relaxed in his leather reading chair and sipping his drink between moves. I have no idea how to strategize within the bounds of a ticking timer.
When I look up to find Vasiliy approaching from the cellar door, the weight on my shoulders lightens a bit. Almost everyone in the room shrinks back as he strolls into the space with a crazed look, hands and forearms coated in a thick layer of blood that splatters to the floor with every step.
His eyes find mine immediately, and whatever he sees there draws him to my side. He bends down and plants a soft kiss just below my ear. I hear his unspoken words, loud and clear.
You okay?
I jut out my chin, subtly gesturing to the contents on the table. My fighting cousins pay him no heed as he walks over and plucks the note, ignoring the severed finger beside it.
“You know, on paper, the deal is sound,” Ivan says. “It’s a standard marriage arrangement.”
Nik throws up his arms. “But he won’t hold to his end of the bargain!”
“I know that,” Ivan snaps. “All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t look suspicious if we play along. He’ll believe you’re after a ceasefire, just like the last generation’s marriage arrangement was designed to bring.”
Vasiliy’s face morphs into blank rage, eyes flicking from the letter to me.
It’s okay, baby, I try to convey, but his anger runs too deep to read my thoughts.
“He’s already made the preparations for your raid,” Vas says to the group.
“He’s been ready all week. In fact, your hostage told me he’s been preparing for your final stand for nearly a year.
He has an army of one-hundred strong, and he’s already pulled them all into the compound to guard his asset. ”
I knew he’d get me something.
I only wish I knew what to do with the information. I need time to think. More importantly, I need some fucking quiet. I can’t focus with all the competing voices and opinions.
“So what?” Nik asks. “With our new resources, we nearly break even. A raid would still work in our favor—”
“No.” Vasiliy cuts him off with a glare. “It would not. Your brother is his only leverage. Tell me, what do you think will happen to him if we waltz through the gates and start shooting? Do you really think he’d be alive by the time we made it inside? If we managed to make it inside, that is.”
The room quiets. Dying sunlight streams through the windows, and all I can see is another day gone without any tangible progress.
Ivan’s the one who voices the thought we’re all sharing. “She could accept.”
“Accept what?” Vas spits. The stained paper flutters down to the table.
“Vas.”
“No, zlaya, I want to hear this cumstain’s winning idea. How do you figure my wife will accept another man’s marriage claim?”
“Listen, kid, we’re low on options here.” Ivan claws a hand through his hair. “We can launch an upfront raid, which is undoubtedly stupid, or we can play along until we find a better opening to attack, which is slightly less stupid.”
Vasiliy straightens, slowly turning to face Ivan like he’s heavily contemplating tackling our only ally out of his chair.
“Enough.” I rise. “Let’s take a break.”
“We still haven’t decided—”
I meet Ben’s gaze. He’s drifted back into his seat, and there’s something about seeing him at the head of the table that feeds my anger.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve made my decision.”
No one says another word as I walk out of the dining room, Vasiliy hot on my tail. I feel his flames consuming my back with every step up the stairs and into my dad’s study. It’s only when we’re both inside, and the door is pressed shut behind him, that I turn.
“You are not going,” he says in a low voice.
He’s so damn beautiful like this, coated in my enemy’s blood and standing up for my safety. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of hiding inside his protective arms.
“Tell me you love me,” I say instead.
“No.”
My mouth drops open.
“No, I’m not going to say it unless you promise me you won’t choose their godawful plan.”
“That’s quite manipulative of you,” I say, stepping forward to wipe a splatter of blood from my husband’s cheek.
He sighs, and I feel him melt beneath the light touch. His arms wrap my waist like he expects me to escape. “I’ll try manipulation, bribery—anything I can think of to keep you from becoming their martyr. I know you want Kirill back, but you will not exchange your life for his. I won’t allow it.”
I brush my thumb over his poisonous lips. “I—”
“I know. You’re in charge.”
He buries his face in the crook of my neck. For the first time since our passionate kiss on the plane, I feel safe. It’s a dangerous feeling, especially since there’s a good chance I’m going to have to convince him to release me into a situation that’s anything but.
It takes everything to push out of his comforting hold.
“I need some time to think,” I say, stepping back.
“Think while I’m inside you,” he responds with a glare. “Think in my arms. Think while you hold my fucking hand.”
“Vas,”
He tries to wrap around me again, but I step further back.
“Vas, I need you downstairs, keeping an eye on the others. I don’t trust Ben, and Nik is destabilizing with every hour.”
He pulls a hand over his face in frustration, and it smears his cheeks red.
“Please. I need you to buy me some time.”
“We’re not done discussing this,” he warns.
“I know.”
He nods once. We stare at each other for a long while before he finally turns.
My feet start to follow him before I remember to stay still. I shut the door and slide to the floor, knocking over a stack of books as I do.
My body rebels at the denied comfort, desperate to absorb some of Vasiliy’s relentless strength.
I don’t want to play martyr. Not with a beautiful husband and a life we’ve barely started together on the other side.
But I can’t help but think about all of the people whose lives are on the line.
Kirill, who’s locked up somewhere, bleeding and hurting all alone.
Aunt Juliet, who’s been relegated to a safehouse and is depending on me to return her son.
Even Anya, who’s back in New York waiting for Vasiliy to come get her and rebuild her life.
I can’t afford a selfish move, even if the alternative tears out my heart.
I wipe the wetness from my cheeks and lean forward, restacking the books I knocked down, but my hand freezes on one’s spine. There’s something different about it. Most of Dad’s books are dusty old novels that hold little interest to me, but these seem like journals.
I don’t remember him keeping journals.
Running my hand over the thick leather, I lift the cover.
Then I blink.
Nothing prepares me for the shock of the name inked inside.
Property of Della Popov.