Chapter 15
Arkady
The certificate sits on my desk, her signature still fresh. Alina Belova, written in a hand that didn’t shake. The ink is steady, the letters sure, and that tells me more about her than any conversation we’ve had.
I run my thumb across her name and feel something shift in my chest that I don’t have time to examine. Not now. Not with Father Alexei arriving in a few hours and a room full of brigadiers arriving twenty-four hours after that.
Vik steps in. “Seva confirmed Dmitri’s still dark. No movement on his phone, no hotel bookings under his name in Prague. His second isn’t returning calls.”
“Then Dmitri is either dead or hiding. Either way, he’s a problem.” I slide the certificate into the top drawer and lock it. “Get eyes on his second, too,” I say. “If Dmitri’s gone dark, someone told him to.”
Vik nods.
“What about Carter?”
“Sitting tight. He’s spooked since Morrison pulled his partner in for a chat this morning.”
“Morrison’s fishing.” I lean back and steeple my fingers. “He doesn’t have anything, but he’s smart enough to know he’s missing something. Keep Carter away from anything sensitive until after tomorrow.”
“Done.”
“All meeting participants enter through the side door tomorrow at random intervals. Thirty Bratva brigs descending on the house all at the same time isn’t wise, especially now.”
Vik nods again and moves on. “The woman. Where do you want her?”
“At my side.” I say it like it’s obvious, because to me, it is.
Vik’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a pause. A fraction of a second too long. “The brigadiers will have questions.”
“They can keep them.”
“Kade.” He uses my name, which means he’s about to say something I won’t like. “Bringing an unknown woman into a succession meeting is already a risk. Bringing her in as your wife, after a hasty marriage—”
“I’m aware of the optics.”
“Are you? Because it looks like—”
“It looks like I’m a man who makes decisions and doesn’t ask permission.
” I stand and meet his eyes, daring him to continue down this path.
“Which is exactly what a new pakhan should look like. It also looks like I have my future all planned out already. Any brigadier who has a problem with my wife’s presence at my side is welcome to say so to my face. I’ll enjoy that conversation.”
Vik exhales through his nose. He knows when he’s hit the wall. “What about the Belova connection? If anyone recognises her, the questions are going to get harder, and Belov is going to hit the fucking roof.”
“Belov is going to hit the fucking roof regardless,” I say. “The question is whether he hits it before or after I’ve secured the seat. I’d rather it’s after.”
Vik stares at me for a long moment. “You’ve already decided all of this.”
“I decided it the second I saw her. See. Take. Have. See how this works, Vik?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, and shakes his head with the expression of a man who has accepted that his pakhan is either a genius or a catastrophic idiot and has stopped trying to determine which.
Luckily, he doesn’t say which way he landed.
“I’ll handle the logistics for tomorrow. Seating, security rotation, the works.”
“Good.”
He leaves without another word, which is the right call.
There are things I can control tonight and things I cannot, and Valery Belov’s reaction falls firmly into the second category.
I’ve faced the man once before across a room that wasn’t designed for diplomacy, and I came out intact.
I’m sure I’ll manage as his new son-in-law.
I sit again and open the drawer to stare at one of the rings the dress woman picked up for me on her way here.
It’s simple, expensive and just big enough to catch every eye in the room.
Five carats of perfectly cut diamond to show that my wife is mine, and anyone who even looks at her will have their eyeballs gouged out.
I pluck it out and examine it. It might be slightly too big for her slender fingers that gripped my cock like they were made for it, but a little slide is better than it being too tight.
Rising, I fist the ring and move towards the door, intending to give her this now.
The plain wedding band is for later. This is a declaration of my obsession that I want on her finger now.
I want to see it. I want to mark her as mine.
The possessive wave crashes over me, and I ride it through the hallway.
I find her in the sitting room, which is quiet except for the fountain’s murmur bleeding through the closed windows.
She’s on the sofa in jeans and a shirt, bare feet tucked under her, chin high when she looks up from her mug, like she’s ready for whatever I’m going to hurl at her.
I cross the rug and stop in front of her.
“Stand up,” I say.
She does, slowly. I take the ring from my fist. The stone catches a slice of weak London light and throws it across the ceiling.
Her gaze shoots straight to it.
“This is not for romance,” I say. “This is a stake through the heart of the city that says you belong to me.”
“Subtle,” she mutters as I take her hand.
I slide it onto her finger. A touch loose, but it stays. The sight of it there is a hit I didn’t know I needed. Possession turns my blood hot and calm at the same time.
“Look at me,” I order.
Blue fire meets mine.
“This buys you protection,” I say. “It buys me leverage. You wear it at all times. If you take it off without permission, I will make you regret it.”
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. “You planning on locking it on?”
“Don’t tempt me.” I tilt her hand, take in the stone again, take in the way it transforms her from a beautiful nuisance into something lethal and mine.
I bring her knuckles to my mouth and press heat there. Not a kiss. A brand. Her breath hitches, but her chin stays high. I let go of her hand and take a half step back. If I stay close, I’ll forget about priests and paperwork and put her on her back. “Come with me.”
She follows without a word. The fight has drained out of her, replaced by a cold resolve that mirrors mine. I like it. It makes her dangerous, and a dangerous wife is the only kind I can afford to keep. We reach the foot of the stairs, and I turn, blocking her path.
“Wear your hair up.”
“And if I prefer it down?” she challenges.
“Then you wear it down, and I spend the entire ceremony thinking about wrapping it around my fist while you suck my cock.”
Her breath hitches, pupils dilating. She doesn’t back away. “You’re a pig.”
“I’m pragmatic, Alina.”
I remain at the base of the staircase until she ascends the first few steps, her hips swaying with a natural rhythm that tightens my gut.
Once she disappears into the hallway, I turn for the office.
The next time I see her, she won’t just be Alina Belova.
She will be the weapon I use to carve out the rot in my family.
And God help anyone who tries to take her from me.