11. Vladimir
Vladimir
I’m sitting across from Isabella, watching as she struggles to decide whether to stab me with her butter knife or throw her coffee at my head.
"You want to do what?" she asks slowly, waiting for me to laugh and say I’m joking.
I don’t.
I take a measured sip of my vodka, letting the burn settle in my chest before setting the glass down. "I want to arrange a marriage between Luna and me. Is your hearing going out already? You should probably get that checked out."
Her green eyes narrow, her fingers tightening around her mug like she’s debating the best angle to throw it at my skull.
"Luna is not my daughter, Vladimir," she says, voice cold. Calculated. "I can’t just... hand her over like a piece of property. This isn’t the 18th century."
I smirk.
"You misunderstand me, Isabella. This isn’t about property—it’s about opportunity." I tilt my head slightly, feigning innocence.
Her jaw clenches.
Oh, she’s fighting the urge to lunge across the table.
I continue, unbothered. "This is a mutually beneficial arrangement. You gain the full protection and resources of the Bratva, and we gain access to your... specialized operatives."
Her expression darkens. She knows exactly what I mean.
The EAO is powerful. Ruthless. Deadly. But it lacks the brute force and global influence the Bratva commands.
And more importantly?
She owes me.
Her fingers tap against the ceramic, her nails clicking in agitation. "You think Luna will agree to this?"
I lean back in my chair, my smirk deepening. "I think she’ll see the value in it."
She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh? You think she’ll nod and accept this like a good little bride?"
"No, Isabella." I shake my head. "I think she’ll fight me every step of the way. But eventually?" My voice dips lower, edged with something dangerous. "She’ll be mine."
Isabella exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You are crazy.”
I shrug, taking another slow sip of vodka.
"You’re not listening, Vladimir. Luna is not looking for a marriage...”
A slow grin pulls at my lips.
"Exactly."
Isabella stares at me for a long moment, then scoffs. "You’re serious."
"As a bullet to the skull."
She exhales sharply, leaning back in her chair. Assessing. Calculating. But there’s something in her eyes—something wary.
I decide to speed up the process.
"You lied to me, Ms. Holmes.”
Her eyes snap back to mine, sharp as a blade.
"You told me you had no idea who killed my underboss.” I let the words settle, savoring the way her shoulders tense. "And yet—here we are. Now, you lied to me, and she’s a key part of your organization.”
I lean forward slightly, voice quiet, but lethal. "We have rules. And I demand justice."
I don’t care that she killed him. But I’m not above playing dirty to get what I want.
Her expression doesn’t change, but I see it. The slight shift. The moment she realizes exactly what I’m saying.
Hand over Luna, and this goes away.
Refuse?
“I would hate for certain rumors to start circulating,” I murmur. “Like how the Order had no control over one of its assassins. How one went rogue. Actually, that’s the second one from your organization, if my memory serves me correctly. Terrible for business, really.”
She’s backed into a corner, and we both fucking know it.
The muscle in her jaw ticks. "You really think threatening me will get you what you want?" she says flatly.
I chuckle. "Isabella. I thought we were old friends. If you think this is a threat, then you clearly don’t know me very well."
She exhales sharply, muttering something under her breath.
Insufferable men.
I smirk, waiting.
Finally, she shakes her head. Defeated. Resigned. But not before giving me one last warning.
"This isn’t up to me. If Luna says no, that’s the end of it. No negotiations. No pressure. Do you understand me?"
No.
But she doesn’t need to know that.
I nod, expression serious. "Of course," I say smoothly. "It’s her decision."
Yeah, right.
But I’ll make sure she sees the value in this partnership.
Hell, I’ll kidnap her and force her down the aisle if it comes down to it.
Isabella studies me for a long moment, the stands, smoothing the lapels of her blazer. "Good luck, Vladimir."
Her voice is dry. Mocking. "You’re going to need it."
I watch as she strides toward the door, but she hesitates.
Her voice softens—just slightly.
"For what it’s worth..." Her lips quirk into something almost amused. "I think Luna could use someone like you."
I arch a brow, caught off guard. "And what makes you say that?"
She smirks. "Call it woman’s intuition."
Then, she leaves without another word.
As the door clicks shut behind her, I pour another measure of vodka, watching the clear liquid swirl in the glass.
This marriage isn’t just about alliances.
It’s about control.
About making sure my men see Luna as mine—not just some outsider meddling in Bratva business.
But I’d be lying if I said that’s all it was.
Luna is... different.
She doesn’t just challenge me.
She forces me to confront parts of myself I thought I buried long ago.
She’s going to fight me on this.
I know she will.
She’ll curse me out and probably put a knife to my throat. Maybe even try to kill me.
And I want her to.
I want her to rage.
To push.
To claw her way out of this.
Because the more she fights?
The sweeter her surrender will be.
She’ll try to run. She’ll resist every step of the way.
Refusing to be caged.
Refusing to belong to anyone.
But she will belong to me.
I’ll break her down, piece by piece.
Not by force.
Not by threats.
But by something far more dangerous.
By making her crave me.
By making her realize that as much as she hates this arrangement, as much as she wants to destroy me for putting her in this position?—
She wants me just as much as I crave her.
And once she accepts that—once she feels it deep in her bones?—
There will be no turning back.
She’ll be mine.
Not just in name.
Not just in obligation.
Mine in every way that matters.
And my father?
He supports this merger.
Says he’s ready for grandkids.
He says he should’ve arranged a marriage for me years ago.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I should’ve made my move sooner.
But now?
Now, there’s no stopping me.
Luna can try to run.
She can try to fight.
But in the end?
She’ll end up right where she belongs.
Right in my arms.
Right by my side.