Chapter Thirteen - Felix
“Lorenzo is pushing the council,” Pavel says without preamble. “He’s framing Diana Clarke as ongoing liability that undermines inter-syndicate stability. Two of the financial handlers are listening. Mikhail is getting pressure from Sartore elders to revisit your protection arrangement.”
I set down the coffee I was drinking and move to the office window, watching dawn light filter across the estate grounds. “What’s the timeline?”
“Days. Lorenzo wants resolution before the shipping routes finalize for next quarter. He’s arguing that Diana’s continued existence creates uncertainty that threatens both organizations.”
Translation: Sartore wants her eliminated before they commit to operational planning that assumes Rudenko cooperation. If I continue protecting her, Lorenzo can use that as justification to redirect partnerships toward groups who don’t let civilians complicate business decisions.
“What’s his leverage?”
“The usual. Political contributions dry up if senators get nervous. Shipping lanes redirect to competitors if we appear unstable. He’s not threatening war directly, but he’s making it clear that your personal attachment to Diana is becoming everyone’s problem.”
Personal attachment. The phrase lands with uncomfortable accuracy.
“Options?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Hand her over. Discredit her publicly. Or formalize the protection in a way that removes her from negotiation entirely.” Pavel’s tone carries weight on the last option.
“Under Bratva code, a wife becomes untouchable without war declaration. It’s the only shield that supersedes organizational consensus. ”
Marriage.
The solution is elegant in its brutality; transform Diana from civilian liability into family asset, make her removal an act of war.
Lorenzo could still move against her, but it would require openly challenging Rudenko authority in ways that trigger consequences he can’t control.
“She won’t agree,” I say, though I’m already calculating how to structure the proposal.
“She will if you explain the alternative clearly enough.” Pavel pauses. “Felix—this isn’t temporary containment. Marriage ties you to her permanently in ways that affect succession planning, alliance structures, everything. Are you certain she’s worth that commitment?”
The question demands honesty I’m not ready to articulate.
Diana Clarke is a civilian who stumbled into dangerous territory and became an obsession I can’t rationalize strategically.
Keeping her alive has already cost me political capital, organizational credibility, and the detachment I’ve maintained for decades.
Marrying her makes all of that permanent.
“I’m certain Lorenzo doesn’t get to dictate who lives and dies based on operational convenience,” I say instead.
Pavel’s silence suggests he hears what I’m not saying. “I’ll relay to the council that you’re handling the situation internally. But whatever you decide, do it quickly. Sartore patience has limits.”
The call ends.
I remain at the window, watching security teams rotate positions across the grounds, aware that every decision I make from this point forward carries consequences that extend beyond Diana’s immediate survival.
Marriage is not romance. It’s strategy, power consolidation, and a declaration that she belongs to me in ways Sartore can’t challenge without escalation neither organization can afford.
Beneath the operational justification, something more personal tightens in my chest.
I want her here. Want her alive. Want her bound to me through structures that make leaving impossible even if she finds a way past the physical barriers.
The possessiveness should concern me more than it does.
***
I find Diana in the library mid-morning, curled in one of the armchairs near the fireplace with a book I recognize from Ethan’s collection. She glances up when I enter, her expression guarded but less hostile than yesterday.
“We need to talk,” I say.
She sets the book aside slowly. “About?”
“Your situation. Sartore is escalating pressure for resolution. If things continue as they are, the council will force my hand within days.”
Her jaw tightens. “Force your hand how?”
“They’ll require I either surrender you to Sartore custody or eliminate the threat you represent myself.” I cross the room and settle into the chair across from her, maintaining distance that feels deliberate. “Neither option is acceptable to me.”
“So you’re here to tell me I’m running out of time.” Her voice stays steady despite the fear I see flickering in her dark eyes. “That eventually you’ll have to choose loyalty over whatever this protection arrangement is.”
“I’m here to offer an alternative.” I lean forward, forearms resting on my knees. “Marry me. You become protected under my name through Bratva code that supersedes council authority.”
The words land exactly as I intended. Diana stares at me for three seconds before laughing, the sound sharp and disbelieving. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke about operational strategy.”
“Marriage isn’t operational strategy.” She stops, processing. “You actually mean this.”
“Under Bratva code, a captain’s wife becomes family asset rather than civilian liability. Removing her requires formal war declaration that triggers consequences Sartore can’t afford. It’s the only protection that makes you permanently untouchable.”
She stands abruptly, pacing toward the fireplace. “This is insane. You’re proposing marriage as a legal shield.”
“I’m proposing marriage as the only option that keeps you alive beyond next week.
” I remain seated, watching her process the reality I’m laying out.
“If I withdraw protection, Sartore can pursue you legally within syndicate rules. Lorenzo will move the moment I step back. Your death becomes authorized business rather than prohibited interference.”
“I’d rather take my chances than bind myself to you permanently.”
“Then I respect that decision, and I’ll arrange for you to leave the estate with enough resources to disappear.” The lie tastes bitter. “Though I suspect you won’t survive the month.”
Her expression shifts—calculation replacing initial shock. She’s smart enough to recognize the choice I’m structuring isn’t really a choice at all. Marry me or die. The framework is brutal in its simplicity.
“You’re manipulating me,” she says quietly.
“I’m explaining reality.” I stand, closing half the distance between us. “Sartore wants you dead. The council is losing patience with protection that costs resources without strategic benefit. Marriage solves both problems by making you mine in ways that can’t be negotiated away.”
“Yours.” She repeats the word with something between disgust and resignation. “Like property.”
“Like family.”
“Is there?” Her voice rises slightly. “This sounds like you’re claiming ownership through legal structures instead of physical captivity.”
The accusation is accurate enough that I don’t bother denying it. “The outcome is the same either way. You stay alive. The method is what’s negotiable.”
Silence stretches between us. Diana stares at me with an expression I can’t fully read—anger mixed with calculation, fear layered beneath pragmatic assessment of options that have narrowed to one.
Her composure doesn’t fracture the way it did in my office. Instead, she goes very still, processing information with the same methodical focus she applied to Ethan’s encrypted files.
“Why?” she asks eventually. “Why do you want to protect me now when you wouldn’t protect Ethan?”
The question cuts directly to the contradiction I’ve been avoiding examining too closely. Ethan Clarke was a liability I calculated away. Diana Clarke is an obsession I can’t rationalize.
I close the remaining distance between us, stopping near enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “I want you.”
The admission is more honest than I intended, stripped of operational justification or strategic framing. Just raw truth that’s been driving decisions I can’t defend logically.
Diana’s breath catches. “Want me how?”
“Alive. Here. Bound to me in ways that make leaving impossible even if you find opportunities I haven’t closed.” I reach up, catching a strand of her dark hair between my fingers. “Marriage accomplishes that while solving the Sartore problem. Everything else is secondary.”
She doesn’t pull away from the contact, but her eyes harden. “You’re asking me to marry you because you want to own me.”
“I’m asking you to marry me because it’s the only way I can keep you safe from men who will absolutely kill you if given the chance.
” I release her hair, stepping back to give her space I don’t want to provide.
“Yes. I want you in ways that have nothing to do with operational necessity. Marriage makes that want permanent.”
The silence that follows stretches long enough that I understand she’s not processing shock anymore. She’s calculating survival against autonomy, weighing death against captivity dressed as protection.
When she finally speaks, her voice is steady. “If I agree to this—if I marry you—does anything change?”
“You become my wife. That carries privileges prisoners don’t receive.”
“Such as?”
“Access to resources. Involvement in decisions that affect you. The ability to move beyond these walls under appropriate security.” I hold her gaze. “And my complete commitment to ensuring nothing and no one harms you.”
“Your commitment.” She laughs bitterly. “The same commitment that let my brother die?”
“No. This is different.”
“How?”
“I’m choosing you over organizational convenience. That’s a choice I didn’t make for Ethan.”
Diana studies me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she walks to the window, staring out at grounds she can’t access freely.
The acceptance comes in her stillness rather than words. She doesn’t refuse. Doesn’t argue. Just stands there calculating a future that’s narrowed to survival through permanent attachment to a man who let her brother die.
“When?” she asks without turning around.
“Soon. Within days, before Sartore forces escalation.”
“What happens after we’re married?”
“You’re protected. Permanently, under rules even Lorenzo can’t challenge without war.”
She nods once, slow and deliberate. “Then I’ll do it.”