Chapter 2 – Lukyan #2
My expression doesn’t change. “Speak.”
He exhales lightly, almost amused.
He rises slowly, adjusting his coat as he does. Everything about him is controlled. Deliberate. Like even his movements are negotiated in advance.
“You’re looking for a dormant financial network,” he says.
He walks past a row of crates, fingers brushing the edge of one as he moves.
Ben’s eyes track him briefly, then return to Karl’s hands.
“It’s tied to Creed,” Karl continues.
That name sharpens the air immediately.
Karl watches my reaction carefully.
I give him none.
Karl continues anyway. “The missing network isn’t gone,” Karl says. “It’s locked. And the lock… still has a key.”
My focus sharpens. “Where is it?”
Karl’s gaze holds mine.
For the first time since I entered, something in his expression becomes slightly more precise. Not emotion. Calculation.
“You’re asking the wrong question,” he says.
I wait.
He takes a slow step closer.
Ben shifts half a step forward behind me, tension tightening invisibly in his posture.
“Not where,” Karl continues. “Who.” A pause. Then: “It still exists.”
My jaw tightens. “Explain.”
Karl tilts his head, then lowers himself back into his seat with infuriating calm, like he’s already anticipated every reaction I might have before I speak it aloud.
The warehouse falls quiet again.
Water drips somewhere in the distance.
Ben remains behind me, silent and watchful.
Karl folds his hands loosely in front of him. “There’s a condition,” he says.
I stare at him without expression. “Of course there is.”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “If you want access to the network,” he continues, “you will marry Sofia Morozova.”
For a second, I genuinely think I misheard him. Did he just say ‘marry’? And who the fuck is Sofia Morozova?
“What?”
Karl remains perfectly composed. “You heard me.”
I let the silence stretch, waiting for the punchline that never comes.
He’s serious.
My irritation sharpens instantly.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Ben shifts behind me with restrained tension.
Karl, however, remains infuriatingly calm.
“The code has killed many people,” he says evenly. “That’s why I dislike discussing it openly.”
I say nothing.
He continues anyway. “Sofia’s father died because of it.”
Something about the way he says it feels practiced.
Measured for effect.
“She’s lived in fear ever since,” he adds. “Whether she fully understands why or not.”
I study him carefully now.
Every movement.
Every pause.
Every calculated breath.
“She’s vulnerable,” Karl says. “And if you want to learn about the code, then Sofia must be protected.”
“By marrying me,” I say flatly.
“Yes.”
The absurdity of the conversation almost irritates me enough to leave.
Almost.
I narrow my eyes. “How are you connected to her?”
Karl shakes his head once. “I’m not related to Sofia.”
“Then why involve yourself?”
His expression softens, just enough to resemble sincerity.
“I knew her father,” he says. “After his death, Sofia had no one. She was a child.” His gaze lowers before returning to mine. “She doesn’t know me. I stayed distant intentionally. But I’ve watched over her for years to ensure she remained safe.”
Lie.
Maybe not entirely.
But enough of one.
Men like Karl Jonathan don’t spend years protecting vulnerable girls out of kindness. Not without gaining something in return.
His concern is strategic.
Everything about him is strategic.
And yet—
None of that changes the reality sitting in front of me.
This is the first real lead we have had in years.
A living connection tied directly to the final layer of the network.
Beside me, Ben stiffens almost imperceptibly.
I feel it more than I see it.
He knows exactly what I’m thinking.
The risk.
The manipulation.
The possibility that Karl is constructing an elaborate trap around desperation.
But he also knows something else:
I’m close.
Closer than I’ve ever been.
And men like me don’t walk away from proximity after spending years hunting certainty.
I stay silent because I’m calculating.
Marriage is irrelevant. Temporary. A legal arrangement can be controlled. Managed.
If he wants whoever this Morozova girl is to be protected before he releases information about the code, then so be it. I can always annul the marriage after. I’ve never believed in the sanctity of marriage.
The dormant accounts aren’t merely money.
They’re leverage. Infrastructure. Power buried beneath sixteen years of silence.
Enough power to reshape entire structures inside the Bratva.
Enough power to destabilize us if someone else gains access first.
Karl watches me carefully now.
At first, I almost ask for a photograph of Sofia. Something visual. Something to give me an idea of who she is.
But the thought dies as quickly as it appears. It’s irrelevant.
I’ll marry her regardless of what she looks like.
This is strategy, not attraction.
Convenience, not desire.
A legal arrangement attached to a larger objective.
Nothing more.
I keep my expression neutral.
“Before I agree to this,” I say, “give me something.”
Karl’s eyes sharpen.
“A clue,” I continue. “Something that proves you actually know anything about the code.”
Silence stretches briefly between us.
Then Karl nods once. “Fair enough.”
He leans back slightly in his chair, thoughtful for a moment.
When he finally speaks again, his voice lowers.
“Creed never trusted digital storage,” he says. “He believed computers could always be breached eventually.”
My attention sharpens.
Karl continues, “He built the final layer using repetition theory and literary sequencing.” A pause. “Not numbers alone. Patterns. He hid them in books.”
Ben goes still. So do I. Because that aligns perfectly with everything we know about Creed. And that’s information no one else knows. Or no one else should know—except Karl, apparently.
I was right. He knows something.
This fucker!
Karl studies my face carefully as the realization clicks into place. He sees the exact moment I understand enough to believe him.
And that bastard smiles.
“I agree,” I say.
Behind me, Ben exhales sharply. Disapproval. He hates this arrangement. Truthfully, so do I. I came here expecting information. A lead. Possibly leverage. Not a prospective wife.
Yet none of that changes the calculation.
My responsibility is not to comfort.
Not to preference.
Not to morality.
It’s to the Bratva.
To the Rusnaks.
To ensuring my family never stands vulnerable before men hunting weakness.
If marriage secures the network, then marriage becomes necessary.
I rise slowly to my feet. The meeting is over as far as I am concerned.
“I want information on the code immediately,” I say.
Karl remains seated, calm as ever. “You’ll have it.”
I wait.
His gaze locks onto mine. “After the wedding.”
My expression hardens. “You’re testing my patience.”
“No,” Karl replies smoothly. “I’m protecting Sofia.”
Lie.
Manipulation wrapped in concern.
But deliberate manipulation is still leverage, and he knows it.
He folds his hands together again.
“Marry Sofia immediately,” he says. “And I’ll send you everything you need to know about her.”
A pause.
“As soon as the marriage is complete,” he continues, “I’ll tell you everything.”
I turn to leave.
“Lukyan.”
I stop at the sound of my name.
“Don’t you even want to see a picture of the girl you’re about to marry?”
There’s amusement in his voice now. Quiet. Curious. Like he’s waiting to see if I’m human after all.
I almost tell him no.
I don’t care what she looks like. This marriage is a transaction. A signature. A lock placed around a problem before another man gets his hands on it.
But Karl is already holding out his phone.
And there she is.
The photograph is grainy. Passport-style. Bad lighting. No makeup. Blond hair pulled back away from her face.
But I recognize her instantly.
Maybe it’s the eyes.
Maybe it’s the strange, almost painful innocence in them. The kind that feels untouched by the world. Untouched by men like me.
Or maybe it’s because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the bookstore.
The girl who looked at me as if she could sense something rotten beneath my skin.
The bookstore girl.
For the first time since walking into this office, something inside me shifts.
Small.
Dangerous.
Fuck my life.