Chapter Five #3
Raisa felt a hot flush of color rise to her cheeks. She was a hardened warrior, a woman who mocked romance, but the sheer, public sincerity of his worship never failed to leave her breathless. She reached up, resting her hand over his, hiding a soft, helplessly endeared smile behind her teacup.
The twins swooned, leaning against each other with dramatic sighs, captivated by the handsome Italian’s sweeping declaration.
Across the small table, Katerina Volkov sat frozen. Her hands were gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly her knuckles were stark white. Her breath was coming in shallow, frantic bursts.
He called her his queen.
Katerina stared at Marco’s hands resting on Raisa’s shoulders, feeling as though the air had been violently sucked from the room.
She was unraveling. The jealousy was a living, breathing entity, tearing at her chest with jagged claws.
She looked at Raisa’s sharp, dangerous features, at the faint, silver scar near her temple, and felt a surge of venomous hatred.
She doesn't deserve him, Katerina screamed in her own mind, her vision swimming with fury. She is a violent thug. She is not a queen. I am the princess. He belongs to me.
Katerina stood up abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. "Excuse me," she choked out, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "I... I need to prepare for lunch."
Without waiting for a response, Katerina fled the conservatory, leaving the twins to roll their eyes at her dramatic exit, while Marco’s hands simply tightened securely, protectively, on his wife’s shoulders.
***
Later that afternoon, the atmosphere in Sergei Voronin’s private, fur-lined study was thick with tension and the smell of expensive cigar smoke.
Vadim Volkov sat in a leather chair, leaning forward eagerly, a gold fountain pen clutched tightly in his sweating hand.
Spread across the desk were the formal, drafted treaties of the alliance.
The documents outlined the merger of their shipping lanes, the division of territories, and the final, binding clause of the marriage between Aleksandr Voronin and Katerina Volkov.
"The terms are incredibly fair, Sergei," Vadim said, his voice carrying a frantic, desperate edge. He uncapped the gold pen. "The Volkov family is ready to sign. We can finalize the merger today, before the wedding, to ensure the borders are immediately secured against the northern factions."
Sergei Voronin stood by the roaring fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. Maxim Rostova sat in his usual wingchair, his pale eyes unreadable.
Sergei did not move toward the desk.
"The terms are acceptable, Vadim," Sergei rumbled, his voice low and deliberate. "But the ink will remain in the pen for now."
Vadim’s hand froze mid-air. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a pallid, terrified gray. "I... I do not understand, Sergei. Is the dowry insufficient? Are the port tariffs not to your liking? We can negotiate—"
"This is not a negotiation of tariffs, Vadim," Maxim interrupted, the ancient patriarch’s raspy voice cutting through the panic like a blade.
Maxim leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands as they gripped his cane.
"This is a merging of bloodlines. An alliance is only as strong as the family that holds it together.
If there is rot inside the house, the walls will eventually fall. "
Vadim swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. "Rot? There is no rot. Katerina is obedient. She understands her duty."
"We do not require obedience," Sergei stated flatly, stepping away from the fire.
He walked to the desk looking down at the desperate St. Petersburg boss.
"We require harmony. We have observed your daughter, Vadim.
We have observed the way she navigates this house.
A marriage is more than a signature on a piece of paper. "
Sergei reached out, his hand covering the alliance documents, sliding them out of Vadim’s reach.
"We request some time," Sergei declared, the words a non-negotiable edict.
"We will proceed with the wedding preparations, but the treaty will not be signed until we are certain the families can blend without internal friction.
We must see how your daughter integrates with our blood.
If she brings peace, the alliance stands.
If she brings chaos... the wedding will be canceled. "
Vadim Volkov stared at the empty space on the desk where his salvation had been resting seconds before. His heart hammered a violent, terrified rhythm against his ribs. He had absolutely no choice. To argue with Sergei Voronin in his own stronghold was suicide.
"Of course, Sergei," Vadim choked out, forcing a stiff, terrified smile onto his face, though his mind was racing with panic. "We will take all the time you require. Katerina will prove herself a perfect addition to your family. I swear it."
As Vadim hastily excused himself from the study to go find his eldest daughter, Maxim and Sergei exchanged a quiet, knowing look.
They had heeded Marco’s warning. The perimeter was established, the test was set, and if the Volkov heiress stepped a single toe out of line, the Bratva would not hesitate to burn her fairy tale to ash.