Chapter 20 #2
I looked to Nikolai without shifting from my seat. “Let him in. Keep his daughter outside the room. If I want her brought in, I’ll say so.”
Nikolai nodded, already turning.
“And you,” I said to Yuri without taking my eyes off the map, “stay.”
He grinned, teeth flashing as he rolled his shoulders and took another slow sip of his drink. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Nikolai disappeared through the door without a word, his silence always sharper than anyone else’s noise.
Yuri moved to stand slightly behind and to my left—close enough to step in, far enough to stay out of sightlines. A shadow that smiled when necessary and killed when it wasn’t.
“You think he brought a bottle?” Yuri muttered.
“No,” I said. “He brought a daughter. That’s more expensive.”
Yuri let out a low laugh. “Fair point.”
I settled back into the chair as the footsteps echoed down the hallway outside—measured, heavy, deliberate. Cormac always walked like the floor owed him something.
I didn’t stand when the door opened. Power didn’t rise to meet anyone. It waited.
Nikolai stepped back in first, holding the door open. And then he came in.
Sixty-three. Barrel-chested. Steel-gray hair. A face weathered by decades of blood and business. He wore his arrogance like a tailored coat—expensive, familiar, outdated in all the ways that still worked.
His eyes scanned the room first. Then landed on me. “Rafael,” he said, voice gravel and smoke.
I didn’t blink.
“Cormac.”
He walked in like it was his house, but I saw it—the brief flicker of unease when he realized I hadn’t stood.
He reached for a chair opposite mine and pulled it out without asking. Sat down with the kind of slow weight that said he was here to talk, not threaten.
Yuri didn’t move. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching.
“Appreciate you seeing me,” Cormac said, resting his forearms on his knees. “Not everyone would take a second look at a gift they already turned down.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t aware I’d accepted the first offer.”
“Didn’t say you did,” he said easily. “But you didn’t slam the door either.”
“No,” I said. “I left it cracked. Sometimes it’s useful to know who’s still knocking.”
He gave a slow nod.
“You’ve built something solid here, Rafael. Ruthless. Efficient. The kind of empire that doesn’t die with its maker—if the maker’s smart.”
I let the silence stretch. Watched him. Waited.
“I’m not here to preach,” he continued. “I’m here to offer a future. You’ve got enemies. We all do. But you don’t have someone waiting in the wings. Not really. And that makes people bold.”
“And you think your daughter would fix that?”
“I think she’d help .”
I tilted my head, not smiling. “Help me , or help you ?”
His eyes didn’t flicker. “Both.”
At least he was honest.
“She knows the world,” he went on. “Knows when to speak and when not to. I raised her right. She’s not some simpering little porcelain bride. She can carry weight.”
“So can a briefcase full of cash.”
“Cash doesn’t carry blood,” he said. “Or legitimacy.”
I leaned forward just slightly, elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled. “And what would she get in return?”
“Your name. Your protection. And maybe, if the gods are bored enough—your child.”
The room stayed quiet for a beat. Even Yuri didn’t breathe. I let it sit there. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh. Just studied him.
Because I wasn’t offended. I was calculating.
“It’s a generous offer,” I said finally. “One that deserves consideration.”
His chin lifted just slightly.
But then I added— “But I don’t make decisions based on pressure. Or timelines. Or who shows up with a daughter and a smile.”
He paused.
“This isn’t pressure, Romanov. It’s opportunity.”
“Then leave the door cracked. And don’t mistake silence for agreement.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sat back. Assessing. Like this was still his game. But I could see the flicker behind his eyes. The calculation. The silent grinding of wheels as he tried to figure out why I hadn’t bit. Why the hook didn’t work.
And then—he smiled. Not the kind you offer in peace. The kind you give when you think you’ve figured out the answer.
“Tell me,” he said, voice smooth, casual. “The girl you’ve been parading around… is she pregnant?”
The words landed like smoke. Thick. Provocative. A deliberate test.
His gaze didn’t waver. He wanted a reaction.
He wasn’t going to get one.
I stayed exactly where I was, fingers steepled, spine straight, not a single twitch betraying the shift in my blood.
Inside, though?
That smile made something tighten. Because he didn’t say Isabella. But he didn’t have to.
“She isn’t,” I said flatly. “For now.”
That last part—I let it hang. Not a threat. Not a promise. Just a truth no one else in this room deserved to understand.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile didn’t fade. “For now,” he repeated. “Well. That makes sense.”
I didn’t answer. I wanted to see where he was going with it.
“You’d have to be blind not to notice her,” he went on. “Beautiful thing. Sharp. She walks like she knows you’d kill for her. Like she wouldn’t mind doing it herself, either.”
I let my jaw shift slightly. Just enough to crack the silence. “Careful,” I said. “You’re talking about someone who doesn’t tolerate being spoken for.”
“I’m not judging,” he said, lifting his hands slightly in mock surrender. “Just wondering why you’d pass on a diplomatic solution in favor of one you can’t control.”
That was the mistake. He thought control was about chains. He didn’t understand the kind that came without them.
I exhaled once through my nose. “If she were pregnant,” I said, “you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
He studied me for a moment, then gave a slow nod—almost like he respected it. Or hated that he did.
“Well then,” he said, “if what you say is true, I think it’s only fair that you meet my daughter. Can’t have you turning down a ghost.”
I didn’t move right away. Just looked at him. Then turned my head slightly toward Yuri and gave a single nod.
Yuri didn’t say anything. He just pushed off the wall and walked to the door, pulling it open with one smooth motion.
Nikolai was standing just outside, posture straight, expression unreadable. And next to him— She stood like a shadow.
Delicate, pretty in the way that meant she’d been trained to be. Ash-blonde hair in soft waves, dark green dress tailored to fit her frame without revealing too much. Subtle. Controlled. Just like her expression.
She stepped in without a word. But she didn’t look at me. Not once.
Cormac’s smile widened like he’d just made his final move on the board. “This is Aoife,” he said proudly. “My daughter.”
Aoife stepped in like a whisper. I watched her. Not the sway of her dress, not the way she kept her hands clasped tightly in front of her, but the small details. The tension in her jaw. The way her lashes stayed lowered just a second too long before she finally lifted her chin.
And the moment her eyes met mine, she flinched. Not visibly. But I felt it. Like a pulse trying to disappear beneath skin.
She took one careful step forward, then another. Her voice was soft, barely there, almost swallowed by the stillness in the room. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Romanov.”
Her accent was clean. Refined. But her posture betrayed her—too stiff, too practiced . Every inch of her had been coached for this moment. How to walk. How to speak. How to keep her shoulders squared even when the man sitting across from her could end her father’s world with a single word.
I didn’t stand. Didn’t extend my hand. Just watched.
“Sit,” Cormac said to her, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.
She obeyed without hesitation, lowering herself into it like it was a throne made of glass.
Yuri didn’t move. Just watched her with the same disinterest he’d give a man walking in with flowers before a gunfight.
Cormac leaned forward slightly, his tone smooth. “I raised her right. She knows our world. She understands silence, loyalty, sacrifice. Everything a man like you needs beside him.”
I let a beat pass. Then another.
“I don’t need anyone beside me,” I said, calm. “What I need is peace.”
“Then make it through blood,” he said. “It’s how men like us always have.”
“And when that peace turns to rust?” I asked. “When the alliance fades and you die and she’s still sitting in my house like a crown I didn’t ask for—what then?”
Cormac’s jaw ticked once. Just once. Then he smiled again. “Then she becomes a Romanov. And everyone else shuts their fucking mouth.”
His daughter didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just sat there like a porcelain offering. Fragile. Pretty. Forgettable.
“I’ve built this empire without marriage contracts,” I said, eyes on him. “Without promises I didn’t make myself. What I built was born from loyalty, not legacy. And certainly not pity disguised as diplomacy.”
The silence stretched. Then I shifted. Subtle. Measured.
“But I’ll think about it.”
Cormac’s brows lifted slightly—not shocked. But surprised I didn’t shut him down completely. “That’s all I ask,” he said.
He reached into the leather briefcase beside him, pulled out a cream folder, and slid it across the table.
It landed in front of me with a soft thud.
“It’s signed,” he said. “On my end. Call me when you’re ready to do the same.”
I didn’t touch it. Didn’t even look down.
“I don’t sign things handed to me like bribes.”
“It’s not a bribe,” he said. “It’s security.”
“No,” I said. “It’s a bet.”
And he was going to lose it. But I didn’t say that part out loud.
He stood, slow and composed. Aoife rose with him, silent as ever, her gaze never once returning to mine.
“Nikolai will see you out,” I said without looking away.
Nikolai nodded once and disappeared behind them, the door closing with a soft click.
The silence left behind was louder than anything.
Yuri moved first. “Well,” he said, “I’ve seen worse brides.”
I exhaled slowly, my gaze still on the untouched contract. “She’s not the problem.”
“Her father is.”