Sergei
“You’re acting like this is your last supper,” Kirill says.
I take another bite of the linguine. I don’t bother answering him.
“I have to say, I never thought she’d agree to it.”
“Being murdered is a good motivator.”
Krill smirks. “You’ve been watching this woman for years. You’ve had men following her, protecting her, reporting every detail of her life back to you. And now you’re marrying her. You. Married. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“It’s strategic.”
“It’s more than that, and we both know it.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Because he’s right and I’m not ready to admit it out loud.
“What happens when Yuri finds out?” Kirill asks, shifting topics.
“He’ll be furious.”
“Will he back off?”
I shake my head. “He’ll still try to stake his claim. Marriage or not, he thinks that empire belongs to him.”
“That violates the treaty. The five families agreed—formal marriages create alliances that can’t be challenged without consequences.”
“Yuri doesn’t strike me as the type to care about treaties.” I swirl the scotch in my glass. “He’s desperate. Desperate men do stupid things.”
“So, we prepare for war.”
“We prepare for war,” I agree. “But we do it smart. I want every asset protected. Every vulnerability shored up. When he makes his move—and he will—I want to be three steps ahead.”
Kirill nods. “I’ll brief the crew tonight.”
“Good.” I pause. “What about the organ trafficking?”
His expression darkens. “It’s definitely been happening for a while. Years, from what I can piece together. But it’s tight-lipped. Nobody wants to talk. The few contacts I have who might know something are either refusing to answer or they’ve disappeared.”
“How is an operation that size running in my city without me knowing about it?”
“Because it’s compartmentalized. Different people handle different pieces. No one sees the whole picture except whoever’s running it. Smart, actually.”
“Too smart.” I finish my scotch. “Keep digging. I want to know every detail—who, what, where, when. If Yuri’s involved, I need proof.”
“And if Mikhail’s involved?”
That’s the question that’s been eating at me. If Mikhail built this operation, then Sofia inherited something far darker than she realizes. Something that could destroy everything she’s trying to protect.
“Then we deal with it,” I say. “But quietly. She doesn’t need to know unless it becomes necessary.”
“You’re protecting her.”
“I’m protecting my investment.”
Kirill gives me that look again. The one that says he sees right through my bullshit.
“What if she does know?”
I slowly shake my head. “She doesn’t.”
He holds his drink to his lips, but I see the smile he’s trying to hide.
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing.” He holds up his hand. “Just interesting to see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Invested. Personally invested. I’ve never seen you this—” He searches for the word. “Involved.”
“I made a promise.”
“This is more than a promise.”
I want to argue. Tell him he’s wrong. Nothing more than maintaining my honor.
But the lie won’t come.
“You ready for this?” Kirill asks quietly.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not this time.” I meet his eyes. “She called me, Kirill. When she was in danger and needed help, she called me. Not her father. Not her guards. Me. That means something.”
“It means she’s smart enough to know who has the real power in this city.”
“It means she trusts me. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.”
He nods. “I suppose it does.”
We finish our meal. We often have dinner together. I briefly wonder if we’ll have these dinners after my marriage. Will Sofia expect me to dine with her?
Do I want to?
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Kirill says. “Unless you need me tonight?”
“No. Go home. Get some rest. Once this goes public, things are going to move fast.”
He nods and stands. “For what it’s worth? I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“Keeping her alive?”
“All of it.” He pauses at the door. “She’s lucky to have you.”
That almost makes me laugh.
After he leaves, I go upstairs to the guest room. It’s got fresh linens. Flowers. Things I think a woman might like. I don’t know if she’ll sleep in here or my bed. I haven’t decided yet.
The rest of the house has been cleaned. Not that it needed to be done, but once again, I want there to be a fresh start.
I make my way back downstairs and try to see it like she’ll see it for the first time. I wind back to my office and stand in the dark.
The brownstone is quiet.
I've stood in this office a thousand times and never noticed how loud silence is. I watch one of my neighbors walk his dog in front of my house. He glances toward my place like a person might look at a spooky house.
He picks up the pace and walks a little faster.
The street is well-lit. Expensive SUVs and luxury sedans line both sides of the street. It’s all so—suburban. Nothing like the homes of my competitors. My fellow underworld bosses.
This is the kind of neighborhood families live in. I’ve always felt like an outsider being here. No one has ever mentioned my single status, but I’ve felt the looks. The side eyes.
Tomorrow, I take a wife.
I will be a family.
Not the traditional family, but husband plus wife equals family.
A violent shudder vibrates my whole body.
I walk to the liquor cart and reach for the Macallan. Only the best for tonight. I pour two fingers of scotch, swirling the liquid in the glass.
Kirill handled the last of the paperwork this afternoon. The security arrangements are set. The wedding is being kept secret. I know the target on her couldn’t get any bigger, but if Yuri finds out, he’ll work harder to kill her.
She hasn't complained about being locked in the penthouse, which either means she's practical or she's exhausted. Probably both. I haven’t seen her since I left after signing the contract. Nelson has kept me updated with her every move which usually includes the two of them spending time together. The guy has pushed his luck the last few days. Details of their days together are pissing me off. I think he knows it. He thinks I’ll spare him if he befriends my wife.
He’s wrong.
I don't let myself think about her too long. The scotch goes down smooth. I immediately pour another.
I feel like a man standing at the edge of something he can't come back from.
Every night since I signed that damn contract, I’ve thought about how I got here to this moment. To the eve of my own wedding.
Elena.
My father's summons had been brief. That wasn’t anything new. He told me to meet him at the warehouse. I went because he was my father and I was still, at thirty-three, the kind of man who came when his father called.
To this day, I don’t know why he wanted me there. It was a power play. A message.
The woman on the floor had dark hair and blue eyes and a mouth that was moving, trying to form words. She'd been beaten.
My father had been there watching her die.
He stayed for less than a minute after I arrived.
“Handle it.”
That’s what he’d said.
I crouched beside Elena and lifted her head. She looked nothing like the beautiful woman I had seen in my father’s kitchen after a sleepover. She was barely recognizable.
She looked at me. Clear-eyed, which was the part that never leaves me. I saw her pleading, but it wasn’t to save her. She knew she was beyond saving.
She reached for my wrist. Her grip was almost nothing.
“Please,” she whispered. The words were barely audible. Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth. “My daughter.”
I didn’t know Elena had a daughter. My father never mentioned it. But looking at this dying woman, I knew I was about to make a promise I’d regret.
“Sofia.” She coughed, and more blood came up. “She’s only thirteen. She doesn’t know.” Another cough. “She doesn’t know what her father is. What this world will do to her.”
“Elena—"
“Promise me.” Her grip tightened with surprising strength. “Promise me you’ll protect her. When I’m gone, she’ll have no one. Mikhail will—" She couldn’t finish. We both knew what Mikhail would do. Use his daughter. Trade her. Marry her off to the highest bidder or the most useful alliance.
Or kill her if she became inconvenient.
“I promise,” I heard myself say.
“Swear it. On your life. On your honor.” Her eyes were pleading. Desperate. “She’s innocent. She’s good. This world will destroy her.”
“I swear it. On my life. I’ll keep her safe.”
The tension left her body. Relief flooded her face. “Thank you.”
Those were her last words.
I held her as she took her last, labored breath.
For eight years, I’ve watched Sofia Baranova grow from a sheltered thirteen-year-old into the queen she is now.
I’ve seen her survive an assault that should have broken her.
I’ve watched her train herself to fight back.
I’ve seen her step into her father’s world with more courage than most men twice her age.
Eight years. I kept my promise. What I didn't account for was that the woman she became would have me questioning everything.
I’ve spent years telling myself it’s just the promise.
But it’s more than that. Has been for a while now.
Tomorrow, she becomes my wife. She’ll wear my ring. Take my name. Sleep under my roof.
And she has no idea why I’m really doing this.
She thinks it’s business. Strategy. An alliance between two criminal empires.
She doesn’t know about her mother. Doesn’t know I held Elena while she died. Doesn’t know I’ve been watching over her since she was thirteen years old.
Thirteen. I let the number sit for exactly one second before I shut it down. She was never mine to want then. She was a promise. A child I kept alive from a distance. Whatever this is now, it began long after that.
She'll find out. Eventually. Secrets never stay buried. It’ll be up to me to tell her the truth. I don’t trust her father not to try and sabotage this alliance.
And I’m almost certain he will. Part of me wants to be the one that delivers the news about our nuptials. The old bastard is going to be so pissed.
I win.
If Yuri attempts to kill my wife, that will ignite a war. I will have every right to retaliate. I almost wish he would. I think I’d enjoy killing him. That’s one job I would handle myself.
One more night of this.
Tomorrow, the distance ends.
I don't know what comes after that. I've planned for every threat and contingency I can name, and I have no plan for what happens when she's living in my space.
What happens on quiet evenings?
Long nights with a woman who sleeps with a knife under her pillow and carries pepper spray disguised as lipstick.
A woman who has spent three years making herself untouchable.
And now she's going to be sleeping under my roof.
The restraint required for that is a different kind of discipline entirely.
I will not touch her.
Unless she asks.