Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Severin Volkov
Cormac ushered us into a private study adjacent to the show floor. The room opened around a fireplace with armchairs, couches, and tables arranged along the walls. Mahogany paneling surrounded the fireplace, scalloped at the edges. Rusted, fairytale-like sconces laced the room.
The place—much like the whole club—felt like stepping into some long-ago Irish myths.
But my gaze lingered longest on the massive stained-glass window depicting three goddesses surrounded by smoke and crows.
It set an ominous, mystical tone—as if the deals made in here might have long-lasting consequences. Considering I was proposing an engagement, mine certainly would.
I walked to the cellarette, filled my glass with a square ice cube and top-shelf whiskey, then leaned against the fireplace where I had the best view of everyone in the room.
As I scanned the room, I noticed Cormac had brought only his immediate family, while I had all of the Morozovs, Maks, and Mikhail with me—my closest confidants.
“You remember my daughter, Neeve.” Cormac motioned to the ginger-haired beauty standing near one of the side tables.
There was no denying that Neeve Callahan was a beautiful woman. Any other man would have been dying for a chance with her. But not me. She had curves, freckles along her nose, and stunning bluish-green eyes.
Yet none of it appealed to me.
“This is my youngest daughter, Isolde.” Cormac motioned to a brunette with a faint hint of red in her hair. “And my two sons, Callum and Keiran.”
I tipped my head to each of them, then introduced my companions. As I was about to finish, the woman—the incredible, curvy goddess—walked in and clicked the door shut behind her.
“Sorry I am late,” she said, holding yet another glass of champagne.
“And this is my niece Keira, visiting from London.”
She smiled and gave a small, soft wave as she walked over to stand next to Neeve. “Hello.”
It took everything in me not to stare at Keira Callahan, to keep my gaze locked on her uncle.
She was gorgeous and, unfortunately, just my type—a knockoff version of Xeniya.
But none of that mattered now. What mattered was negotiating this deal for the Bratva and strengthening a long-lasting relationship with the strongest Irish clan.
“Now that we’re all here, shall we get to business? I assume, given your father’s disappearance, you’re in much need of a strong show of power and an even stronger alliance.” Cormac said it all matter-of-factly, with a dominating tenor.
I squared my shoulders. “Yes, that sums it up. And since you were recently betrayed by the Donovans and lost territory on the docks, you need port access and arms.”
The Russians were the best arms dealers on the East Coast. The Irish controlled most of the drugs. But the Callahans were in a territorial war and needed arms, and we could always use better access to quality product.
Cormac adjusted his watch and held my gaze. “Yes, we need protected smuggling lanes, warehouse space, and your customs influence.” He paused and rubbed his nose in thought. “And yes, guns would be an added benefit.”
I set my glass on the mantel, crossed my arms, and leaned against the fireplace as if unconcerned. “Good. We’re both aware of the benefits of an alliance.”
“Yes.” A muscle ticked in Cormac’s jaw. “So the question becomes: which of my daughters do you want to marry?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Neeve and Keira shift uncomfortably. I let my gaze lock fully on them. Keira took Neeve’s hand and whispered something into her ear. Every muscle in Neeve’s body stiffened, like a gazelle trapped in a lion’s sights.
She did not want to marry me.
Good.
Because she would have been my last choice. Not that the younger daughter, who looked barely twenty-five, was an option either.
My gaze shifted to Keira, the cinnamon-haired beauty who smirked—actually smirked—back at me. Her eyes seemed to twinkle, daring me to choose her even though she wasn’t even an option on the table.
Tension burned between us, a physical force drawing us together.
I felt my pulse in my neck, and I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth, trying to control myself.
My vision tunneled on her, and everyone else in the room disappeared.
I scanned her body, studying every inch.
Her curves were sinful. There was no way God could have created this creature.
She was pure temptation. I wanted to lick from the column of her throat down to her breasts.
I wanted to whisper altogether naughty things into her ear.
Would she blush when I sucked a nipple between my teeth?
Would she whimper? Moan?
Electricity pulsed between us, the voltage strong enough to kill anyone else who touched it. And I knew she felt it too because she tried to ground herself by squeezing her free hand.
Keira bit her bottom lip, and I shifted my stance because, of course, my dick decided now—during one of the most important meetings of my life—was the time to get hard.
And with that movement, I was reminded that every thought, every bodily response, was a badge of betrayal. Not a badge like a Boy Scout. It was a scarlet letter.
Deep down, I knew it was wrong to want anyone else besides Xeniya, and the fact that I could find anyone else so tempting rattled me.
Someone cleared their throat, and my gaze finally cut away from Keira.
“Unless you’d prefer a different mafia princess?” Cormac asked.
I arched an eyebrow. Was that an option?
As if hearing the question in my silence, Cormac asked, “Would you prefer Keira?”
Of course I did. But I stayed silent, partly because I had no idea what to say, partly because I knew they would eventually fill the silence.
“If Keira is willing, I would accept that alliance, but we would have to negotiate. She is my top intelligence analyst and programmer, and I am unwilling to lose her skill set. If you want a wife that doesn’t have a job, I would suggest Isolde.”
The girl in question made a soft sound but, to her credit, didn’t flinch or try to disappear.
“I would prefer Keira,” I said, my voice flat and almost entirely emotionless. “And I have no issue with her keeping her job with the Irish, if she is also willing to do some work for the Bratva.”
Cormac turned to his niece. “So, Keira, would you accept a marriage to a Russian… to Severin Volkov?”
She gave a low laugh. “Are you giving me the choice?”
“Of course.”
Her gaze shifted back to me, and she stared—no, glared—through thick eyelashes. If she were magic, her glare would have been deadly. I shifted uncomfortably, and for the first time all night, I felt uncertain.
Would she reject the proposal?
Did I want her to?
Being engaged to Keira Callahan—even falsely—was a terrible idea. She was the only woman in thirteen years who had caught my attention, let alone gotten me hard. I was certain that if she agreed to this plan, I would end up fucking her.
And that might ruin me.
As much as I wanted to get my dick wet again in theory, in practice, it might be the death of me.
Keira crinkled her nose, and I noticed the cute freckles scattered across the bridge and spanning her cheeks. I had never found freckles to be hot, but this woman could make anything attractive.
She shook her head and smirked. “Sure. I’ll marry the Russian.”
I let out a snort. This woman. She was something else. A dangerous temptation. She was fiery and possibly able to put up with my broody, unhinged nature because this woman might be able to match my particular brand of crazy.
“Then that is settled,” Cormac said, delving deeper into the details of the deal.
We spent the next two hours discussing trade routes, shipping lines, warehouses, guns, and ways to strengthen our positions.
We went through the deal detail by detail and even brought in my least favorite brigadier, Kazimir, to help negotiate the ports.
By the end of the night, we had a mutually beneficial deal.
And an engagement to the second most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I was in so much fucking trouble.
Once we were finished, everyone began filing back into the club to celebrate the new alliance. But I had one more thing to discuss—this time with my bride-to-be.
“Wait, Keira, can I speak with you alone for a moment?”