My future wife.
My goddamn universe wrapped in soft skin and stubborn fire.
And because of that—Maria had to die.
I waited until Natasha was in the shower, humming to herself, glowing with happiness, before I called Georgi and Cori to my office. When Natasha was near, I was gentle. When she wasn’t, I didn’t need to pretend.
“We’re doing an engagement dinner tomorrow night,” I said.
Cori smirked. “Public or private?”
“Both.” I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled. “We’re releasing a public announcement with the location. A beautifulrooftop venue downtown. Expensive. Romantic. Every paparazzi and curious idiot will want a piece.”
“But the real dinner—?” Georgi asked, already grinning.
“A private estate outside the city. Off grid. Guarded.”
I tapped the table. “The public location is bait.”
Cori whistled low. “You’re fishing for Maria.”
“I’m finishing her.”
The announcement went out within the hour—an elegant, glowing invite posted by my PR team and leaked to the press “accidentally.” The world believed Natasha and I would be drinking champagne under string lights at 7 PM.
We were never going within ten miles of that place.
The day of the dinner, Natasha looked breathtaking. Nervous, but happy. Exactly how I needed her to be. Safe behind layers of protection, she didn’t see. As we drove toward the real venue, my phone buzzed once in my pocket—the signal we’d agreed on.
It was Georgi. I read her message and felt my blood go cold in the cleanest, sharpest way.
She’s here. Camping outside the decoy rooftop. Alone. Armed. Obsessed. Got her.
Perfect.
I texted back.
Secure her. Do not kill her yet. I want her breathing until after the wedding. Hide her some place she’ll never crawl out of.
Maria wasn’t getting a quick death. Not after what she’d done to Natasha. Not after trying to take her from me.
I slipped my phone away just as Natasha looked over at me, brows drawn. “Everything okay?”
I smiled for her. Soft. Real. “Perfect, princess.”
She reached for my hand, bringing her knuckles to my lips.
I didn’t tell her that a woman was obsessed with me—a woman who wanted her dead—was currently bagged, bound, and terrified in one of Georgi’s safe houses.
Natasha didn’t need to know. Not until after she was my wife. Probably not even then either.
The chandelier above the dining table cast golden light over the gathered family, illuminating faces I'd known my entire life and reflecting off the garland draped along the mantle. My father sat at the head of the table, glass of vodka in hand, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the holiday spread before him. Natasha sat beside me, her hand resting on my thigh beneath the table—a quiet anchor in the chaos of voices and laughter around us, the scent of pine and cinnamon hanging in the air. Our engagement dinner had also doubled as a Christmas celebration.
I could feel the tension building. My father had been too quiet tonight, too observant. Something was coming. He stood, and the table fell silent immediately. That was his power—commanding attention without raising his voice.
"A toast," he announced, lifting his glass.
Everyone reached for their drinks. Natasha's fingers tightened on my leg.
