The car stops at the base of wide marble steps. There’s already someone waiting at the top. A tall man in a black suit who looks like he could break my neck and then politely offer me dessert.
Oh, I can’t do this.
There is no way I’m going to be able to pull off that, not only do Iadorethe man who forced me into this agreement to marry him, but sit and eatfoodwith a mob family.
Ben pops the door open and gets out, slowly straightening his jacket, before holding out a hand for me.
The gesture is smooth, practiced, like it’s second nature for him to guide a woman into a world that doesn’t belong to her.
I don’t want to take it. Everything screams in me to stop doing this or something bad is going to happen to me.
However, I signed up for this—literally.
The memories of ink dried from last night fill my brain as I take Benedikt’s hand, trying not to think about the fact that his hand is warm and firm and somehow grounding in all this grandeur.
It’s disgusting.
Benedikt’s hand suddenly comes up to my face. His fingers skimming through my hair like he’s fixing a loose strand, before leaning closer.
“Calm down,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing near my temple in a slow, deliberate move. “My father can smell nerves and lies from a mile away. He’s made a lifetime out of it.”
Alright, that’s not helping.
If anything, my pulse jumps and spine locks up with tension.
Ben notices, and his mouth curves slightly. “Breathe, princess.”
“I’m breathing,” I whisper back, though it comes out sharper than I mean.
“Barely. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here. I’ll handle all the talking.”
I’d love him to.
However, that’s not going to help his cause.
“Wouldn’t that look suspicious?”
“As hell.” His eyes dip to my mouth. “But you might need the help.”
“I don’t need—” His lips steal mine without warning, cutting into my limited air supply and shocking me into stillness.
His mouth is warm, firm, and gone in the span of a heartbeat as if it didn’t happen by the time I blink my eyes open.
He’s straightening, wearing an expression like nothing happened, and he didn’t just fry my nervous system.
His fingers lace with mine as he guides us up the stone stairs and past the linebacker bodyguard.
The second we reach the doors, they open without anyone touching them. Inside, it smells faintly of expensive cologne, polished wood, and something savory cooking.
The foyer is the size of my grandmother’s entire apartment, with a chandelier dripping crystals. The floor is marble with veins of gold streaking through white, and my shoes click against it in a way that feels too loud.
Then he’s there.
Tall, silver hair perfectly combed back, dark suit that probably costs more than anything I’ve ever spent in my life. His eyes are the same icy blue as Ben’s, but sharper, somehow. Like if Ben’s gaze cuts, his father’s gaze pierces straight through and takes inventory.
“Son,” he says, his voice smooth with a faint Russian accent. They clasp hands in that half-handshake, half-grip that’s more a test of strength than a greeting. Then those eyes turn to me. “And this must be the young woman your brother told me about.”
“Sienna,” Ben says, almost casually, but I feel his hand at the small of my back. “My father, Ivan.”
