“I smiled plenty when I kicked your asses. Two of you couldn’t take me with a hand tied behind my back. Besides, she knows I didn't tell you. She enjoys stirring the pot."
"Why the secret?" Ivan asks, stepping closer, his gaze raking over Aria’s soft curves with mocking assessment. "Afraid we'd object to you marrying the help?"
My jaw tightens. Before I throw him out a window, Aria steps forward.
She doesn't retreat. She doesn't look at the floor. Leaving the shelter of my arm, she meets Ivan’s gaze head-on. "The'help'kept your grandmother alive for eight months while you were busy womanizing and drinking, Ivan," she says, her voice cool and steady. "So, I can handle being your sister-in-law. The job description seems similar: helping weak people feel strong."
Ivan blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Illya snorts, hiding a laugh behind his hand.
I stare at her. Her chin is high, the heat rising in her cheeks not from shame, but defiance.
Pride, hot and fierce, swells in my chest. There she is. The steel I suspected was buried beneath the soft sweaters and nurse's scrubs.
"Close your mouth, Ivan," I say, my voice low with amusement. "She knows exactly who you are. And she is right."
Ivan recovers, a grudging grin spreading across his face. "Okay. Fair point. Welcome to the asylum, Aria."
"Don't gloat," I tell them, steering Aria toward the dining room. "You are next on Galina's list. I was just the first on the list."
Illya’s face goes slack. "You're joking."
"Come," I say, steering Aria toward the dining room. "If you are here, stay for a drink. But mind your damn manners."
We move into the dining room. Aria sits at the table, her shoulders drawn in, a lone flower in a room full of wolves.
My phone buzzes against the wood.
I glance at the screen. Lepin.
My expression hardens. This is business. I answer, switching to Russian, my voice dropping. "What is it?"
I turn away from the table, pacing toward the window, away from the noise of my brothers. Behind me, a chair scrapes. A shout.
"Got her." Ivan’s voice calls out with a laugh.
I turn. My blood freezes. Ivan has her. He’s hoisted her out of the chair, one arm clamped around her waist, a hand over her mouth. He’s playing the role of the old-school barbarian raider.
But Aria isn't laughing. This isn't a game she knows.
She goes rigid, her wide hazel eyes swallowing her face. Her expression freezes over. Her jaw locks, a muscle ticking along the bone. The scream is trapped in her throat, a visible strain against her skin, but she refuses to make a sound.
A red haze drops over my vision.
"Easy, little bird," Ivan jokes, oblivious that he is holding a statue made of trauma and steel. "It's just tradition. The bride-napping."
"Otpusti yeyo," I say.
The words come out as a blade of ice.Let her go. Ivan grins, tightening his grip. "Not until you pay the ransom, brother. You know the rules." He starts dragging her toward the study. Aria’s eyes lock on mine. Her chin is up. She is enduring.
I hang up on the latest Lepin update. He could take my whole kingdom, and I wouldn’t give a fuck. Not when my queen is at risk. The phone cracks on the floor when I drop it. I don't care.
"Ivan."
He doesn't hear me. He hustles her into the study and kicks the door shut. The sound of that latch clicking is a thunderclap. I move. Illya steps back, his smile vanishing. He knows that look.
"The price is steep, brother!" Ivan yells through the door. "This one is worth at least a case of the '78."
I reach the door. I don't negotiate. I don't play. I kick it open. The wood splinters around the lock. The door slams against the inner wall with enough force to shake the room.
