I smile. It doesn't reach my eyes, but it doesn't have to.
"Everything looks perfect," I say, loud enough to be heard. "You've outdone yourself."
The praise is bullshit, but it serves its purpose. Roman's grip loosens slightly, satisfied.
"Only the best for my bride." He guides me toward the seating chart spread across a nearby table. "I've made some adjustments to the arrangements. Put you next to me, of course. Your sister across from us where we can keep an eye on her."
Keep an eye on her. Like Anya is a threat instead of a nineteen-year-old girl who wants nothing to do with any of this.
"And my father?" I ask, scanning the chart.
"Here." Roman points to a seat far from the head table. Practically in the back corner. "I thought it best to seat him with the secondary families. Given his...history."
"He's still the head of the Markov family," I say carefully.
"Is he?" Roman's smile sharpens. "I was under the impression you've been running things for the past six years. In fact, I've already made the announcement that you're stepping down from operational duties. A wife shouldn't have to burden herself with such matters."
The words hit like ice water. "You did what?"
"Relax." His hand moves to my shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. "I'm taking over your portfolio. Your people will report to me now. It's cleaner this way. More efficient."
My people. The organization I built from nothing. The network of loyalties I cultivated.
He's taking it. All of it.
At least he thinks he is.
"We discussed this," I say, my voice dropping to something dangerous. "The terms were clear. My organization remains separate—"
"The terms were that you marry me and Anya goes to Paris." Roman cuts me off. "Which is exactly what's happening. Everything else is negotiable. I cannot have my wife running competing interests."
The rage that rises in me is volcanic, but I swallow it down. Force it into the frozen place where I keep all my weapons sharp and ready.
"Of course," I say sweetly. "How silly of me to think I had a voice in this."
"There's my smart girl." He kisses my temple, and I want to scrub my skin raw. "Now, let's discuss security. I've tripled the guards for tomorrow night."
The change in subject is jarring, but I follow it. "Expecting trouble?"
"Always." He leads me toward the entrance where men in black suits are coordinating. "Business rivals. People who don't like change. The usual threats."
"I'm sure your security is more than adequate," I say."It is. But I want you to stay close tomorrow night. Don't wander off alone." His eyes meet mine, and I see the warning there. "For your own safety, of course."
Of course. Because everything Roman does is for my own good.
I nod, playing the compliant fiancée. I only have to keep this up until Anya is safely tucked away in Paris. I’ve already made arrangements to have her disappear. She won’t be in Paris for long. Not as Anya. She’ll have a new name. New identity. I’ll get her away and no one will ever find her.
Two hours later, I arrive home once again.
I find my father in his study—where else—reviewing documents. Probably trying to figure out exactly how much money he can gamble away once I’m out of his way."Kira." He looks up, and I see the guilt flicker across his face. "How are the preparations?"
"Roman's taken over my organization." I close the door behind me. "Announced it without consultation. My people now report to him."
My father has the audacity to look confused. "Well, yes. That was always the plan, wasn't it? Unite the families under one leadership."
"My leadership," I snap. "I built that organization. Those are my people. My connections."
"And now they're Roman's. You're marrying into the Barinov bratva, Kira. This is how these things work.""Not anymore.”
