"Or I'll make sure everyone knows exactly how we met. That I had to drug you. That you're here against your will." I keep my voice calm. "And then they'll pity you. They'll think you're weak. A victim."
Her jaw clenches. "I am a victim."
"No. You're a woman who's going to walk into that house on her own two feet, smile at my mother, and convince everyone that you want to be here." I lean closer. "Because the alternative is admitting to a house full of criminals that you couldn't stop me from taking you. And they'll wonder what else you can't stop."
She turns to look at me then. There's fear in her eyes, yes. But also fury. "You're threatening me."
"I'm explaining reality." I remove my hand from her thigh. "You can hate me later. Right now, you need to survive tonight."
"And if I don't? If I tell them the truth?"
"Then you'll spend the next five days locked in a room, and you'll leave with nothing." I pause. "Or you can play along, collect fifty thousand dollars, and walk away after Christmas with your pride intact."
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she turns back to the window.
The rest of the drive is silent.
We're close now. The trees give way to the outskirts of Severny Harbor, Washington. The roads are freshly plowed. The businesses are all ones we own or have a stake in.
This is Volkov territory.
And I'm bringing Jemma Dean into the heart of it.
Dimitri's mansion appears through the trees. It's massive, ostentatious, lit up like a Christmas dream. Every window glowing with warm light. White lights strung along every roofline, wrapped around the columns. A massive wreath on the front door. Snow covering the grounds in pristine white, and I can see the outline of what must be ice sculptures in the front garden.
Christmas music drifts from inside—something classical and Russian.
Jemma sits up straighter. "That's where we're staying?"
"Yes."
"It looks like a Christmas card."
"Dimitri's wife has... strong opinions about holiday decorating."
"Dimitri is your cousin."
"Yes."
"Who runs... what did you say? An operation?"
"The Severny Harbor Volkov Bratva. He's pakhan here. I run Vancouver."
She processes this. "You're Russian mafia."
"Yes."
"This is insane."
"You've said that several times now."
"Because it keeps being true!"
I almost smile. Even terrified, she has fire. "We're here. Remember what I said."
Andrei pulls up to the front entrance. There are already several cars parked from family arriving throughout the day. The front door opens before we're even stopped.
And my mother comes flying out.
