Not yet.
"Breathe," Alina whispers, her hand tightening on my arm. "You look like you're about to start a war."
"I'm always about to start a war. It's my natural state."
She laughs again, and this time it's genuine. Several heads turn at the sound. Good. Let them see her happy, confident, unafraid. Let them see that the Morozov family is strong.
I work the room methodically, Alina at my side. We move from group to group, making small talk that carries larger meanings. I discuss business opportunities with the Petrov family, hint at territorial arrangements with the Sokolovs, and carefully probe the Romanovs about their stance on the proposed reforms.
Alina is perfect. She charms the wives, asks intelligent questions, and subtly reinforces our message—the old ways are dying, and those who adapt will prosper. I watch her laugh at something Alexei's wife says, watch her touch an older woman's arm with genuine warmth, and I'm struck again by how completely she's transformed my world.
Six months ago, she was a terrified bride at a doomed wedding. Now she's a force of nature in an emerald gown, reshaping the Bratva with nothing but intelligence and courage.
I'm so focused on her that I almost miss the shift in the room's energy. Conversations falter. Heads turn toward the entrance. The string quartet plays on, oblivious, but everyone else has gone still.
Ivan Volkov has arrived.
He wasn't invited. His name was specifically excluded from the guest list. But here he stands in the doorway, silver hair gleaming, blue eyes cold as a winter sky, wearing a smile that promises violence.
My hand moves instinctively toward my weapon, but Alina's fingers close around my wrist. "Not here," she breathes. "Not like this."
She's right. Starting a gunfight in a room full of neutral families wouldn’t aid our goals. So I force myself to relax, to smile, to play the gracious host as Ivan crosses the ballroom toward us.
The crowd parts for him. Some faces show fear, others calculation. The neutral families watch with intense interest, waiting to see how this confrontation plays out.
Ivan stops in front of us, his smile never wavering. "Dimitri. How wonderful to see you." His English is perfect, barely accented. "And the lovely Alina. Marriage clearly agrees with you both."
"Ivan." I keep my voice neutral. "I don't recall your name on the guest list."
"An oversight, surely." He gestures around the ballroom. "Such a magnificent event. A celebration of new beginnings, I understand. How… optimistic."
Alina's hand tightens on my arm, but her voice is steady. "We believe in building rather than destroying. Perhaps you should try it sometime."
Ivan's eyes flicker to her, and I see something dangerous move behind them. "Ah, yes. The reformer. I've heard so much aboutyour speeches, your ideas about changing our world." He steps closer, lowering his voice so only we can hear. "Tell me, does your husband know how many enemies you've made with that pretty mouth?"
"Careful." The word comes out as a growl.
"Or what?" Ivan's smile widens. "You'll kill me here, in front of everyone? Please, Dimitri. We both know you're trying to appear civilized now. Domesticated." His gaze drops to Alina's stomach. "Congratulations on the pregnancy, by the way. A child is such a blessing. So fragile. So vulnerable."
The threat is clear. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to strike. I could kill him in three seconds. Snap his neck before his guards could react. But Alina's presence beside me, the weight of all those watching eyes, holds me back.
"You should leave," I say quietly. "While you still can."
"Should I?" Ivan looks around the ballroom, making sure everyone is watching. "But I've only just arrived. And I have so much to say." He raises his voice, addressing the room. "I want to congratulate the happy couple. Dimitri Morozov and his beautiful bride, building their little empire on the ashes of tradition. How romantic."
The room has gone completely silent. Even the string quartet has stopped playing.
"Everyone knows what you're doing," Ivan continues, his voice carrying to every corner. "Weakening us with talk of reform and equality. Destroying everything our fathers built. And why? Because you've fallen in love." He spits the last word like a curse. "Because you've let a woman make you soft."
I start to move, but Alina steps forward first.
"You're right," she says clearly, her voice ringing through the ballroom. "Dimitri has changed. We both have. But not because of weakness."
"Pretty words." Ivan's smile turns cruel. "But words won't protect you when?—"
"Everyone in this room knows who you are, Ivan." Alina cuts him off, her green eyes blazing. "You're Mikhail Volkov's cousin. You're trying to finish what he started. You're using the same tactics, the same manipulation, the same threats." She pauses, letting her words sink in. "And you'll fail just like he did."
The silence that follows is absolute. Ivan's mask drops, revealing the monster beneath. His face contorts with rage, his hand moving toward his jacket.
