“Where are we meeting?” I finally ask.
“Neutral location. The Ashfords refused to come to Volkov territory.” His voice is flat. “Can’t imagine why.”
The sarcasm stings, but I don’t rise to it. I’m too focused on trying not to throw up, and keep my breathing steady. I need to prepare myself for whatever’s coming.
We pull up to what looks like an abandoned office building on the outskirts of the city. But when we enter, I see it’s not abandoned at all. It’s been converted into a meeting space.
The smell hits me first. Old carpet and industrial cleaner and the underlying scent of cologne and perfume from too many people in one space. My stomach lurches.
Then I see them.
My family is already there, clustered on one side of a large conference table. My father, looking older than I remember. My uncle Marcus with that same smug expression that makes me want to scream. Several other men I recognize—advisors, enforcers, my father’s inner circle.
And they all stop talking when they see me.
My father’s face goes pale. Uncle Marcus’s expression hardens. But neither of them moves toward me or says my name.
I’m suddenly, horribly aware that I’m wearing Dimitri’s ring and I’m standing beside him. To them, I’m not their daughter or niece anymore—I’m a Volkov now.
The enemy.
Dimitri’s hand lands on the small of my back and I have to fight not to flinch. He guides me to the other side of the table where the Volkovs are gathered. Konstantin is there, looking distinguished in an expensive suit along with Roman, Dimitri’s head of security. Several other men whose names I don’t know.
They look at me with barely concealed hostility. I’m an Ashford in their midst. The daughter of the family that killed their Alexei.
I sit where Dimitri indicates which is right beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. He pulls out my chair, the gesture almost gentlemanly if not for the way his hand lingers on the back of it. A territorial claim that everyone in this room understands.
She’s mine now. Stay away.
The tension in the room is suffocating. I can feel everyone watching me, assessing me, judging me. My father still won’t meet my eyes. Uncle Marcus is staring at me with something that looks like satisfaction, like he’s pleased with how broken I look.
I want to crawl out of my own skin.
Konstantin stands, clearing his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I know this isn’t easy for either family, but these meetings are necessary if we want the peace to hold. We have several items on the agenda today—primarily the division ofdock territories and the renegotiation of the shipping routes through?—”
His voice drones on, but I can’t focus on the words. The room is too warm and crowded. It’s too full of people who hate each other. The smell of cologne is making my stomach turn. I can feel sweat starting to break out on my forehead and down my back.
I sneak a glance at my father. He’s staring at the table, his hands folded in front of him, refusing to look at me. My throat swells with tears. It’s like I’m already dead to him.
The betrayal hits me fresh and sharp. He gave me to Dimitri knowing exactly what it would mean, and now he can’t even look at what he’s done.
Dimitri shifts beside me, and his hand moves from the back of my chair to my shoulder. It’s a message to everyone in this room, but his thumb brushes against my collarbone, just once, so subtle I almost miss it. Almost like... comfort?
I’m seriously imagining things.
“Which brings us to the question of the eastern territories,” Konstantin is saying. “We’ve had reports of increased activity from the Bratva, and we need to coordinate our response.”
The nausea hits me.
One second, I’m fine and the next, the room is spinning. Cold sweat breaks out across my entire body. My vision blurs at the edges. The smell of cologne is overwhelming, choking me, mixing with the industrial cleaner.
I’m going to be sick. Right here. In front of everyone.
I press my hand to my mouth, trying to breathe through it, but it’s not working. The room tilts dangerously. Black spots dance across my vision.
Dimitri leans in close, his voice low and urgent. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. If I open my mouth, everything is coming up. I can feel it rising in my throat, and I can taste the bile.
