“Fuckno,” I spit out. “Absolutely not. I’m not marrying one of them. I’m not?—”
“Hear me out,” Konstantin says, holding up a hand. “Just listen. She would live in your home, under your control, essentially a hostage to ensure the Ashfords’ good behavior. They won’t move against you if their daughter—Vincent’soldest child—isin your hands. And legally, through marriage, you’d bind their territories to ours. Their business interests become intertwined with yours. It’s protection and expansion in one move.”
I want to reject it immediately and tell him there’s no way in hell I’m tying myself to an Ashford, let alone marrying one.
But my strategist’s mind—the part of me that’s kept this family alive and thriving for the past decade and a half—is already turning over the proposal, examining it from every angle.
A hostage. That’s what she’d be. Living proof that any move against me would result in her death. Vincent Ashford couldn’t touch me without signing his own daughter’s death warrant.
And more than that…
I could make her life hell. I could make her pay for what her family did. Every single day, she’d be a reminder to the Ashfords of what they took from me.
Every morning when Vincent Ashford wakes up, he’d know his daughter is in my home, under my control, suffering for his mistakes.
The idea shouldn’t appeal to me. I’m not a sadist. I don’t take pleasure in causing unnecessary pain.
But then I look at Alexei’s headstone, and a viciousness takes root.
“What happens if the peace breaks?” I ask slowly, one finger scraping against the Styrofoam of my cup as I think through everything. “If they move against us anyway?”
Konstantin’s expression doesn’t change. “Then she pays the price. Everyone understands that. It’s the nature of thesearrangements. She would be your wife, yes, but more importantly, she’d be your insurance policy.”
I raise an eyebrow. This seems too good to be true. Who on earth would ever agree to this? “And Vincent Ashford agreed to this?”
My uncle shrugs before draining the rest of his coffee. “He’s desperate. He knows war would destroy both our families and this is his way of preventing it while saving face. He sacrifices his daughter to save everyone else.” Konstantin stands, brushing dirt from his expensive slacks. “Think about it. You don’t have to decide right now, but think about what this could mean. For the business. For your position. For—” He glances at the headstone. “For justice.”
Justice. That’s what he’s calling it but we both know what it really is. Revenge. Cold, long-term revenge that would let me hurt the Ashfords every single day for the rest of my life.
I could keep her close. Watch her. Use her. Make her suffer in ways that wouldn’t violate the terms of the peace but would remind her—and her family—exactly what they’d done.
It’sbrilliant. Sick, twisted, but brilliant.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally.
Konstantin nods, satisfied. He starts to walk away, but pauses. “The wedding would need to happen quickly. Within two weeks, ideally. Before either family has time to reconsider or outside parties try to interfere.”
Two weeks. From grieving brother to married man in two weeks. The absurdity of it should make me laugh.
Instead, I just nod.
“Uncle,” I call out before he can leave. He turns back. “Have you seen Alexei’s forensic report? The full one?”
Something flickers across his face, but it’s too quick to read. “No. Why?”
I also stand up, taking another sip of my coffee as I gather my thoughts. “It’s incomplete. Some of the details don’t match up. The powder burns on his shirt don’t align with close-range shots. And the timeline—the Ashfords supposedly arrived at 9:40, but the time of death is estimated at 9:30.” I’ve been over this a hundred times in my head, and it still doesn’t make sense. “How do you ambush someone before you arrive?”
Konstantin’s expression softens into something that looks almost like pity. “Grief is making you see patterns that aren’t there, Dimitri,” he says gently. “The body was identified by three of our most trusted men and you. The coroner confirmed it. Alexei is gone. Searching for inconsistencies won’t change that.”
I shake my head. “But?—”
“Let it go,” he says firmly. “Focus on the living and make sure this doesn’t happen again.That’swhat Alexei would want."
He walks away before I can argue, his footsteps fading into the morning.
But his dismissal only makes the unease worse. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones, and it’s the same instinct that’s kept me alive in this business for over two decades.
The forensic report has holes. The timeline doesn’t work. And Konstantin’s reaction—that flash of something in his eyes before he shut it down?—
