“The money isn’t simply leaking,” I explain, manipulating the glowing data streams with slight movements of my fingertips. “It’s being systematically extracted through a series of microtransactions across our global accounts.” I fight the urge to call them dumb ass.
“They are small transactions. Each transaction is disguised as a legitimate financial fluctuation, such as currency exchange rates, management fees, or transfer costs. But when mappedcollectively—” I pinch my fingers together, and the display consolidates, forming a perfect funnel. “We lose about a million every month.”
Silence. Heavy, respectful silence at last. I’ve got their attention. Any thoughts of me being just a pretty face are gone.
“How long has this been happening?” My father’s voice is dangerously soft. I also have his full attention.
“Eleven months,” I reply. “It begins shortly after we integrated systems with the Rosso accounts.”
My father’s eyebrow twitches—the equivalent of another man’s scream.
“The Italians?” he asks.
I hesitate. “The breach carries certain… signatures that suggest American involvement. But I need more time to be certain.”
“Time is a luxury we don’t have.” My father stands abruptly. “Kira, Alexei—with me. The rest of you, get out.”
The brigadiers file out wordlessly, Kozlov tossing me a final glare before the heavy doors close as if it would intimidate me. He forgets I have three brothers and a father who can discipline me with one look.. My brother, Alexei, remains seated across from me, his massive frame dwarfing his chair, his face unreadable beneath his thick beard. It’s clear he knows why my father dismissed his men before I could finish my presentation.
When we’re alone, my father’s shoulders relax a fraction of a millimeter—the closest he ever comes to letting down his guard.
“Have you confirmed it’s the Rossos?” he asks, pouring himself three fingers of vodka.
I shake my head. “The code is sophisticated. I need access to their servers directly to be sure.”
“And you’ll have it,” my father says, turning to face me with an expression that makes my stomach drop. “Sooner than you think.”
Alexei shifts uncomfortably, the first sign of emotion he’s shown the entire meeting.
“Father,” he rumbles, “perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more private.”
I straighten. “Discuss what?”
My father takes a slow sip of his drink. “The arrangement has been accelerated.”
I know immediately whatthe arrangementmeans. Since childhood, I’m aware that my fate was decided decades before my birth—a contract written in blood—an alliance through marriage. Two powerful families joining forces.
“No,” I say softly.
“Yes,” my father counters. “The wedding is in three months. You will marry Vito’s brother.”
The room feels suddenly airless. I always knew this day would come, but I spent years pushing it into a hypothetical future. Three months. Ninety days. That’s not enough time to form an escape plan.
“You expect me to marry someone I’ve never met?” I manage to keep my voice steady.
My father’s lip curls. “I expect you to follow orders obediently without complaint.”
“The Rossos could be stealing from us!” I snap before I could stop myself. My father glares at me.
“Then think of it as corporate espionage. Get close. Find proof. If they’ve betrayed us, your position will be invaluable.” He says coldly.
I turn to Alexei, hoping for support, but his eyes are fixed on the floor. Always loyal to father first. I shake my head in disappointment. His body language suggests that he disagrees with my father, yet he remains silent.
“And if I refuse?” The question is barely a whisper.
My father sets down his glass with dangerous precision. “Then you will no longer be a Petrov. No longer under our protection.” He smiles thinly. “There are many men who remember those modeling photos, Kira. Men who would pay a high price to own more than just the pictures.”
The threat slithers between us, poisonous and clear. I take a deep breath. There has to be a tactic I can take that will free me from marrying a man who could potentially be stealing money from us. Everyone without the Petrov name is an enemy. For God's sake, the Italians could be stealing from us, looking for a way to attack us.
