So I looked up at him, stunned like a deer caught in headlights.
“Did you just saymarry?” I queried.
Of course, he’s mocking me.
It was just an expensive joke to rile me up. Maybe a tactic to make me lose my footing and spill whatever he thought I was still keeping from them.
But his face remained unreadable as he stood by the foot of the bed.
Wait, he’s serious?
How the hell would that be an option to even consider?
A marriage proposal wasn’t the last thing on the list of what I’d expected; it wasn’t on the list at all.
First, I went from being a nurse at the clinic, living a simple, private life, to becoming an abductee and a public suspect. And now, a wife? To Konstantin Lobanov, a man who was nothing short of a Bratva prince?
Marriage wasn’t something I had in my plans—not even in the next few years. In fact, I’d be lying if I said I had envisioned my future self being married. My last relationship had burned me badly enough to cure me of romantic thoughts for a long while.
And the man I couldn’t stand being in the same room with was proposing marriage to me.
“As my wife, you’ll be off-limits to other factions. You’ll be under Bratva protection in Manhattan, so none of them will be able to get to you. More importantly, I’ll have full control over your movements.”
“Why would any other faction want to come for me?”
His sigh wasn’t subtle enough for me to miss it. He looked the way those older, not-so-friendly nurses looked when they had to re-explain a dosage or something else to an anxious patient.
“Vitya’s betrayal was under wraps, but he blew his cover himself, and now that he’s been arrested, a few factions know that the intel he stole and was about to sell was Bratva intel. So, the government made it easier for these factions by making thelist of his frequent contacts public. It won’t take long before they put two and two together. Marriage is a containment strategy, the only one.”
“Better put, it’s a cage,” I uttered, a sardonic laugh emanating from my lips. “You must be insane to think I’ll marry you.”
“As I said, it’s the only strategy,” he answered, walking towards me, his figure dominating and absolute, yet not threatening. “The Pakhan’s alternative is a bullet.”
Isn’t this worse than death?
The look on his face as he looked down at me was serious. His usual stony expression didn’t convey this to be a necessary inconvenience.
I hated to admit it, but he was right.
Just a few hours into Vitya’s arrest, and my colleagues were already giving me scornful glances, sure I was really an accomplice without thinking to know my side of the story. I wouldn’t expect them to be anything but cooperative and even eager to give up information about me if anyone set out to hunt and harm me.
I’ll be scapegoated, anyway.
If the Bratva didn’t do it, the Russian authorities would. The bastard put me in this position with his obsessive ways and his inability to understand the wordno.
It was probably better to stick with the devil I knew. At least, I knew Liza, and her name meant something in the Bratva world.
I have no way out of this situation, do I?
The damn marriage might be the only way I survive long enough to clear my name.
I sighed, my eyes on the stretch of bed in front of me, before speaking. “If I’m going to be doing this, I have two conditions.”
“Let’s hear it,” he said, not missing a beat.
“I want my belongings from my apartment. And then, I need my phone to contact my only friend in New York, Liza.”
He nodded. “I’ll arrange for your belongings. But the phone condition,” he shook his head from side to side. “No can do. Liza will be told once we’re in New York, and she’ll visit whenever she wants to.”
