I see exactly what she is. What she needs.
"You're staring," Dimitri observes dryly.
"I'm deciding."
"Deciding what?"
I finally tear my gaze away from her, meeting my oldest friend's eyes. "How quickly I can make her mine."
***
Three days later, I sit across from Mikhail Reznikov in his study, watching sweat bead on his forehead as he realizes exactly how deep in shit he is.
"Five hundred thousand," I say calmly, spreading the paperwork across his desk. "With interest. Due in thirty days."
He's pale.Good."I can pay."
"No, you can't." I lean back in the chair, completely relaxed. This is my favorite part—watching desperate men realize they'refucked. "Your assets are mortgaged. Your accounts are empty. You've borrowed from everyone who'll lend to you, and they're all calling in their debts."
"I just need time—"
"You don't have time." I let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. Then I lean forward. "But I have an offer."
Hope flares in his bloodshot eyes. Pathetic. "Anything."
"Your daughter."
He blinks. "What?"
"Vera." I say her name slowly, savoring it. "Give her to me, and your debt is forgiven. All of it. Plus two hundred thousand cash and Bratva protection for your remaining family."
Understanding dawns slowly. He's drunk—he's always drunk—but he's not stupid enough to miss what I'm proposing. "You want to... you want Vera?"
"As my wife."
"She's eighteen."
"Legal." I slide another document across the desk. A betrothal contract, already prepared. "She marries me when she graduates university or when you die, whichever comes first. Until then, she's untouchable. Under my protection. Mine."
He stares at the contract like it's a snake. "I can't do that; she's my daughter."
"She's your only asset worth anything." I keep my voice flat, matter-of-fact. "And you have two choices. Sign this, and she becomes my wife. She will be protected, provided for, safe. Or don't sign, and my collectors come for what you owe. They'll take her anyway, Mikhail. They'll pass her around, use her up, and dump what's left in the street."
It's not entirely a lie.
Other men have already made comments about Reznikov's "pretty daughter." If I don't claim her, someone else will.Someone who won't cherish her the way I will. Someone who won't give her everything she needs.
Someone who won't love her with the single-minded obsession that's been eating me alive for the past three days.
"But if you sign," I continue, "she becomes a Bratva wife. My wife. Untouchable. Safe. And you die knowing you did one decent thing in your miserable life."
Mikhail's hand shakes as he reaches for the pen.
Smart man.
"She won't agree," he says weakly.
"She will." I lean back again, confident. "You'll make sure of it."
