“She’s twenty-three,” he answered, a small grin playing on the corners of his lips. “My wife was two years younger when I married her.”
My eyes flicked to the giant portrait of Artem and Sierra hanging on the wall behind him. They looked good together. But up until now, I still hadn’t been able to understand how Sierra managed to steal my Pakhan’s heart of stone.
Back to the matter at hand.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Would you like me to recommend one of my cousins to marry the old man’s granddaughter?”
He dragged on his cigarette. “That won’t be necessary. I already found the perfect man for that.” He locked eyes with me.
I locked my jaw and stroked my chin. “Come on…you can’t be serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am.”
I leaned in, elbows on the table. “I would do anything for the Bratva—and you know that. But this…this is—”
“Something that would benefit the Bratva,” he cut me off, his tone calm and composed. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “I know how you feel about settling down, but I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important.”
I let out a soft sigh and leaned back in my chair. “Anything you say, Boss. The Bratva comes first.”
“Good.”
Orders were orders, and they should be followed. Not questioned. It didn’t matter what I wanted; my first obligation was to the organization that I’d sworn to serve.
The idea of marriage was hard to process, especially because I wasn’t ready for any sort of commitment. In my mind, I was thinking of ways to keep this woman at arm’s length. I needed to make this union a transaction and nothing more.
The women of this generation were spoiled, entitled, and stubborn as hell. Especially those born into a family like the Beaumonts. Whoever the fuck this young woman was, I was certain that she was going to be a pain in my ass.
At this point in my life, the last thing I needed was another liability, someone to cater to and provide all their needs. I’d been loyal to the brotherhood since my youth, burying emotions to survive in a world where love and affection were weaknesses.
Well, anyway, nobody said anything about love.
Later that evening, after I was done with Pakhan Artem, I decided to stop by one of the city’s high-end restaurants to cool off.
I stood on the edge of the flat rooftop, under the celestial canvas, staring blankly into space. The city sprawled beneath me, a sea of twinkling lights that stretched to the horizon.
The cool night air brushed against my face while I smoked in silence. My mind was reeling with the different ways to handle this marriage situation without making it obvious that I was repulsed by the idea.
I watched neon lights flicker like fireflies as the distant wailing of sirens filled the air.
“Thinking about your upcoming wedding?” a familiar voice teased. “You should, because it’s gonna be a big day.”
I glanced at the speaker, a tall man walking up to me with quiet footsteps and a corny smirk.
It was Artur Tarasov, my younger brother.
“You know, a part of me wishes you were the one summoned, not me,” I said, dragging on my cigarette.
He laughed lightly and tapped my shoulder. “If only wishes were horses.”
“Fuck you.”
Artur chuckled, fingers combing through his ash-brown hair. “Congratulations, brother. You’re about to be a husband.”
Husband.
The title alone made my face twist into a faint scowl as my gaze swept across the city beneath me.
“Don’t sweat it,” he added, his voice tinged with a hint of mockery. “She just might be the best thing that’s happened to you.”
