"And the Petrovics?"
"They know too. Branko is... not pleased."
"Define 'not pleased.'"
"He put three bullets in one of his own men this morning. Apparently, the man suggested they find a different bride." Gleb's voice was carefully neutral. "He's fixated on her. Has been since Cormac first proposed the match. This isn't just business for him anymore."
I filed that information away, adding it to the threat assessment I was building in my head. A rational enemy was predictable. An obsessed one was dangerous.
"What are they planning?"
"Nothing concrete yet. But they're talking. Cormac and old man Petrovic had a call last night that lasted two hours. Whatever they're cooking up, it's going to be ugly."
"Keep me informed."
"Always."
I hung up and stared at my phone, thinking about Branko Petrovic putting bullets in his own people because he couldn't have the woman he wanted. Thinking about Keira, three rooms away, unaware of how close she'd come to belonging to a monster like that.
She'd made the right choice. Even if she didn't fully believe it yet.
The call with my brothers came at seven. Demyan was calm, analytical, already three steps ahead in his planning. Kirill was cold, focused, asking questions that cut straight to the tactical heart of the situation.
"The Petrovics won't accept this," Kirill said. "You've taken something they consider theirs. They'll want to make an example."
"Let them try."
"This isn't bravado, Rodion. This is a strategy. What's your security posture?"
"Yegor has a full team on the building. No one gets in or out without my knowledge. I've got men watching the approaches, the garage, the service entrances. She's safe here."
"For now. But you can't keep her locked in a tower forever. Eventually, she'll need to move, to be seen. That's when they'll strike."
"I'm aware."
"Are you?" Kirill's voice sharpened slightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've painted a target on your back to protect a woman you barely know. A woman whose family has every reason to want us dead."
"She's not her family."
"You've said that."
Demyan cut in before I could respond. "What's done is done. The marriage is legal, public. We can't undo it, and arguing about whether it was wise is pointless." A pause. "The question now is how we protect our position. Kirill, what do you recommend?"
"Strength. Visibility. Make it clear that any move against Rodion or his wife is a move against all of us." Kirill's voice was flat, emotionless. "The Petrovics respect power. If we show weakness, they'll exploit it. If we show unity, they'll think twice."
"Agreed," Demyan said. "I'll reach out to our allies, make sure everyone knows where we stand. Kirill, can you come to New York?"
"I'll be there tonight."
"Good. Rodion—keep her close. Keep her safe. And keep us informed."
"I will."
The call ended, and I sat in the silence of my study, thinking about what Kirill had said. A target on my back. He wasn't wrong. I'd made myself vulnerable in a way I never had before, and for what? A woman I'd known for three weeks? A connection I couldn't explain or justify?
But when I thought about the alternative—Keira in Branko Petrovic's hands, Keira broken and used and discarded—the calculation became simple. Some risks were worth taking.
I heard movement in the hallway. Soft footsteps, hesitant. She was awake.
