I nod once. There's nothing else to say.
At the door, his voice stops me.
"Dmitri." I turn. He looks smaller against those massive pillows. "She's worth fighting for. But only if you're willing to fight dirty."
I am.
I always have been.
The elevator climbs to the thirty-fifth floor. My reflection stares back from the polished doors. Controlled expression, not a single crack in the mask. This is how a pakhan presents himself. Calm. Measured. Strategic.
Inside, I'm anything but.
Pietro's secretary announces my arrival through the intercom. The double doors to his office swing open, and I step into the lion's den.
Pietro Sartori sits behind a massive desk, dark wood and polished steel. The windows behind him frame the city. His brother Nico leans against the wall to my left, arms crossed, watching me.
"Baganov." Pietro gestures to the chair across from him. "You insisted this couldn't wait."
"It couldn't." I settle into the leather seat, letting the silence stretch for exactly three seconds. Long enough to establish I'm not nervous. Short enough to show respect. "Word has reached me that your family is arranging a marriage for your sister."
Nico pushes off the wall. "And why exactly are you bringing this here?"
His tone carries an edge. Suspicion wrapped in challenge. The third Sartori brother—the one who watches, calculates, trusts no one. I've done my research. Nico runs numbers and construction, but his real value lies in that brain. He sees threats before they materialize.
Right now, he sees me as one.
I don't rise to the bait. At home, in my own territory, I might let my irritation show. Here, surrounded by men who would happily put a bullet in my skull if I threatened their princess? I keep my voice level. Pleasant, even.
"I'm bringing this here because my family is open to a marriage between our houses." I let the words land, watching both brothers process them. "The Baganov Bratva would consider an alliance through marriage to be mutually beneficial."
Nico's jaw tightens. "You're Russian. We're Italian. That's not how things work."
"Tradition." I smile, and it's not a kind expression. "Tell me, Nico, which Italian families in Chicago would you trust with your sister?"
We all know the answer. The Corellis tried to destroy them months ago. The other Italian families are either too weak to matter or too treacherous to trust. Snakes, every last one of them.
Nico's mouth closes. His fingers tap against his bicep—once, twice—then stop.
I turn to Pietro.
The Don studies me.
"You're serious about this," Pietro says. Not a question.
"I don't waste time on things I'm not serious about."
"My sister isn't a business transaction."
"I never said she was."
Pietro's eyes narrow. "Then what exactly are you saying, Baganov?"
I lean forward slightly. Just enough to show I'm engaged, not enough to appear aggressive. "I'm saying that your family needs allies you can trust. The Baganov Bratva has proven ourselves reliable partners. Our interests align. Our enemies overlap."
"You've met Vittoria exactly twice in formal settings."
Three times, I don't say. And the second time, I had my tongue in her mouth.
