"You can't be serious." She takes a step back, her hand moving instinctively to her stomach where our child grows. "You think you can just buy me? Trade my sister's life for my compliance?"
"I'm not buying you." I force myself to remain still, to project the calm authority that has kept me alive for two decades. "I'moffering you protection. Legitimacy. A name for our child that means something in this world."
"It means you're a criminal." Her voice shakes with barely controlled rage. "It means our baby will grow up knowing their father kills people for a living."
The accusation should sting, but I've heard worse. I've been called worse by people who matter far less than this woman standing before me, pregnant and furious and so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
"Yes," I say simply. "But they'll also grow up protected. Safe. With resources most people can't even imagine."
"I don't want your blood money." She wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that puts another barrier between us. "I want my sister alive and my life back."
"Your old life is already gone." The brutal honesty makes her flinch, but she needs to hear it. "The tabloids are destroying your reputation. Your business is suffering. And when the pregnancy leaks, which it will, you'll be painted as the gold digger who trapped a billionaire with a baby."
Her face goes pale, and I see the moment reality crashes over her like a wave. She knows I'm right. She's smart enough to understand the game being played, even if she hates the rules.
"Marriage changes the narrative," I continue, pressing my advantage. "You become my fiancée, then my wife. The mother of my child. Untouchable."
"Owned." The word looks like it tastes bitter on her tongue. "That's what you mean. I become your property."
"You become myfamily." I take a calculated risk and close the distance between us, my hand lifting to cup her jaw. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, her pulse hammering visibly in her throat. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Her dark eyes search mine, looking for deception, for the trap she knows must be hidden in this offer. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're using my sister's life to force me into a cage."
"I'm using your sister's life to keep you both alive." My thumb brushes across her lower lip, and I feel the tremor that runs through her body. "Matvey Ignatyev is circling. The blackmailer is still out there. And now Maya's loan shark has been selling information about you to God knows who. You need protection, Aria. Real protection. The kind that comes with my name and my ring."
She closes her eyes, and I watch a single tear slide down her cheek. The sight of it makes something crack in my chest, guilt mixing with the triumph of knowing I've won.
"I hate you right now," she whispers.
"I know." I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers, breathing in the scent of her hair. "But you'll forgive me eventually. Because deep down, you know this is the only way to keep everyone safe."
Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her like water through a sieve. When she opens her eyes again, they're filled with resignation that looks too much like defeat.
"Yes." The word is barely audible, but it might as well be a shout for how it reverberates through my chest. "I'll marry you."
I should feel victorious. I've secured what I wanted, bound her to me in a way that will satisfy the Bratva council and protect our child. Instead, I feel like I've just broken something precious, something I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repair.
"I need to handle something," I say, stepping back before I do something stupid like apologize. "Cyril will stay with you. Don't leave the house."
"Where are you going?" Her voice is flat, emotionless.
"To deal with Cane Harris."
Understanding flashes across her face, followed by something that might be satisfaction. Good. She should want the bastard to pay for what he's done.
I find Cyril in the hallway, his gray eyes assessing me with uncomfortable accuracy. He knows what just happened, what I just demanded of her. His expression remains neutral, but I see the question lurking beneath.
"She agreed," I say, answering what he hasn't asked.
"And the loan shark?"
"I'm handling it personally." I check the gun holstered at my hip, the familiar weight a comfort. "Keep her here. Safe."
He nods once, sharp and final, then disappears back toward the living room where Aria waits. I take the stairs two at a time, my mind already shifting into the cold calculation required for what comes next.
The drive to the industrial district passes in a blur of traffic and red lights that test my patience. Cane Harris operates out of a warehouse near the docks, the kind of place where screams gounnoticed and blood washes away with the morning rain. My men have been watching him for days, cataloging his routines, his security, his weaknesses. He has plenty of the latter.
I park in the alley behind the building and enter through the back door that my advance team left unlocked. The interior reeks of mold and desperation, cheap cologne failing to mask the stench of fear that clings to these walls. Cane's office occupies the second floor, accessed by a metal staircase that groans under my weight.
