I don’t touch it.
“Her father’s debt is getting too high,” he says. “We’ve given him grace because of the jobs he’s done for us. We’ve restructured the loans, lowered the interest rates, but instead of making the payments, he keeps gambling.” He grimaces, the disgust over Rose’s father’s vices clear on his face. “But you know all this, already.”
I do know. I have seen the records and I’ve been to the meetings where the man negotiated for another extension. Every time he signed the papers, he promised it would be the last time. Promised that this time, he would make the payments on time. “And now?” I ask, silently wondering how many promises he’s broken to his daughter. If he’s stupid enough to lie to himself and to the Bratva, how much does he deceive his family?
“And now it stops. We have to make an example of him or we’ll look weak to our other customers and partners.” Danyl taps the folder. “Drew Morgan doesn’t have the funds to pay us back. His choices are broken bones, or a forgiven debt on the condition that Rosie Morgan marries you. You get your residency. Her father gets to keep his kneecaps, but we never loan him money again.”
I let out a rough sound that might be a laugh. “You think she will be happy to marry a Bratva enforcer she met only ones?”
“She will be happy not to watch debt collectors strip her father’s home,” he says calmly. “She will be happy not to visit her father’s hospital bed, or his grave.”
Anger flickers in my chest, quick and hot. Not at Danyl, but at the weak Drew and the situation. At the way the world works. At how easy it is to leverage love, especially when those we give it to don’t deserve it.
“She is not the one who borrowed,” I say.
“She’s his family,” Danyl replies. “The only collateral Drew has left.”
He isn’t wrong. That’s the worst part.
Images flash in my head uninvited. Rosie behind the bar, jaw set, wiping down the counter like she’s trying to scrub the entire world clean. Rosie’s hand brushing mine when she gave me the vodka. The way she straightened when I mentioned walking her home, defiance and fear warring on her face.
Mine.The word slides through my thoughts like a blade, and warmth spreads through my chest.
I cut it off.
“This is not a…normal marriage,” I say carefully.
Danyl snorts. “You were never going to have a normal marriage, cousin.”
True.
Men like me do not get white picket fences and couples’ vacations, and shared Netflix accounts. We get women who understand discretion and the value of cash. Once upon a time, that was also Danyl’s life.
As if on cue, there’s a gentle knock. The office door opens, and Liza stands in the doorway, hair in a messy braid, a smear of flour on one cheek. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Her feet are bare.
She looks at Danyl first, and her whole face lights up. “Hey,” she says, smiling. “I made lemon bars. Do you want some?”
The hardness melts off Danyl’s whole body. His shoulders lower and his eyes brighten. “In a minute,milaya,” he says. “We’re talking business.”
She nods and her eyes flick to me with easy warmth. “Hi, Alexei.”
“Evening,” I say.
“You sure you don’t want some before they get cold?” she asks Danyl, teasing. “You complain when the glaze hardens.”
He huffs, but he’s smiling. “Bring two pieces. And some tea.”
“Yes, boss.” She gives a small salute, then disappears down the hall, bare feet padding on the hardwood.
Silence again. The air feels different.
I watch the door for a second longer, then look back at Danyl. He’s still smiling faintly, but then catches me looking. “What?” he asks, trying to wipe the smile off his lips, but they still quirk.
“Nothing,” I say.
He studies me. “You think I have gone soft.”
“I think you have something most men like us do not,” I say. “I think you should not assume I can have the same.”
