At the end of the hall, the door is open. Another suited man steps out, nods to our escort, and then stands aside for us. “Mr. Kedrov is expecting you,” he says, and his accent is the same as the gray-eyed stranger in the bar.
My stomach twists into a knot, and I force my legs to continue through the doorway.
The office is big, but warmer than the lobby. A table-top lamp casts a yellow glow on a heavy wooden desk. Behind it, tall windows show a city view topped by a washed--out gray--blue sky. Heavy clouds hang low, waiting to release the rain they’re holding onto.
Off to the side, a couch and two chairs surround a coffee table. A man rise from the couch, and I recognize him as one of the older Bratva men who visited the Tankard a few nights ago. He’s dressed in a navy suit, a silk shirt, no tie. He looks like someone who’s already had a long day, not someone who’s about to ruin a life. But I know better.
Another man steps out from a side door I didn’t notice, and I freeze. It’s the gray-eyed guy who ordered the non-paint-thinner vodka.
He nods to me, like we’re friends or something, and then leans one shoulder against the door frame, crossing his arms. He’s in black again, wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show the sharp line of his forearms, which are coveredin ink. His hair is slightly messier than at the bar, like he’s been running a hand through it.
“Dad,” my voice shakes. “What’s going on?” I tear my eyes from the piercing gray eyes and look at my father. His face is flushed red, but before he can answer, the older man gestures to the couch and the chairs. “Sit,” he says with a smile. It’s not friendly.
Dad sits down on the couch and pets the material. “This is really nice, Mr. Kedrov, sturdy.” He looks up, his eyes darting all over the office. “Nice digs in general.”
The man ignores him as he keeps watching me, eyebrows raised.
I hesitate, then lower myself into a chair. Back straight, hands clasped in my lap, I perch on the edge.
“My name is Danyl Kedrov,” the man says, sitting down in the other chair. “You are Rose Morgan.” His blue eyes focus on my face with a scary intensity.
“Yes,” I say, feeling stupid for confirming my name. My voice is smaller than I want it to be.
He smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Let’s not waste time.” He slides a folder across the table toward me. “Read this now, if you like. Or wait. It doesn’t really matter when.”
I stare at the folder, clasping my hands together harder so I don’t have to touch it. Like that’s going to save me from whatever mess Dad has gotten himself into this time.
My father clears his throat. “I told you, Rosie, it’s just about a small debt. We’re restructuring the terms. New terms, maybe more time. I just need a cosigner”
“Is that what you told her?” Danyl asks him without looking away from me. “That’s not what this is about.”
Dad’s face tightens. “I was trying to make it easier?—”
“Make it easier,” Danyl interrupts, “by telling her the truth.”
The man leaning against the door frame shifts, and my gaze flicks to him. He’s still watching me, but his expression is guarded, unreadable.
“What… what’s going on?” I ask, and my voice wavers.
Danyl laces his fingers together. “Your father owes us money,” he says. “A lot of money. He has been delaying, racking up interest, making promises he never delivered on. We have been patient. Today, that ends.”
“That’s what I told you, Rosie,” Dad says quickly. “This is just a formality. You just have to sign this one?—”
Danyl holds up a hand, silencing my father without looking at him. Instead, he turns and gestures toward the gray-eyed man. “This is my cousin and valuable employee, Alexei Kedrov. You met him a few nights ago.”
Alexei gives me the faintest nod. His gaze is steady and heavy. I can’t tell if he’s assessing me or pitying me.
“My cousin needs a better immigration status,” Danyl says. “Work visas are… tricky and not enough for the type of work he does. He needs a marriage that satisfies the legal requirements for residency, ideally citizenship. For that, he needs a wife with no criminal record and an okay credit score. A believable story of how you met is a plus. Your dad does some jobs for my company. Alexei works for my company.” He shrugs. “It’s believable that you met at a company function.”
For a second, the words don’t connect.
Then they do, and my entire body breaks out in a clammy sweat.
“You’re saying…” My throat goes dry and I have to swallow. “You want me to marry him?” Alexei shifts again, clearing his throat, but he says nothing. I refuse to look at him.
“Yes,” Danyl says, as if he’s ordering coffee.
“No,” I say automatically.
