1
ALEKSEI
I have closedbillion-dollar deals with nothing but a handshake and a smile, but the news on the table right now almost knocks the breath from my lungs.
My grandfather’s attorney, a thin man with nervous eyes, slides a thick folder across the polished boardroom table. “You understand the terms, Mr. Vasiliev?”
I let out a slow breath, scanning the document, my jaw tight. “My grandfather’s estate. What is this—some kind of joke?”
He doesn’t flinch. “It’s binding. You have to be married. With a child. Within twelve months. Or the inheritance goes to your cousin.”
A sharp laugh escapes me, humorless. “So, I’m supposed to find a wife, seduce her, and produce an heir… on a clock?”
“Those are the terms.” His voice is soft, apologetic. “Your grandfather wanted to ensure his legacy.”
I lean back, staring out at the Manhattan skyline beyond the glass. Below me, the city pulses with life fueled by ambition, greed, and hunger.
I know all about hunger.
I let my head thunk against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling, as if a solution might be hiding up there in the gilded moldings. Next to me, Ilya—my best friend since childhood, my Harvard-educated legal counsel, and the only man alive who can drink me under the table—flips through the stack of papers with a smirk. Of course he’s enjoying this.
“Tell me this is a joke,” I say, only half kidding. “Did Dedushka actually pay a lawyer to write this? Is this… performance art?”
Ilya’s lips twitch. “If it is, it’s very high concept.” He snorts, and begins reading aloud. “Clause 4b: ‘Said heir must be of Vasiliev blood, born in wedlock, and not, I repeat, not the result of scientific interference, petri dish, or other unholy methods.’” He looks up, deadpan. “No cloning yourself. Sorry, mate.”
I glare at the attorney, who suddenly finds his fingernails extremely interesting. “So. You’re my legal expert, Ilya. Surely you can find me a way out. The old man loved loopholes.”
Ilya closes the folder with a satisfying snap. “Unfortunately for you, Aleksei, this is tighter than your grandmother’s handshake. You want the inheritance, you play by the rules.”
I groan. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder, not even trying to hide his laughter. “Look at the bright side. At least you’ll finally stop scaring away every woman you meet with your existential rants and your—what was it—‘smoldering ennui’?”
“Smoldering ennui is a sign of depth,” I counter. But he’s already texting someone.
“Yeah, well, I’m here because I care for you, and also for the fact that my firm is charging you by the hour,” he says, still typing.
“You are,” I say drily.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ll have one of the senior partners take another look at this.”
But I don’t miss the look on his face. There’s no getting out of this.
“Any other gems in there?” I ask, nodding at the contract, as if I haven’t already memorized every clause. Years of reading the fine print, and it’s this—thisabsurdity—that outsmarts me.
Ilya shrugs, flipping to the signature page. “You must marry within a week. Produce an heir within a year. Maintain a ‘respectable public image’—your grandfather underlined that, twice. I assume that means no more boxing matches with rival CEOs, no more disappearing to Saint Petersburg for weeks without telling anyone.”
I snort. “If he didn’t want a scandal, he shouldn’t have started a Bratva dynasty.”
Ilya grins, tossing the pen onto the table. “You need a woman who can handle you, Vasiliev. Someone who’ll say yes to a marriage of convenience, keep quiet, and give you an heir without falling in love with your money… or your enemies.”
My headache pulses behind my eyes. “And where do I find such a mythical creature? Is there a catalog?”
He spreads his hands. “You’re the boss. Maybe ask your assistant to make a list. Oh, wait—never mind. You fired your last one for eavesdropping.”
I let out a humorless laugh. The silence stretches, broken only by the hum of the boardroom lights and the distant sounds of Moscow waking up. In one week, my life has to become… presentable. Respectable. And legally binding.
Ilya stands, straightens his jacket, and leans in, dropping his voice. “Listen, Aleksei. You might hate this, but you’re not alone. I’ll help where I can. But the rest is on you.” He flashes a wicked smile. “You’d better start interviewing. Fast.”
