I should have kept thinking about the logistics of the perimeter.
Instead, my traitorous mind kept dragging me back to several months ago. To the night I’d met Mila for the first time, the night Anya’s car broke down.
I had stepped out to meet Anya and her friend, the only thought on my mind being to rescue the girls as a big brother should. But then Anya introduced her, and I saw her. Really sawher. I saw the beauty in those warm eyes and the delicate yet strong aura around her.
She saw me, too. And she didn’t flinch. Not even when I had snapped and called my sister a brat in Russian.
“Alexei,” she had whispered.
Just my name. But the way she said it—soft, breathless, like a secret she was finally allowed to tell—had done something to my internal architecture. It had vibrated in my chest, a low-frequency hum that hadn’t stopped since. Under that falling snow, she hadn’t looked at me as a Lobanov heir or a monster in a suit. She had looked at me as a man.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, the memory shifting, darkening into fantasy.
I began to imagine what it would be like when the doors were finally locked. When the “contract” was signed, the world shut out. I imagined the weight of her body against mine, the way those hazel eyes would look when the defiance finally melted into something else. Possession. It was a word I understood. I wanted to see her chestnut hair spread across my pillow. I wanted to know if her skin was as soft as it looked, or if the fire in her spirit made burn to the touch.
My hand clenched on the arm of the chair.
“Get a grip, Alexei,” I hissed into the empty room.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. Dimitri entered before I could answer, followed by my cousins, Viktor and Konstantin.
The air in the room changed instantly. The heat of my thoughts was replaced by the cold, biting reality of the Bratva. Viktor, as the Pakhan, carried an aura of absolute authority that made the shadows in the corners seem to deepen. Konstantin, as always, looked like he was vibrating with a need to break something.
“Report,” Viktor commanded, sitting in the leather chair opposite my desk.
“Moretti is moving,” I said, my voice returning to its professional clip. “They’ve been spotted near the docks. He’s looking for a vulnerability. He knows the wedding is a move, but he doesn’t know how fast we’re pulling the trigger.”
“The timing is perfect,” Konstantin said, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “We do it now, publicly. We invite the heads of the other families. We turn the wedding into a fortress. If Enzo strikes during the ceremony, he strikes at all of them. He’ll be erased before the sun goes down.”
Viktor nodded, his eyes fixed on mine. “Tying the Petrov girl to us publicly is a weapon, Alexei. It tells the world that the Lobanovs do not hand over what is theirs. It makes her untouchable by law and by blood. The Morettis will have to back down or face total annihilation.”
“A weapon and a shield,” I murmured.
“Exactly,” Viktor said. “But are you ready for the blowback? This isn’t just a tactical marriage. You are bringing a rogue element into the heart of the family. If she breaks, or if she betrays us—”
“She won’t,” I interrupted, the words out of my mouth before I could weigh them. “I’ll handle her. She’s under my watch.”
Konstantin smirked. “You seem very certain, cousin. But you should remember that I know Mila. She didn’t look particularly ‘handled’ in the study earlier today. She looked like she wanted to spit on your grave.”
I didn’t want to break her. I wanted to harness her. “The marriage will proceed as planned. Dimitri, double the guards on the west wing. I want a man at her door, a man under her window, and a sniper on the roof of the chapel. If a bird flies too close to her, I want to know about it.”
Dimitri nodded. “Consider it done. I’ve already moved the armored convoy to the front. We move at dawn.”
Viktor stood, signaling the end of the meeting. He paused at the door, looking back at me with a gaze that saw too much. “Don’t forget the primary objective, Alexei. This is about the family. It is about the empire. Do not let the girl become a distraction.”
“She is a strategy,” I said, my voice low. “Nothing more.”
He held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and left, Konstantin, following with a lingering, knowing grin.
The room was silent again.
I stood up and walked to the window, looking out toward the west wing.
Strategy.
I repeated the word in my head like a mantra.
I was doing this to save her life. I was doing this to protect the Lobanov interests. I was doing this because it was the most efficient way to neutralize the Moretti threat. It was a contract written in blood and ink, a move on a chessboard that spanned the entire city.
