“She redesigned our entire penthouse last year,” Vasily adds, the pride in his voice reminding me of someone showing off a prize dog at Westminster. “Architectural Digestwanted to feature it, but we value our privacy.”
Varvara ducks her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “It really wasn’t that impressive.”
“Don’t be modest,” Irina chides. “In New York, there are so many opportunities. So many people who appreciate real talent. Perhaps Kirill knows people who might need her services?”
My father jumps in before I can answer that no one I associate with gives a shit about interior design features in glossy magazines.
“I’m sure he could make some introductions. Kirill has excellent connections in the city.”
I set my fork down carefully. “You’re moving to New York?”
“She is,” Vasily says, exchanging a very obvious look with my father. “We’ve been looking at properties in Manhattan. Somewhere close to the cultural centers, the museums. A young woman of her education and background needs the right connections, not to mention, needs to be on the arm of the right man.”
The pieces are coming together, but I don’t like the picture they’re forming. A slow, brutal throb builds at my temples and spreads outward.
It’s been a hell of a day. This morning I left Evelina locked in a bedroom while my men dig into her real identity. After, I went to Velour to handle business, and Oksana cornered me within five minutes asking where Evelina was, why wasn’t she answering her phone, was everything okay. I told her Evelinahad to fly home to deal with a family situation, which only made Oksana more suspicious.
Spent the rest of the afternoon analyzing the Ghost’s latest hit on the Irish docks, hunting for a pattern in the chaos, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the pretty captive who makes me want to burn down everything just to see what she’d look like in the flames.
And now I’m here, watching Varvara Morozova smile politely while her parents negotiate her future like she’s a business asset they’re trying to move.
“Kirill.” My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s staring at me with the look that says pay attention. “Vasily and I have been discussing a deeper partnership between our families. More than just business arrangements. Something that would tie our interests together in a more permanent way.”
The wine turns sour in my mouth.
They’re talking like terms have already been agreed on, like I’m just here to smile and nod. My hands tighten around my fork.
“Managing family business while dealing with security threats is stressful,” Vasily continues, his tone conversational but his eyes hawk-like. “I’m sure we could help you with those challenges … if our families were properly aligned.”
My mouth curls in distaste. Ruslan’s been running his mouth about the Ghost to these people? He thinks we need their help? Guess he isn’t that confident in me after all.
This dinner isn’t about shipping routes or supply chains or whatever product they keep talking about moving from Russia to here; it’s all a bullshit excuse to introduce me to the woman my father wants me to marry.
“That’s why strong partnerships matter,” my father says smoothly. “Why the right alliances matter when we’re lookingtoward the next generation. The kind of bond that secures a legacy.”
He lifts his wine glass and looks directly at me, then at Varvara, the meaning so clear he might as well have announced our engagement over the entrée.
Vasily raises his glass in response. Irina follows. Varvara hesitates, then lifts hers with trembling hands.
I don’t move a muscle.
I have ten days left. Ten days to prove I can catch the Ghost and save Katya from being married off to Elio. And here he is, toasting to my future with Varvara Morozova like it’s already decided.
Like he never believed I’d succeed in the first place.
Hours ago he stood in my penthouse and told me he had faith in me. That this was my chance to prove I was ready to lead. That he trusted me to handle the Ghost situation.
It was all bullshit. He was already planning this dinner. Already negotiating terms with the Morozovs. Already deciding who I’d marry while pretending to give me a fair shot.
“To new beginnings,” my father says, this time with an icy edge, still holding his glass up, waiting for me to play along.
Fuck that.
I push my chair back. The legs scrape against the floor, loud in the sudden silence.
“I have to go,” I say.
Vasily’s smile wipes off his face while Irina drops her hand to the table, her rings clicking against the china. Varvara stares at her plate like she’s trying to disappear into it.
