“You should be used to autocratic men,” Kirill said finally. “You’re surrounded by them.”
“Why do you think I moved to DC?”
“Aren’t there the same men there?”
“Well, yes, but they’re frequently the so-called facilitators who answer to men like you—the men with the actual power and who hold the purse strings. They don’t give me much of a headache because they can be reasoned with given the right incentive.” A euphemism for bribe or blackmail.
“Is that why your boyfriends are the hipsters who embrace saving the environment and world peace?” he scoffed.
I wasn’t surprised he’d done a thorough inspection of my background. I did date a doctor who volunteered for Doctors Without Borders.
“If you must know, I love green-flag men who care about people other than themselves. My marriage is quite out of character, but if I can use your power for the greater good, then I’m all for it.”
“Such a sacrifice.” Kirill cast me a brief glance before making a turn onto the street where the Marriage Ink building was. “Butyou’re marrying me to save your own skin. Who's the selfish one now?”
“It’s mutually assured destruction, so can we just circle back to that clause in the prenup about my work?”
“So you agree not to pick up any work that would conflict with bratva business?”
“Yes.” That would mean I couldn’t accept any fixer jobs from the bratva’s political or business adversaries. Blackmail was a popular MO in organized crime. For example, sending a sex worker to seduce a politician to catch them in compromising situations. Deep fakes. Faked audio. I frequently butted heads with criminal organizations when rescuing a client’s reputation. Frequently, I negotiated a payoff, but sometimes I dug up counter-information that could expose the blackmailer. Yes. It could be dangerous, and yes there were instances when Dom had to step in so I wouldn’t get whacked. But hey, I loved living on the edge, and becoming one of my brother’s intermittent headaches if only to prove my disdain for organized crime.
“Then we’re good. I’ll get on your calendar with enough heads-up,” Kirill deadpanned.
“That will be appreciated,” I responded dryly.
It was tempting to crack a joke about putting sex on the calendar, but I was hesitant because I wasn’t sure what kind of marriage we were going to have. My reaction to him this morning clearly showed we could have chemistry, and he did so without effort!
Mamma’s words about seduction made me smile. I’d always been a bookworm, and I always presented myself with polished professionalism to be taken seriously, but sometimes I leaned into my looks to catch a person’s attention. I never went the sultry diva route, but more of the subtle elegance of the well-bred elite. The right clothes, the right language, even the righthairstyle. I had a feeling that it was the reason Kirill had selected me for this marriage.
We reached Margo Winthrop’s building. An old Georgian revival with a massive wedding cake in the display window. I heard rumors that the print shop wasn’t only for printing wedding paraphernalia but counterfeit money as well.
Kirill parked the Porsche by the main entrance and helped me out of the vehicle. Sato was Kirill’s own personal valet, actually, and drove off to find parking.
Like earlier, he laced our fingers together. My reaction to him still unnerved me, but I also drew relief from the fact that I wouldn’t recoil in horror when consummation was brought up. Consummation in the prenup referred to staying married for a year before the Amalfi Coast properties would be transferred in my name. The reference to joint custody of offspring clearly signified that this marriage wasn’t in name only.
Suddenly, I was steaming in my summer-friendly suit.
Kirill glanced down at me while we waited at the reception area. “You okay? You’re sweating and flushed.”
I glared at his cool-as-a-cucumber appearance. Not a bead of sweat graced his forehead, and he was wearing a suit. Maybe ice ran in his veins.
“Maybe I’m suffering from early menopause,” I said sweetly. But my hypoglycemia also did this. I longed for the protein bar in my purse.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You’re twenty-seven.”
“So? It’s been known to happen.”
His eyes broke their iciness and gleamed with predatory vibes. “That won’t do, Lucy. I intend to put many babies inside you.”
“Oh my God,” I said with a burst of nervous laughter. “You did not just say that.”
The back of his hand caressed my cheek. “That’s why you’re flushed. You’re attracted to me.”
“If you’re implying I’m in heat…” I seethed.
And then something unexpected happened.
Kirill grinned. His eyes reflected humor, and a chuckle escaped his lips.
