"I missed you too," I whispered. "Even when I couldn't afford to."
Then her eyes looked past me and landed on Artem. The terror rushed back in. Her whole body tensed, and she pulled me slightly behind her. It was instinctive, ridiculous, a girl with a blanket trying to shield me from the Pakhan of the Petrov Bratva.
"Dad made a deal with them," she said, voice shaking but still fighting. "I was supposed to marry Artem. An alliance. McCarthy routes into America, Petrov routes through Europe." She swallowed. "But he refused."
She looked at me, and I could see the pieces clicking.
"He refused," she repeated, slower now, "because he had an omega."
I turned.
Artem was still on the porch, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn't look like a Bratva boss. He looked tired and, for the first time since I'd met him, completely unsure of his footing.
"You refused the McCarthy alliance," I said. My voice wasn't quite working. "And now your side is demanding you secure it."
He held my gaze. "I told my father I wouldn’t buy a bride. And I told him I wouldn’t bind myself to a woman when I already knew who I wanted."
The anger I'd been running on for the last ten minutes just stopped.
He hadn't brought Mary here to replace me. He'd refused the most powerful alliance in Europe. Because of me.
“Why is she here?”
“To protect her.”
“To protect her,” I parroted. "Then why the wedding?" I asked.
"Yuri is contesting succession," Ivan said from the doorway. "The council gave Artem one month to prove he'd secured the alliance. If he can't, they’ll strip London and probably kill us."
Mary was still clutching my hand. "Artem came to me tonight. Offered a deal. Fake wedding for the council. In exchange, I get a new identity, passport, enough money to vanish so Dad can never find me."
My father.
Cold settled in my stomach. He'd sold me, and the second I was gone, he'd moved on to the spare. We were never daughters. We were currency.
"I asked him why he didn't just marry you," Mary said, looking at Artem now with something between awe and fear. "He said you weren't ready. He said he wouldn't use you as a pawn."
As I stared at Artem, tears stung my eyes.
Ten minutes ago I'd screamed at him, compared him to the monster who broke me, bared my scar and my trauma and accused him of doing the same thing. He'd taken it. Dropped to his knees on a marble staircase. Held me and never once defended himself.
He was willing to risk everything to give me time.
"Artem," I breathed, holding my hand out to him.
He strode to me and pulled a hand from his pocket, brushed his knuckles against my cheek. "I swore no one would ever force you again. I meant it."
I leaned into his hand and closed my eyes. The weight of what he was doing for me, for Mary, pressed against my chest.
Then I opened my eyes. "No. I can’t let you."
Artem's brow furrowed. "I know—"
"You aren't marrying my sister, Artem." My voice was steadier than I felt. The fear that had run me for years was still there, but something else had shouldered past it and it was fiercer, and hotter, and I was very, very done with being quiet.
He nodded.
I stepped into his space, both hands flat against his chest. His heart was hammering under my palms. "Because you're marrying me."
