I stopped about six feet away because six feet felt, right now, like the correct distance for what I needed to say. It seemed like the perfect distance that kept my voice level and my hands from doing something I’d regret.
“You arranged this while I slept,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You brought Isla here without my knowledge.”
“She’s your person,” he said. “You would want her here.”
“Don’t.” My voice came out quiet, which was worse than if it had come out loud because quiet meant I was further past the anger than shouting would have been. “Don’t tell me what I would want. You had men go to her apartment and collect her like a piece of furniture and bring her here, so this looks like,” I gestured at the flowers, the candles, the organization of the room, “you asked me. Like this was a choice.”
Viktor looked at me steadily. The morning light came through the balcony glass behind him and did nothing to soften him. “It is a choice.”
“You arranged my wedding while I was asleep in your house.”
“I arranged the structure that keeps you alive.” He said it without heat, without defense. “Sit down, Sofia.”
“I will not sit down.”
“Then stand.” He moved away from the balcony, toward the sitting area, and sat down. Something I recognized after a beat as deliberate—taking himself out of the height differential, removing the physical dominance from the conversation.
“Tell me,” I said.
“Cruz’s people escalated last night,” he said. “The men in your apartment were not the message. They were the demonstration. The message came through a separate channel to me, forty minutes after they left. Cruz knows you’re connected to me. He’s decided that connection makes you useful as leverage rather than loose as a liability.” He paused. “He’s moved his timeline up.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means time is now of the essence.” His eyes held mine. “The Bratva council was notified at 3 am. The registration has been filed. Mikhail has arranged witnesses. By tonight, the marriage is known across every relevant network on this Strip.” He stopped. “Cruz moves against my wife; he declares war on the Golovin family. He will not do that. He doesn’t have the resources for that war, and he knows it.”
I looked at the flowers. At a beautiful white arrangement near the window.
“You filed the registration,” I said, “before I agreed.”
“Yes.”
“You—” I stopped. Started again. “Viktor. I have not agreed to this. I have not said yes. I have not been asked, in any real sense, in any sense that a person rather than a chess piece would recognize as being asked.”
“You didn’t say no,” he said. “In my office. You left without saying no.”
“That was not consent.”
“I know.” He said it without apology, which was worse than if he had apologized. An apology would have been something to push against. Acknowledgment offered nothing to push against. “This is not about consent, Sofia. I understand that. I am telling you what is true: the registration is filed, the ceremony is today, and the protection it establishes is already moving into place. Cruz’s people will know by tonight. That is what keeps you alive.”
“And if I refuse.” I held his gaze. “If I walk out of this room and tell you that I will not put on that dress and I will not stand in front of whoever you’ve arranged and I will not—”
“The protection goes with the marriage,” he said. “Without it, you’re an unaffiliated civilian witness in a city where Cruz has now identified you and escalated his interest.” He didn’t look away. “You go back to your apartment, Sofia. You go back to your life. And Cruz’s people come back, and this time they’re not leaving a message.”
The room was quiet around us. Outside, Las Vegas conducted its daylight business without caring what happened inside this penthouse.
“Elena,” I said.
Something shifted in his face—minimal, barely visible, but there. “Yes.”
“If I refuse. If I walk out. What happens to Elena?”
“Elena is Mikhail’s,” he went on. “She is protected as long as Mikhail’s household is intact. If this situation destabilizes—if Cruz interprets my failure to contain you as weakness, if he decides to probe what else the Golovin operation has failed to secure—Mikhail’s household is not immune.” He said it carefully, each word placed precisely. “I am not threatening Elena. I am explaining that the structure that protects her is the same structure that protects you, and the structure requires this.”
“And Isla,” I pointed out. “You brought Isla here. Your men went to her apartment.”
