"Say whatever bullshit you've got. All at once." I frowned.
Sasha calmly assessed my expression before finally speaking. "Pakhan, while you control most of the real power, if the family's internal conflicts escalate, outside forces like Marchetti will definitely exploit the opening. Mr. Volkov had one point right... You might actually need a 'wife.'"
My face instantly darkened to its limit.
"I said my power doesn't need to hang on some woman's skirt!" I lowered my voice, each word grinding through my teeth.
"That's not what I mean." Sasha's tone remained steady, radiating absolute rationality. "You need a wife to shut up Mr. Volkov and the family elders, to help you weather this turbulent period smoothly. It can be a pure contractual transaction. Find a woman with a clean background who's easy to control and poses no threat to the family. Once the situation stabilizes completely, you can dissolve the arrangement anytime. It's just a layer of camouflage."
"I said no! Now get out and do your job!" I violently slammed the whiskey glass onto the desk with a deafening crash.
Sasha lowered his head and didn't insist. "Yes, Pakhan."
He turned toward the study door.
The study returned to deathly silence, only the antique clock on the wall ticking its monotonous rhythm.
I exhaled a long breath, reached up to rub my temples, trying to calm the violent blood coursing through me. My gaze inadvertently swept across the desktop.
That manila envelope containing the woman's file still lay untouched on the black walnut surface. The string around the opening hadn't been loosened. I didn't even know her name yet.
But the moment my eyes touched that motionless file, my mind inexplicably flashed to her red-rimmed eyes.
Her eyes had been full of shattered vulnerability, but her spine had been so straight—like a thorned rose refusing to bend in the storm.
"He ground my dignity into the dirt, all because I can't fit into a size zero dress..."
That damn, absurd coincidence jumped back into my head.
That waste Derek had also used the same excuse to abandon some poor woman who'd burned her youth on him a week before the wedding.
I had zero brotherly affection for Derek. I was disgusted by his revolting, opportunistic, utterly unprincipled behavior. He was just a defective copy rolling off the old man's assembly line.
I stared at that file, a restless impulse surging in my chest.
I didn't know who Derek's ex-fiancée was, but I could imagine that right now, she was probably just like this blue-eyed wildcat from the plane—hiding in some corner, bearing the humiliation and pain of being cast out by the entire world.
"Sasha."
My voice cut abruptly through the quiet study.
Sasha's hand was already on the brass doorknob. He stopped, turned around, looking at me with some confusion.
I didn't look at the file. Instead, I braced both hands on the desk edge, staring hard at some fixed point in the air.
"Prepare a card. Draw from my private account. Load a substantial amount. A hundred grand, or two hundred—your call."
"For whom?" Sasha was clearlytaken aback.
"Look up Derek's ex-fiancée—the one he just dumped—and find her account. You deliver the money personally." I spoke coldly, my tone carrying an obsession I couldn't explain even to myself.
Shock flashed through Sasha's eyes, but he smartly stayed silent.
"I don't want the old man's and Derek's disgusting tactics pushing an innocent person over the edge. Consider it... accumulating a bit of trivial karma for this rotten family." I waved my hand irritably, turned away, and stopped looking at him.
"As you wish, Pakhan."
With an extremely soft click, Sasha left the study. The room returned to silence.
