Page 22 of His Contract Queen

Aleksandr stands with two of his lieutenants—all three of them alert and dressed for the cold weather outside. Heavy coats are pulled tight around their bulky frames, gloves shoved over fingers. Their shoulders are squared as though expecting a confrontation rather than a conversation.

Even as they speak quietly, all three are drifting toward the front doors with purpose. Their movements are coordinated in that effortless way men trained like them tend to move. My eyes dart left toward the tall windows lining the foyer. The glass panes reveal only darkness beyond to a pitch-black night.

It’s so late.

Why is he leaving at this hour?

He’s rarely visible after dinner, but I’ve never seen him leave the property after dark. It’s certainly strange… and to also be surrounded by his inner circle like this? What happens in his world that can only be handled in the dead of night?

“That’s all I know at the moment,” Aleksandr is saying, his tone clipped with authority. “Though I’m sure there will be much more discussed once I’m there. Sokolov has a habit of being tight-lipped whenever he decides to grace me with a phone call.”

“One would think he’d share what has already been decided on,” one of his lieutenants, the one with the darker blond hair, replies. “Seeing as how the four of you need to be in agreement before any decision is passed.”

“Yes, onewouldthink,” Aleksandr drawls back.

The second lieutenant sighs heavily. “I don’t get it. What’s the point in Malyshko’s secrecy? Shouldn’t you all be coming to the table informed?”

“One would think,” Aleksandr repeats, this time with the faintest hint of boredom.

A shiver of unease twists down my spine.

I’m missing something important.

Something vital.

This isn’t small talk. These aren’t routine logistics being discussed, by the sounds of it. These names—Sokolov, Malyshko—they’re part of something bigger, something that goes deeper than mere territory disputes that can be settled with threats and bribery. These are the kinds of facts my father sent me here to uncover.

I should be terrified.

Iam.

But more than that, I am desperate to know what is happening.

Unfortunately, I can’t exactly follow him wherever he’s going… not unless I somehow weasel my way into the car with him. Is that even possible? Does marriage grant me any kind of leverage?

Aleksandr reaches the door first. His hand extends for the handle.

Fuck it. I have to at least try.

Before logic can scream at me to retreat, I step out from my hiding spot and into the open doorway. Two sets of eyes snap tome instantly, both lieutenants reaching for their weapons in the same heartbeat. The motion is swift and shockingly coordinated.

Aleksandr is the last to turn, not doing so until he sees his men bristling. He freezes faintly, then turns fully, his hand slipping away from the door handle the second he recognizes me.

“Well,” he says, voice dripping with bemusement, “out for another late-night stroll? I thought we talked about this.”

I scramble for an excuse,anyexcuse that doesn’t involve admitting I was eavesdropping again. If he catches me doing that twice, he will absolutely punish me. And if he does it in front of his men? It’ll be even worse. Panic makes my thoughts scatter like startled birds.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I want you to take me to see my father.”

He stares at me for a long moment, completely bewildered. “What?”

Fuck.

Why did I say that?

“I miss him. I want to see him.”

Aleksandr turns back toward the windows agonizingly slowly with the most blatant mockery I’ve ever witnessed. He stares pointedly out into the pitch-black night, then equally slowly turns back to face me again.