Page 114 of His Stolen Bride

“Alive?” I ask.

“Yes,” she replies, like it annoys her.

“Good,” I say. “Bring him.”

She grins, sharp and pleased, and disappears.

I don’t sit back and let the machine coast. Vladimir ran a syndicate built on contracts and fear. That structure breaks clean when you pull the right bolts out. I’ve already pulled most of them. Drivers. Coordinators. Warehouse keys. Customs contacts. The men who touch paper and pallets. The men who don’t get photographed in suits.

They don’t want a new king. They want predictable.

So I give them rules, clear ones. Enzo’s phone buzzes again. He glances down and his face stays blank. “Odessa wants a word.”

“Let them wait,” I say.

He hesitates. “They’re calling it a provocation.”

“Everything is a provocation when a man loses,” I reply. “Set the call for noon.”

Alina steps into the office. She used to hesitate at thresholds in this house. She doesn’t now.

She’s dressed simply, in dark pants, light blouse, and with her hair tied back. The only jewelry on her body is her wedding ring. Now, she makes no attempt to look softer than she is. She looks rested for the first time in weeks. She stops beside the desk, not behind me, not tucked away. Beside.

Enzo notices. Sofia notices. The men in the hallway notice. That’s the point.

“Morning,” I say with a grin.

Alina’s gaze goes to the folder on my desk, then to Enzo’s phone, then back to me. “You’re already fighting again.”

“I’m finishing,” I correct.

Her mouth tightens, and I know she wants to argue, but she doesn’t do it in front of them. She learned that early. If you want to challenge a man like me, do it privately or do it when you’re ready to burn the room down.

“Did Oisin eat?” I ask.

“He ate,” she says. “He also informed Sofia that she reads too slowly.”

Sofia snorts from the doorway. “He’s got opinions. It’s your fault.”

“It’s yours,” Alina shoots back.

Sofia points at her. “Don’t start getting comfortable and sassy. It’s confusing.”

Alina’s eyes flick to me. “Too late.”

Enzo clears his throat like he’s trying not to smile. He doesn’t succeed. “Bring the accountant,” I tell him.

Enzo steps out.

Alina stays where she is without flinching or retreating. There was a time when her father’s world did this to her. Negotiated her. Pushed her around a room like she was a document.

Now she stands beside the man making the calls. I watch the way the staff tracks her without meaning to. People are learning the new shape of the house.

I’m not interested in making her a symbol. I’m interested in making her untouchable.

The accountant arrives ten minutes later with two guards. He’s sweating through his collar. He tries to look defiant and fails. Men like him don’t survive by being brave. They survive by picking the right boss and praying.

He sees Alina and his face changes. In seconds, he recognizes her because he’s well aware of what Vladimir wanted, what Vladimir paid for, and what men whispered about the bride who got stolen. He swallows.