Page 26 of His Stolen Bride

Morozov didn’t sell his daughter twice by accident. He hedged. He kept a second man waiting in case the first failed. That alone tells me this wasn’t a small debt that spiraled. The timing fits too well to ignore. Sergei’s murder. Morozov’s. Now his wife. Three deaths, spaced just far enough apart to be understood.

I spend the afternoon reconstructing Sergei’s last quarter hour by hour, not from reports, but from friction. Delayed meetings. Repeated follow-ups. Requests that were acknowledged and then stalled. Sergei was good at calming men down, but even he couldn’t make waiting feel respectful.

Morozov made someone wait too long, and that’s the mistake. By early evening, I’ve isolated the pattern, but not the name, and guessing would be sloppy. Guessing gets people killed for the wrong reasons. So I call my intelligence chief. “I want Sergei’s unresolved contacts,” I tell my intelligence chief over the phone. “Not debtors. Not partners. Men who were pressuring him to step away from something.”

There’s a pause, punctuated by the click-clack of keys moving. “Step away from what?” he asks busily.

“From Alina,” I reply. “From Morozov’s contract. From whatever Sergei thought he was entitled to collect.”

“Time frame?”

“Six months before his death. Priority communications. Anything that escalated instead of cooling off.”

“I’ll need time,” he says.

“Take it,” I reply and end the call.

He comes back to me the next afternoon.

“I went through Sergei’s messages, intermediaries, and meeting requests,” he says. “There were three men who pushed back hard on delays.”

“And?” I ask.

“Two backed off once Sergei asserted control. One didn’t.”

“He never threatened Sergei directly,” he says, “and that’s what makes it stand out, because he framed everything as concern about Morozov’s reliability, the instability of double promises, and Sergei’s ability to collect without destabilizing the balance.”

He takes a breath, then continues, “Morozov’s role as a marriage broker wasn’t secret inside our world, and when word spread that he’d promised his daughter to a Morin along with him, it sent a message whether Sergei intended it or not.”

I let that settle.

“A legitimate wife with no criminal record doesn’t just secure an heir,” the chief says. “It signals permanence, influence across borders, and control that doesn’t rely on brute force, and if Sergei had married her, the Morins would’ve gained visible standing.”

“And our competition couldn’t allow that,” I say.

“No,” he replies. “Because if he allowed a rival syndicate to claim Morozov’s most valuable contract without challenge, it would’ve been read as weakness, and weakness invites encroachment.”

I lean back, seeing the structure clearly now.

“To the Bratva leadership,” the chief continues, “this wasn’t about affection or revenge but about which clan could enforce a contract publicly and which couldn’t, and he needed to prove that promises made in his direction couldn’t be redirected without consequences.”

“So he pressured Sergei to step aside,” I say.

“Yes,” the chief confirms. “And when Sergei refused, he didn’t retaliate emotionally, because that would’ve looked uncontrolled, so instead he removed the obstacle so he could reclaim the contract by default. He just didn’t account for a wildcard entry.”

A.K.A. me.

The line stays open, but the conclusion is already set.

“Name,” I say.

He doesn’t answer immediately, because now he’s confirming, not deducing. “There’s only one man who fits the profile,” he says at last. “The reach. The patience. The habit of treating women as contracts.”

I don’t interrupt.

“Vladimir Kosov.”

Son of my oldest enemy, and the only other family with power to rival the Morins.