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“No.”

“Then why say yes?” I lean my hands on the island. “Explain it to me. He calls you into his study, tells you he's handing his daughter over like a used car, and you just... agree?”

“He didn't hand you over.”

“He literally did. It's in writing. Viktor has it in an actual folder.”

“Whatever's in that folder, I can't make you marry me, and he knew that. All he did was put me in front of you.” He holds my gaze. “What you do with that is up to you.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“Do I have to get something?”

“We're Bratva. I know how this works. You always get something.”

“I get you.”

The fridge hums. It’s the only sound in the kitchen.

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. No flirtation. No smile. Just a fact, laid on the marble between us beside the sugar bowl.

My heart does something stupid.

“You don't know me,” I say.

He smiles. And I’d bet it is a genuine smile which just makes me not want to like it even more. “I know enough.”

“You've spoken to me maybe six times.”

“Eleven.”

I open my mouth. Close it again.

He's counting. Why is he counting?

“If this is about the money,” I say, slowly, “or the organization, or Papa's territory...”

“It isn't.”

“Your family's been in trouble for years. Everyone knows it.”

I regret it the second it's out of my mouth. It's the kind of thing Papa would have said, and I hate that I've just said it in his voice.

But Garick doesn't flinch. He nods once, like I've made a fair point in a business meeting.

“They have,” he says.

I wait for him to get defensive. He doesn't. He reaches past me for the coffee pot, refills my cup even though I've barely touched it, and pours one for himself.

“What do you want to know?”

The question catches me off guard. “What?”

“About my family. You've obviously heard things. I'd rather you got the truth from me.”

There's no trick in it that I can find. He's just standing there, waiting for me to decide.

“Your brother,” I say. “The older one.”