Chapter 1
As you wish.” Ruslan looks between us, clearly disappointed by the lack of romance. As if men like me have use for such things. “Then shall we discuss the wedding date? I was thinking next month would be—” “Three months,” I interrupt. “I have business matters to settle first.” Ruslan’s smile falters. “That seems unnecessarily delayed.” “Three months,” I repeat, my tone making it clear this is not a negotiation. Something flashes in Tasha’s eyes—not disappointment, but calculation. She touches her father’s arm gently. “Father, three months would be perfect. It gives me time to plan a wedding worthy of both our families.” Ruslan hesitates, then nods. “Very well. Three months.” He claps his hands together. “This calls for a celebration. Champagne on the terrace! And I must introduce you to the guests.” I hadn’t realized there would be witnesses to this transaction beyond family. But of course, Ruslan would want to showcase his triumph—marrying his daughter to the head of the Andreev Bratva is a significant power play. As we walk toward the terrace, Stepan falls into step beside me. “You’re making a mistake,” he mutters under his breath. “It’s necessary,” I reply quietly. “There are other ways to secure alliances,” he insists. “None as binding as this.” Nikolai appears at my other side, his voice low. “If we’re doing this, we should at least use it to our full advantage. I’ve prepared a list of Ruslan assets we should target once the marriage is finalized.” Always thinking ten steps ahead, my youngest brother. It’s what makes him valuable—and dangerous. Stepan’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing more as we step onto the sun-drenched terrace where a dozen of Moscow’s elite await. Politicians, industrialists, and fellow brotherhood members raise their glasses as Ruslan announces our engagement. I play my part, standing beside Tasha with a proprietary hand at the small of her back, feeling nothing but the fabric of her expensive dress and the strategic advantage this alliance will bring. An hour of meaningless conversation later, I excuse myself to use the restroom, needing a moment of solitude. The Ruslan mansion is a maze of hallways and rooms, and I find myself in what appears to be a private study—smaller than the main one, but no less opulent. I’m about to leave when a silver frame on the desk catches my eye. It’s a family photograph: Ruslan, his late wife, and two daughters. I pick it up, studying the younger girl I haven’t seen today. Dark-haired where Tasha is blonde, with a genuine smile instead of her sister’s practiced one. “That’s Kira,” a voice says behind me. “My younger sister.” I turn to find Tasha in the doorway, watching me with those calculating eyes. “I didn’t realize you had a sister,” I say, replacing the frame. “She’s studying abroad.” Tasha steps into the room, closing the door behind her. “Father doesn’t speak of her much. She’s...something of a disappointment.” The way she says it carries a hint of satisfaction. Sibling rivalry, perhaps. Not my concern. “I should return to the party,” I say. “Wait.” Tasha moves closer, her perfume—expensive, subtle—filling the space between us. “I think we should understand each other, Damian.” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought we already did.” “I know what this is.” Her mask slips, revealing a flash of something harder, colder than the demure facade she presents. “A business arrangement. I have no illusions about love.” “Good. That will make this simpler.” “I only want to be clear about expectations.” She steps closer, her voice dropping. “I will be the perfect wife in public. I will host your parties, attend your events, and give you children if that’s what you want.” “And in return?” Her lips curve into something that might be a smile on another woman. On her, it’s merely a tactical revelation of perfect teeth. “Freedom with discretion, and access to the lifestyle I deserve.” I almost respect her directness. “Acceptable terms.” “And one more thing.” She raises a hand to straighten my already perfect tie, a practiced gesture of intimacy that contains none. “I won’t ask about your business or your... entertainments. I expect the same courtesy.” “You’ll have no complaints from me,” I assure her, stepping back from her touch. The negotiation is complete; I move toward the door. “Damian,” she calls softly, making me pause. “We could be good together, you know. If you wanted more than just an arrangement.”
