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We are family now.

And nothing will ever be the same.

25

ANASTASIA

The Markov estate blazes against Moscow's winter darkness like a beacon of power. From my bedroom window, I watch the procession of black cars sliding up the curved driveway, each one disgorging its cargo of killers dressed in bespoke suits and diamond cufflinks. The who's who of Eastern European crime, all gathered to celebrate my engagement to Viktor Baranov.

If they only knew what lies beneath our smiles tonight.

"The Petrov delegation just arrived," Lena says, sliding another diamond pin into my elaborate updo. "Six security men, all armed despite your father's 'no weapons' rule."

My eyes meet hers in the mirror. "And Nikolai Sokolov?"

"Already working the room downstairs. He's checked his watch three times in the last fifteen minutes." Her fingers move, securing sapphires that match my midnight blue gown. "He's been eyeing the security rotations, too."

My stomach tightens. Not random behavior. Coordinated timing with something we haven't planned for.

"What about Viktor's men?" I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady. Even saying his name sends heat through me, memories of our last night together flashing unbidden behind my eyes.

"Positioned exactly as planned. Dmitri's team has the east and west wings covered. Anton's in the security office monitoring communications." She secures the final hairpin. "Everything's in place."

The plan. Five days of careful preparation following Viktor's revelation about my father's crimes. Not the total destruction he'd once sought, but a surgical removal of the criminal empire while preserving the legitimate businesses. Justice without destroying Sofia's inheritance.

My fingers find the locket at my throat, the only physical connection to my daughter tonight. She's safe at Viktor's compound with Anna and a security team we trust completely. Still, being away from her claws at my chest, an ache that never quite subsides.

"It's time," Lena says, breaking into my thoughts. "Your father's expecting you downstairs. Formal announcement in thirty minutes."

I stand, smoothing the sapphire silk that hugs my curves – the perfect Bratva princess costume for the most dangerous performance of my life.

"Remember," Lena whispers at the door, "if anything goes wrong, Sofia's safety comes before everything. The emergency extraction happens regardless of where you are."

I nod, throat tight. "Even if I can't get out?—"

"Even then," she confirms, squeezing my hand. "Viktor made it crystal clear. Sofia's protection overrides everything else."

Cold comfort as I descend the grand staircase into the wolf pack below. Dozens of predatory gazes track my movements – crime lords weighing alliance potential, politicians measuring power shifts, security men mapping exits and weaknesses. In the center stands my father, immaculate in his tuxedo, every inch the respected businessman rather than the monster who ordered the execution of Viktor's entire family.

And beside him, Viktor. My heart stumbles in my chest.

He's devastating in tailored black, the severity highlighting his broad shoulders and the lethal grace he contains so carefully. His silver eyes find mine immediately, heat arcing between us across the crowded room. The ring on my finger – no longer just a surveillance device but a promise between us – catches the light as I descend.

"Anastasia." My father steps forward, paternal pride perfectly performed for our audience. "You look exquisite."

"Thank you, Father." I accept his kiss on my cheek, swallowing the revulsion his touch now triggers. All I can see are Viktor's memories – his parents and sister murdered while he watched from hiding.

"Your fiancé has been quite the hit with our associates," my father continues, guiding me toward Viktor. "The Belgian minister practically begged for an introduction to our Asian distribution networks."

Code for illegal arms shipping. The hypocrisy would be almost funny if it weren't so grotesque – discussing murder and trafficking between champagne sips and classical violin.

Viktor takes my hand, his touch sending electricity up my arm despite the danger surrounding us. "You're breathtaking," he murmurs, bringing my knuckles to his lips.

"And you clean up nicely, Mr. Baranov." The verbal dance comes easily now, love and deception twined together in perfect choreography. "Have you behaved yourself with Father's friends?"

"Impeccably." His thumb traces my pulse point, his eyes saying everything his words can't. "Though I've been counting every minute until you came down."

My father watches our interaction with calculating approval, seeing only what benefits his arranged alliance. If he knew the truth beneath our performance – not just our real feelings but the plan tightening around him like a noose.