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“Fine,” I growl. “But I didn’t upset her. She did that herself. I don’t need to be part of every detail.”

“You’re not. And the details are done. Next week we’ll be family.”

“And if I turn around and say you’re changing the rules?”

“But,” he says, “I’m not. Just in case you didn’t get it earlier, I’ll remind you again that a leader in our world who breaks his word, a word I have on tape, won’t ever be trusted. You’ll be finished. And I’ll make sure the whole world knows. Like I just said. What’s it going to be?”

Shit. Fuck. Goddamn everything. I clench my fist. “The deal stands.”

“Good. I’ll send you the details. Don’t be late to your own wedding. That’s for the bride.”

When he hangs up, only the fact I need to call Ilya back stops me from hurling the phone across the room and smashing it into pieces.

If it wasn’t before noon, I’d have a drink. I call Ilya on speaker and pace the room, swearing and cursing in Russian.

“He’s moving the wedding up to next week,” I say.

“Ya preduprezhdal tebya!”

“I know you warned me,” I answer. “But if I’m going to get out of this, then I need to find something on Sergio and fast.”

“On it.” Then he pauses and says in English. “Tell Erin.”

‘We’re in a good place, and she knows I’m not marrying her.”

“And if you have to, if you can’t get out of it? There’s no deal you’ve made about a prenup, right?”

“No, but?—”

“I’ll handle that. Best to have all our bases covered, yes?”

“Da.” The word comes reluctantly. He’s right. I just never pushed this because we don’t usually do prenups in our world.

There is, however, nothing against it. And I don’t know what his holdings are, not deep down. If she comes with trouble and debt, I’m not inheriting it. If I have to go through with it, for even a few days, then Ilya’s right, we need something. And maybe…

“Maybe he won’t want her to sign and that’s the way out.”

“I don’t think we’ll be so lucky. He’d rather you have a prenup and bail him out to save face than have it all break down over a written contract.”

Shit. Ilya’s right. Whatever dirt Sergio’s hiding, amarriage, no matter how it’s spelled out, is worth even signing a prenup.

“Get on it.”

“Done.” He pauses. “And tell Erin.”

I hang up.

We definitely need dirt, real dirt, on Sergio, and fast.

As for Erin…

This… This is going to undo the good of the weekend. I know that in my bones.

I spend half the day in my study, making calls, sending out orders, checking in with sources. But we have to be careful; that’s one thing Ilya and I agree on. Careful, discreet, and quick, a dangerously complicated balancing act.

Finally at four, I pour a drink and sit. No meetings today, thank fuck, because I’m not sure I have the bandwidth. Bad enough, I had a lot of regular shit to deal with. But now…

Yeah.