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"Yes."

I couldn't explain it, but there was something fragile and vulnerable yet feisty about her that deeply intrigued me. I wanted more, and no one was going to take her away from me.

Damien cleared his throat. "You know we're going to have to make a decision about her. Loose ends and all that."

"She's my problem," I said too quickly.

"She can directly implicate our family in a murder. She's all of our problem," Mikhail said, with a knowing look in his eyes. "One way or another, she will have to be dealt with."

"It's about the only thing Artem and Gregor agree on. Something will need to be done about her," Damien added.

The reminder sent cold dread through my veins.

The Ivanovs didn't kill women…unless it was absolutely necessary.

Mikhail crossed his arms over his chest. "You could just marry her."

He and Damien laughed at the joke, but I said nothing.

The suggestion wasn't as absurd as they thought.

Marry Alina?

Marry Alina.

I turned the idea over in my head. The words should have sounded foreign, strange—bitter even. Never once in my whole damn life had I ever considered taking a wife…or having children. My world was violent and unpredictable. There was no room for a woman in it.

Or so I thought.

But these last few months, seeing my brothers who used to feel the same way go from making fun of my “Americanized” cousins and their domestic bliss to sharing in it, had changed something.

The other night they invited me to stay for fondue…whatever the fuck that was.

Apparently, the wives had planned a "fun" night of food and games at Gregor's house. I'd been there for a status meeting on tracking down Alina's piece of shit father, when we broke up early because Samara had entered the room to gently remind him that dinner was ready.

The transformation was startling.

It was jarring to see the change in Gregor.

He'd gone from the ruthless man I knew who ruled over our bratva with an iron fist, to a charming, doting husband right before my eyes.

I'd seen the same change in both of my brothers. There was something about their women that softened the sharp edges of their lives.

It had me questioning my own life.

In the end…what was the fucking point of it? All of it.

The money. The violence. The crude brutality of my world.

If there wasn't someone soft and warm waiting for me at home.

Home. Not a house. A home.

A woman could make a home. Children could make a home.

And if my brothers and cousins could wash off the blood and achieve some semblance of a real life…one filled with meaning, love, and laughter…then why couldn't I?

The concept solidified in my mind.