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I kick open Cecily’s bedroom door and glare at her like she’s the one responsible for turning my life upside down. “Tell me again,” I demand, my voice trembling with fury. “What did you hear?”

She sits on the edge of her bed and tightens her fingers around the hem of her dress. “The housekeeper was talking about a marriage proposal. She said Father intends to offer you to one of the Barkovs. The staff is in a frenzy.”

A horrible sensation seizes me. I feel betrayed, outraged, and most of all, trapped. “Did the housekeeper say when this was decided?”

Cecily shakes her head. “No. Just that Father’s been negotiating.”

I pace the carpet, trying to stifle the wild emotions surging through me. A marriage proposal? In this day and age, the thought alone is ridiculous. “He didn’t even bother to discuss it with me first.”

She rubs her arms. “What are you going to do?”

I swipe my hair back from my face. “I’ll talk to him.” Fury flares anew when I realize I’m actually going to confront my father about my own future, as though I’m some commodity he can trade. “No,” I correct myself. “I’m going to tell that asshole there’s no way this is happening.”

Cecily lowers her gaze. “Just be careful. He shot a man in the hallway last week. That’s not exactly a sign he’s willing to be reasoned with.”

I surge across the room and yank open the door. “He’s going to hear me out whether he wants to or not.”

My footsteps stomp a determined rhythm on the floors of this over-decorated estate as I make my way to my father’s office. The staff dodges me, either sensing my mood or simply not wanting to be associated with a daughter who dares defy him.

I reach the door and shove it open without knocking. Father is sitting behind his ornate desk, scribbling in a ledger like he’s balancing his empire with a pen. He raises his eyes—calm, cold, and perpetually disappointed in everything I do—and sighs.

“Seraphina, don’t you have better manners than to burst in on me like a rabid animal?”

My blood boils. “Why should I knock when you’ve apparently decided my entire future without consulting me?”

He arches a brow. “I see you’ve heard. Good. Saves me the trouble.”

I close the distance, bracing my palms against the desk. “Is it true? Are you arranging a marriage for me, just like that?”

He sets the pen aside. “I’m finalizing an alliance with the Barkov family.”

“Alliance,” I echo, tasting the bitterness of the word. “You’re using me as a commodity. How very fatherly.”

His eyes narrow. “Watch your mouth. This is not a negotiation. You will do as you’re told.”

“I won’t,” I state, though a tremor ripples through me at the memory of him shooting that man in our corridor. “You can’t force me.”

Irritation mars his face. “I can, and I will. The meeting is already set, and we’re having dinner with your future husband tonight. You’ll come, you’ll be polite, and you’ll accept what’s been decided.”

“You haven’t even bothered to ask if I find the man acceptable. He could be a monster for all I know.”

Father gives a harsh laugh. “Considering the circle I move in, ‘monster’ is a relative term. But since you’re so curious, you might appreciate knowing it’s Grigor Barkov who’s agreed to consider you.”

My knees almost buckle at the name. Grigor Barkov. Long after he’d left, I found out the imposing figure I ran into the other night, the one who towered over me in the hallway, was the very same man. The man with the broad shoulders, intense eyes, and a presence that made me both furious and… Nope. Grigor Barkov did not make me feel anything lust-adjacent.

“You’ve got to be kidding. He’s—he’s—”

Father interrupts. “Yes, he’s vicious. Ruthless, some say. That’s exactly the kind of ally I need.”

I can’t believe this is happening. My father is pushing me toward a man who’s rumored to be the muscle of the Barkov operation, second only to Aleksei Barkov. I remember the way he stared me down, as if I was something he could crush if I pushed him too far.

Father returns to his ledger, the subject apparently settled in his mind. “This will happen. Tonight, you’ll join us for dinner. Wear something appropriate. I don’t need you bringing shame on this family.”

My gaze burns with loathing. “I refuse to stand by while you sell me to the highest bidder.”

“Leave, Seraphina. Your tantrums won’t change a thing.”

I let out an animalistic shriek as I spin on my heels and stomp out. If he thinks I’m just going to roll over and let this happen, that I’ll let him trap me in a marriage proposal that my father and the Barkov Bratva have orchestrated, he’s got another thing coming. I won’t let them do this to me without a fight.

***

Hours crawl by. I spend most of them in my room, trying to decide how best to sabotage this arrangement. Cecily peeks in a few times, offering quiet words of concern, but I brush her off. She can’t help me.

Finally, the dreaded moment arrives: a formal dinner in one of the estate’s lavish dining rooms. The table is set with too many forks and spoons, and the draperies are pulled aside so the setting sun can bathe the place. I swallow the instinct to scream that I don’t want this.

I make my way downstairs, wearing a simple black cocktail dress. Father wanted me in something bright and eye-catching, but I refused. Black suits the mood I’m in—one that suggests mourning for my freedom.

The butler ushers me into the dining room. Father stands at the head of the table, conferring with two men from his organization, both of whom eye me like I’m a piece of merchandise. I try not to look at them.

From a doorway behind me, I sense another presence. My gut twists when I turn to see him step into the room: Grigor Barkov, just as imposing as I recall. His dark suit fits his muscular frame, and his face is just as handsome as I remember. Next to him stands one of his brothers—I can tell from the resemblance—but my focus narrows on Grigor.

He moves forward, offering a curt nod to my father. “Evan Thorne,” he greets. Then his gaze slides to me, and I see the slightest recognition in his eyes. “This must be your daughter.”

My father’s lips curve into a self-satisfied grin. “Seraphina, meet the man you’ll soon call husband, should everything go as planned.”

A rage I can’t contain blooms inside me. I give Grigor a dismissive once-over. “I already made it pretty clear that I won’t agree to that.”

Father bristles, stepping closer, probably to lecture me about decorum, but Grigor lifts a hand. “Let her speak.”

I roll my eyes. I won’t be pacified by that. “I’m only here because my father dragged me. Don’t think for a second that I’m excited to meet you.”

A faint curve touches Grigor’s mouth, but it isn’t a smile. “Noted.”

Father clears his throat as he shoots me a glare. “We should all be seated.”

Dinner starts with forced politeness punctuated by a stilted conversation about “opportunity” and “partnership.” Bowls of soup arrive first, then an array of appetizers—none of which I can bring myself to enjoy. Instead, I push the food around my plate, letting my anger simmer just beneath the surface.

Grigor sits across from me with his dark eyes fixed on me as if he’s sizing me up. He tries to engage me in polite conversation once or twice, likely to keep up appearances for my father. But I refuse to play along. I follow every question with biting remarks, choosing my words carefully to needle him.

“What’s it like, Grigor?” I ask out of nowhere, interrupting my father mid-sentence. “Commanding an army of men who probably only follow you out of fear?”

Father stiffens at the end of the table, but Grigor barely glances at him before turning his attention back to me.

“They follow me because I know what I’m doing,” he replies.

“Oh, I’m sure,” I respond with a sugary smile. “Nothing inspires loyalty like a well-placed gun to the head.”

“Loyalty isn’t given freely in our world. It’s earned. I’m sure you’d agree.”

I tilt my head, pretending to consider his words. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to bully someone into liking me.”

“Seraphina!” my father chastises. “That’s enough.”

I ignore him, keeping my focus on Grigor. “And this whole marriage thing? What’s that about? A strategic move to save face? Or are you just looking for someone to keep your bed warm?”

Grigor sets his fork down with deliberate care. The room feels smaller as he leans closer. “If I wanted a warm bed, Seraphina, I’d hardly need to arrange a marriage for it. You’re smarter than that.”

His words are calm, but the undercurrent of authority is unmistakable. I swallow hard as my bravado falters for a moment. But I force a laugh, brushing off the way he unsettles me. “Good to know. At least you’re not delusional enough to think I’ll be sucking your cock no matter what arrangement you and my father made.”

Maksim, seated near Grigor, raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. Father’s knuckles tighten on the edge of the table, and his face turns crimson. “Seraphina, I said that’s enough.”

“And I said I didn’t want to be here,” I snap, finally turning to him. “You’re trying to force me into some archaic agreement with a man I don’t even know, and you expect me to sit here quietly?”

Father’s mouth opens, but Grigor cuts him off with a subtle wave of his hand. “Let her talk.”

I glance at him, startled. He doesn’t look irritated—if anything, he looks intrigued. That alone makes me angrier. “I’m glad I have your permission,” I spit sarcastically. “Since we’re all pretending I have a say in any of this.”

“You’re not pretending, Seraphina. You’re making your objections loud and clear.”

His calm tone only fuels my frustration. I slam my glass down, sloshing the wine over the rim. “Of course I’m objecting! I’m not some pawn you can move around the board. You think marrying me will fix your little problems? Let me save you the trouble—it won’t.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Father complains

“No,” I fire back, standing abruptly. “You’re embarrassing me by putting me in this position.”

Father eventually snaps, “Seraphina, behave.”

“Or what, Father? Will you do to me what you do to your enemies? You might try, but even you might have a hard time enjoying the rest of your meal while you wait for your sanitizers to scrape my body off the floor.”

He pales, no doubt realizing that I witnessed his last execution. Then, he slams his fork onto the plate. “That’s enough,” he speaks through clenched teeth. “Don’t test me. If you think you’re bulletproof just because you’re my daughter, you’re even dumber than I gave you credit for.”

To my surprise, Grigor throws his napkin across the table, right into my father’s face. “You’d better watch your tone.”

Father sneers. “Pardon me?”

Grigor lifts his chin. “Don’t speak to her like that. I don’t care if she’s your daughter. There are lines you won’t cross in my presence.”

My heart stutters. Did he just defend me? My father’s face looks like stone, and for a moment, I worry he’ll try to match Grigor’s bravado with a show of violence. But he just bares his teeth in a mock smile. “We haven’t finalized anything yet, Barkov. Don’t presume you have any say in how I treat Seraphina until you’ve accepted her hand. My blood, my house.”

I catch a flicker of disgust crossing Grigor’s face, or maybe I imagine it. I cling to the hope that he finds this arrangement too distasteful, that he’ll walk out and free me from this nightmare.

He tears his gaze from Father and turns to me. His voice comes out low, almost too quiet for the others to hear. “You’re not happy about any of this.”

I scoff. “A brilliant observation. I despise this entire setup.”

He nods, though I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Father abruptly stands, announcing that we’ll continue our conversation in a more relaxed setting. He gestures for everyone to move to the adjoining parlor, where dessert and drinks await.

The men file out, and I sense my father’s glare as I remain seated. He doesn’t say anything, probably deciding to keep his temper in check in front of the Barkovs. After all, he wants them to go through with this. If they witness me being dragged away by the hair, that might sour the deal.

Grigor trails behind the others, then looks back at me. “Seraphina. Will you walk with me instead of joining them?”

I blink, torn between wanting to refuse and wanting to get away from my father. “Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m not doing this to indulge you.”

He makes a subtle gesture toward the wide doors that lead out to the garden. I rise and head outside with my arms folded. If my father sees me out here with him, maybe he’ll assume things are going well. Perfect. Let him believe that. I have my own plan in mind.

The garden is silent except for the distant footsteps of guards circling the grounds. I keep pace a few steps ahead of Grigor, ignoring the warm glow of lanterns that dot the path.

“Why are you really here?” I ask, stopping near a row of trimmed hedges. “You don’t seem the type to accept a forced marriage. Or is it normal for the Barkov Bratva to take brides from men like my father?”

“I agreed to meet. That doesn’t mean I agreed to anything else.”

A spark of hope flares in me. “You can still back out, right?”

He rubs a hand over his jaw, mulling over his answer. “It’s complicated. But I’m not blind to the fact that he’s using you as a chess piece.”

My mind races. If he’s unsure, I can push him further away. That’s exactly what I need to do. I recall how Bratva men often prize certain qualities in a woman: loyalty, dignity, and a willingness to be obedient. If I show him I’m the opposite of all that, maybe he’ll reject the proposal outright.

I drop my voice, adopting a tone of sultry disinterest. “Well, if you’re looking for some perfect little mafia princess, you’ll be disappointed. I have no intention of playing house with a criminal.”

He levels me with a dark stare. “You think I’m searching for domesticated bliss? This would be about politics, power, and maintaining control.”

I feign a lazy smile, letting my hair fall over one shoulder. “And what if I’m a terrible ally who undermines your every move?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “Then I’d have to deal with you. One way or another.”

I flutter my eyelashes and drag my fingertips from his chest, stopping just above his waistline. “Or you could break it off right now. Save us both the headache.”

He doesn’t move. “Is that what you want?”

I let my lips curl into a suggestive grin. Time to lay it on thick. “Don’t sound so disappointed. You and I could… still have a little bit of fun. Enjoy the fun parts without all that nasty marriage business.”

His brows knit. “Why would you—”

I place a hand on his shoulder, sliding it along the lapel of his jacket in a movement I hope looks slinky. Bratva men hate women who are too easy. Nothing respectable about a woman who offers herself so soon, with no sense of pride or dignity. I almost cringe at how fake and unnatural this all is.

But then, understanding dawns in his eyes. I see it, clear as day: he knows what I’m trying to do. He knows I’m deliberately making myself appear unworthy of the alliance. He snatches my wrist before my hand can travel any farther south.

Then, he does the last thing I expect: he leans closer. So close, I can see the gold flecks in his irises.

His breath tickles my ear. His voice is low, husky, and utterly disarming. “You’ll have to do better than this, Seraphina.”

My confidence teeters. I force a laugh. “You’re underestimating how far I’m willing to go.”

He shakes his head, still holding my wrist in his strong, rough grip. The contact sends a thrill down my spine, and it only gets worse when he moves his mouth closer, so his lips are practically grazing my skin. “You know, I was having second thoughts for a minute there, but now, I think this might be exactly the kind of challenge I enjoy. You’re going to make a lovely bride, Seraphina. And I can’t wait until our wedding night.”

A wave of dread rushes through me. This is not how I wanted it to go.