Page 14
I hurl a stack of papers against the wall as soon as I’m alone, sending them fluttering across the floor.
My office door is closed, but I half-expect one of my brothers to barge in and question my sanity.
If anyone did, I’d claim this is just another day dealing with Barkov business. That would be a lie.
I should feel detached about this upcoming marriage, the way I usually handle important deals or expansions of our territory.
That’s how I’ve trained myself—no room for emotion, no space for anything that might compromise my focus.
Yet I keep picturing the way Cecily scowled when I told her she’d be my wife.
I keep replaying how she spat her outrage at me, and it’s killing me.
I rub my palms over my face and inhale through clenched teeth.
If he were still around, my father would have called this a moment to prove that I’m capable of doing anything for the family.
Duty first. Always. The thought grates on me because I haven’t felt entirely dutiful about this choice.
I’ve felt something else, something I shouldn’t crave.
A knock sounds on the door. “Dimitri?” Aleksei’s voice. “We need to finalize the steps for tomorrow.”
I gather the scattered pages quickly, pretending I haven’t just thrown them in frustration. “Come in.”
He slips in and eyes the disarray. I don’t offer any explanations. He already knows my mood is precarious.
Aleksei sets a folder on the desk. “We have the official documents. The officiant arrives in the morning. Everything’s in place.”
I flip through the folder and see the contract that merges Cecily’s name with mine. “I’ll handle the rest,” I reply. “She won’t be happy.”
“As long as she understands how important it is that we lock down this arrangement. Thorne will think twice about going after you if she’s under our name.”
“I know,” I mutter and shut the folder. “I’ll talk to her about the final details.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Let me know if you need anything else.” He exits, giving me one last searching look before shutting the door.
I pace, trying to figure out the right approach for dealing with Cecily’s resistance.
She doesn’t see how close we are to an all-out confrontation with Thorne.
We intercepted his last attempt on the estate, but we can’t hold out forever if he keeps recruiting men willing to test our defenses.
Neutralizing him is essential, and locking her in as a Barkov is the most direct route to cutting off his leverage.
That’s the logical side of this. The rest is a tangle of impulsive hunger that I’m trying to ignore.
I stride to the door and head down the corridor. A guard stationed near her room nods. I knock and enter without waiting for a reply. She’s on her feet by the window, her glare aimed straight at me.
“What do you want?” she demands.
I hold up a short list. “You need to decide on a few things for tomorrow.” I hate how stiff I sound, but any warmth on my part will seem manipulative, and she’s already convinced I’m backing her into a corner.
“The officiant is coming at nine. We have to figure out what you’re wearing, who will stand as a witness, that sort of thing. ”
She scoffs. “You want me to pick out a dress?”
“There are options in the wardrobe that might fit.”
She looks at me like I’m insane. “I’m not playing bride. I’m not rummaging for something pretty. You’re forcing me into this, so don’t expect me to help with your pageantry.”
“It’s not pageantry,” I reply. “It’s an arrangement that keeps you alive.”
She snatches the list, skims it, and tosses it aside. “This is ridiculous. I don’t care about flowers or any of this nonsense.”
“This nonsense is part of a legal ceremony. We do it properly. My brothers will be there, along with a few key associates, so Thorne realizes it’s official.”
“You think he’ll care if I wear a white dress?” Her voice drips with contempt. “He’s going to see this as you taking what belongs to him.”
Her words trigger the possessive streak I’ve been fighting, and I crack my neck as a way to ease out the tension before I blow. She’s seen enough of my violent side. “Then he can watch from afar, or he can make a move and lose. Either way, you won’t be a Thorne. You’ll be one of us.”
She doesn’t hide her shudder. “Hooray.”
“If you need help, the staff is at your disposal. If you ignore these decisions, I’ll have them made for you.”
“Fine,” she snaps. “Let them do it. Let them pick out the most ostentatious dress in your entire closet so everyone knows this is a farce.”
“That’s enough,” I warn. “I’m trying to give you some control here.”
“That’s rich.”
I fight the urge to argue further, deciding it’s best to cut this short. “I’ll check in later. The ceremony is tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late.”
I spin on my heel and walk out, ignoring the urge to slam the door.
My mind reels as I head to the main hall, where Maksim waits with a set of instructions.
He thrusts them into my hand, and I realize this is about a separate mission we have tonight, one that involves rooting out a rival faction that’s been poking around our outskirts.
The timing couldn’t be worse, but maybe I need the distraction.
“We’ve located three men from the Kovalev crew who’ve been muscling in on our distribution lines,” he explains. “They’re holed up in a vacant property downtown. We’ll move in, remove any threat, and if we find someone who knows more, we interrogate them. You leading?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “I want this done before midnight.”
He nods, and together we walk toward the garage, where a few of our enforcers wait.
They’ve loaded gear into two black SUVs.
Maksim and I climb into the lead vehicle, and our men follow in the second.
I keep my head focused on what’s next. Violence is simpler.
I know how to corner a target, I know how to force answers from them, and I know how to put them down if they stand in my way.
We arrive at the vacant property, a low-slung warehouse with rusted siding.
The place looks deserted, but we’ve confirmed the Kovalev men are inside.
Maksim and I each lead a group around either side of the building, careful to avoid making too much noise.
When we reach a side door, two of our men rig a small device that breaches the lock in seconds. Then we’re in.
A corridor leads into darkness, which is broken only by flickering overhead fixtures.
I signal for the men to split up and search.
Almost immediately, I hear a scuffle behind some crates.
A voice shouts. Gunfire pops in the distance.
My instincts click into place, and I rush forward, rounding the corner.
One of the Kovalev men tries to bring a weapon up, but I’m faster.
I fire three times, dropping him. He sprawls onto the ground, motionless.
Maksim handles a second foe, and the man collapses, and everything quiets. We find a survivor crouched near the back, evidently wounded and trying to hide behind a crate. One of our enforcers yanks him to the center of the corridor, forcing him to kneel.
I approach, scanning the immediate area to ensure no one else remains. The building is silent except for our footsteps. “We secure?” I ask Maksim.
He nods. “No sign of others. Just this one.”
I kneel beside the prisoner and snatch the weapon from his shaky grip. “Your name?”
He mumbles something I can’t catch. Blood trickles from a graze on his temple. His eyes dart between me and our men. I snap my fingers near his face. “Name.”
“Radek,” he manages. “Please… I don’t want any trouble.”
“Bit late for that,” Maksim counters. “Who do you work for?”
“Kovalev,” he croaks.
“Where’s your boss?” I ask. “And why is Kovalev muscling in on our turf?”
Radek’s eyes drift to the crate. He tries to inch away, but two of our men hold him firmly. I gesture for them to pull him back to the center. “Answer,” I command.
He stammers, “K-Kovalev heard you might be distracted with that Thorne business, so he thought we could take advantage.”
“So you’re hoping to pick apart our territory while we chase Thorne around.”
Radek glances at the dead bodies and pales. “We never wanted a full confrontation. We just wanted an opening.”
Maksim snorts. “Where’s Kovalev now?”
“I don’t know,” Radek moans, “He moves constantly.”
I don’t have time for half-truths, so I nod to two of our men, who jerk him to his feet. We drag him deeper into the warehouse, away from the front entrance. In a cramped side room, we set him on a chair and tie his hands behind him.
“What do you know about Thorne’s plans?” I ask him.
Radek twists in the chair, but he’s too secure to move much. “Only rumors. We heard he’s rallying anyone who hates the Barkovs.”
“Where?” I demand.
His mouth falls open, and I sense his fear. Maksim steps forward with an expression that promises pain, and Radek babbles, “People say he’s targeting Redwood Point next month. I swear I don’t have details. That’s what I heard. We just wanted to slip in while your attention was on Thorne.”
I’m aware Redwood Point is a crucial shipping outlet. If Thorne manages to sabotage that location, we’ll lose a major source of leverage. Everything within me heats with anger that he’d try such a bold move.
I give Maksim a tight nod. “He told us what we needed to know.”
Radek’s eyes move from me to Maksim. He senses the finality in the exchange. “Wait—”
One of our men clamps a hand over his mouth just as I turn back toward the door. A gunshot rings out. I don’t look back. This is the method we’ve employed a thousand times: gather what’s useful, neutralize the threat, and move on.
“We burn any evidence that ties this to us,” I explain. “Kovalev might guess who took out his men, but he won’t have proof.”
Maksim waves for two men to handle the cleanup, then we gather in the SUVs and head back to our estate.
On the drive, I stare out the window, thinking through everything.
Redwood Point is our next major front. If Thorne organizes a concentrated attack, the marriage to Cecily won’t be enough to thwart him entirely.
Still, it will remove his motivation to capture her, which might free us up to defend Redwood Point. I hate that I’m combining these two issues—our urgent logistics and my forced wedding—but that’s the reality of our situation.
The clock shows late evening by the time we get home.
I lock myself in the office, assembling a final list of phone calls.
Tomorrow, I’ll be saying vows I never imagined I’d speak.
The idea unsettles me. I fought to keep the Bratva strong all these years, never letting personal attachments complicate matters.
Yet here I am, forcing a marriage because it’s the most efficient way to neutralize Thorne.
I close my eyes for a beat, grappling with a mix of resentment and satisfaction.
I shouldn’t want this. I tell myself I don’t.
It’s just a tactic, another step in a long line of forced decisions.
Still, a possessive thrill coils inside me every time I recall how she looked when I said she’d be my wife.
She was outraged, cornered, furious. Yet in that fury, I spotted something that tugged at my defenses.
She’s unlike any woman I’ve known: defiant even when logic says she should submit.
The logic stands. The family needs this.
Yet there’s a side of me that can’t deny an eagerness for that moment it becomes official.
As twisted as it might be, I want to see her wearing a ring that marks her as mine.
Even if she fights me every day afterward, it means Thorne can never break her again.
The vow will bind us, no matter how much she resists. If that means I carry her hatred along with that vow, I’ll manage. Better her rage than letting Thorne rip her away. Better a forced union than leaving her unprotected.
I rest my hand against the window frame, determined to snuff out any doubt. I’ll get through the ceremony, then push forward. Redwood Point is waiting, and Thorne’s move is set. We’ll crush him on our terms.