Page 16 of Bratva Vow

We sit as he takes the seat opposite with the slow ease of someone who commands attention without asking for it.

The leather booth squeaks faintly beneath him.

Menus appear without a word.

Water in tall glasses.

I’m going to get sick.

“Let’s go over the terms,” he says, like we’re negotiating over coffee instead of deciding the next five years of my life. “No point in me asking what you have planned today or all the ways you’d like to kill me.”

The server appears out of nowhere, and Benedikt doesn’t even look at the menu when he tells her, “She’ll have the eggs benedict. I’ll take the steak and eggs. Black coffee. Bring her cream and sugar, please.”

The waitress disappears without another word, hinting that he’s been here before, and I glower at him for being an overpowering jerk. “Can I still speak for myself when we’re married? Or is that in the contract?”

“Did you read it?”

“No.”

He doesn’t appear surprised. He doesn’t even bother giving me anything but a straight face. “Then why don’t you tell me your terms, and if I agree, I’ll have them added if they’re not already in there.”

I lean forward, arms placed firmly on the table before I inhale deeply. Pressure to not forget anything eats at me, and I try my best to remain collected and calm. “I’ll give you five years. I’ll live with you. I’ll play the fake fiancée?—”

“Wife,” he interrupts flatly. “You’ll be my wife, princess.”

Damn it.

Straightening my spine, I continue, “I’ll give you the heir you want. But I need to keep working. My life doesn’t stop just because I’m suddenly Mrs. Volkov in public.”

“Agreed. You can work. Your job stays.”

“And I need space. My own room. My own bank account. I don’t want to be watched every second.”

“You’ll have your own personal bodyguards.” I open my mouth to protest but he adds, “At a distance. You already have a shadow. No need to give you another one.”

“Is that to be safe or monitored?”

“Same thing.”

I scowl, but keep going. “And I need a way out. If I say I’m done—if I hit a limit—you don’t get to trap me.”

“You’re only agreeing to five years, Sienna,” he says calmly. “Not a lifetime.”

“Yeah, well, five years with someone like you might feel like one.”

He smirks.

The server returns with coffee. I wrap my hands around the warm mug like it’ll steady me.

“And what do you get?” I ask. “Other than an heir and someone to flaunt in public?”

He doesn’t even blink. “You.”

My stomach clenches.

He says it so simply. Like I’m a piece of property that’s been transferred into his name. Not a person with a history. With heartbreak. With a father who gave me away like I was a used car.

I can’t stop myself.