Page 20 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter nineteen

The Meeting

M ila

I wait until Alexei is in his study coordinating the search for my parents, then I slip out of the house like the criminal I'm apparently becoming.

Boris and his security team are good, but they're watching for external threats, not for the boss's wife sneaking out through the service entrance while they're focused on perimeter defense. Viktor taught me a lot about bypassing security systems during his paranoid phase, and some habits die hard.

The burner phone I bought three days ago—back when I was still planning escape routes instead of rescue missions—buzzes with an incoming call as I reach the main road.

"Mrs. Morozov." Roman Volkov's voice is smooth, cultured, with just enough accent to remind me that English isn't his first language. "How resourceful of you to acquire untraceable communication."

"Where are my parents?"

"Safe. Comfortable. Alive. All things that will remain true as long as you follow instructions."

"What instructions?"

"Meet me at the Oceanview Restaurant in Brighton Beach. One hour. Come alone."

"If this is a trap—"

"My dear girl, everything is a trap. The question is whether you're clever enough to spring it in your favor."

The line goes dead, leaving me standing on the side of a road outside Alexei's estate, wondering if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.

Probably. But my parents are innocent people who got caught up in a war between criminals because I fell in love with the wrong man. Or the right man, depending on how you look at it.

Either way, they don't deserve to die for my choices.

The Oceanview Restaurant is exactly what I expected—a legitimate front for illegitimate business, the kind of place that serves excellent borscht and asks no questions about private dining rooms or customers who pay in cash.

Roman is waiting in a corner booth that gives him clear sightlines to all entrances.

He's not what I expected either—mid-forties, well-dressed, with the kind of refined features that probably make him popular at charity galas and diplomatic receptions.

He looks like a successful businessman, not a human trafficker.

Which is probably the point.

"Mrs. Morozov," he says, standing politely as I approach. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."

I slide into the booth across from him, hyperaware of the two large men positioned near the exits. Not close enough to draw attention, but close enough to stop me if I try to run.

"You're not what I expected," Roman says, studying my face with interest that makes my skin crawl.

"Neither are you."

"What did you expect?"

"A monster."

His laugh is genuinely amused. "Oh, my dear, I am absolutely a monster. I've just learned to wear better suits than most."

A waitress appears with tea and disappears again without making eye contact. Clearly, she knows better than to pay attention to conversations in corner booths.

"Your parents are well," Roman continues, pouring tea like we're having a civilized social visit. "Your mother is particularly concerned about a cat named Whiskers. I assured her that a neighbor would feed him."

The casual mention of personal details makes my stomach lurch. He's been watching them, learning about their lives, turning their normalcy into weapons against me.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Straight to business. I admire that. Very much like your brother."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Mention Viktor? But he's why we're here, isn't he? Your beloved brother who thought he could expose my operation to the FBI and live to see the consequences."

"Viktor was trying to stop you from hurting innocent people."

"Viktor was naive. He thought the world was divided into heroes and villains, good and evil, black and white. You're smarter than that, I think."

"Am I?"

"You married Alexei Morozov. A man who's killed more people than I have, incidentally. A man whose organization profits from violence and corruption and all the ugly necessities of power."

"Alexei is nothing like you."

"Isn't he? Tell me, Mrs. Morozov, how did your husband react when he learned I had your parents?"

The question hits too close to home. I can still feel the echo of our fight, still hear Alexei's calm declaration that he would choose me over innocent people every time.

"He wants to rescue them," I say.

"I'm sure he does. But he won't trade you for them, will he? Won't sacrifice his precious wife to save two strangers who mean nothing to him."

"They're not strangers. They're my family."

"Exactly. Your family, not his. To Alexei Morozov, they're acceptable losses in the war to keep you safe."

I want to argue, want to defend the man I love, but the words stick in my throat because Roman is right. Alexei made his choice clear—he will not trade me for my parents, no matter what the moral cost.

"You see?" Roman says, reading my expression. "You're learning that your husband is exactly as selfish as I am. The only difference is that I'm honest about it."

"What do you want?" I repeat.

"Your cooperation."

"With what?"

"Destroying Alexei's organization from the inside. You have access to his files, his communication networks, his financial records. You could cripple him in ways external attacks never could."

"And in exchange?"

"Your parents live. You live. Everyone walks away from this ugly situation with their lives intact."

"Except Alexei."

"Except Alexei."

I stare across the table at this civilized monster who's offering me an impossible choice. Betray the man I love to save the people who raised me. Choose between different kinds of family, different kinds of loyalty.

"Why?" I ask. "Why do you care so much about destroying Alexei? This can't just be about Viktor."

Roman's expression shifts, and for a moment I see something raw and ugly beneath the polished exterior.

"Your husband cost me sixty million dollars and half my operation when he helped Viktor gather evidence.

But more than that, he cost me respect. Other families saw me fail to protect my interests, fail to silence one small man with a computer.

They began to question whether Roman Volkov was still worth fearing. "

"So this is about ego."

"This is about survival. In our world, respect is currency. Lose enough of it, and you become prey instead of predator."

"And you think destroying Alexei will restore your reputation."

"I think taking everything he values—his wife, his organization, his life—will send a message that betraying Roman Volkov has consequences."

The casual way he talks about taking my life makes ice form in my veins. This isn't just about revenge or business. This is about making an example, about using our deaths to rebuild his image.

"You're going to kill us anyway," I realize. "Even if I cooperate, even if I help you destroy Alexei's organization. You can't let us live because we know too much."

"Perhaps. But cooperation might buy you time. Time for rescue, time for escape, time for miracles. Refusal guarantees immediate death for your parents and eventual death for you."

"Eventually being?"

"After you've served your purpose. After Alexei has watched you betray him and realized that love makes a man weak."

The psychology is twisted but effective. Force me to destroy the man I love, break his heart and his organization simultaneously, then kill me anyway as the final insult.

"You really are a monster," I say.

"Yes. But I'm a practical monster. I'm offering you a deal that gives you some chance of survival. Alexei offers you nothing but pretty words and doomed nobility."

"Alexei offers me love."

"And how much is love worth when your parents are dead because of it?"

The question hangs between us like poison. How much is my happiness worth against innocent lives? How much is romantic love worth against family obligation?

"I need time to think," I say finally.

"You have until tomorrow at midnight. After that, your parents will begin paying the price for your indecision."

"What kind of price?"

"The kind that starts with fingers and escalates from there."

Nausea rolls through me at the casual brutality in his voice. He means it. He'll torture my parents to force my compliance, and he'll enjoy every moment of it.

"There is one other thing," Roman says as I start to slide out of the booth.

"What?"

"Your husband will try to stop you from making this choice. He'll lock you up, increase security, remove your access to anything that could hurt him. Men like Alexei always choose control over trust when stakes get high enough."

"Alexei isn't like you."

"No? Then why are you here alone? Why didn't you bring him to this meeting, let him hear the offer directly?"

Because I knew he'd never let me come. Because I knew he'd choose my safety over my parents' lives and lock me away to prevent me from making any other choice.

Because maybe Roman is right, and the man I love is more like him than I want to admit.

"I thought so," Roman says, reading my silence. "You already know that Alexei will try to control this situation, control you, rather than let you make your own choice. The question is whether you'll let him."

I stand up without answering, my mind already racing with implications and possibilities and the crushing weight of an impossible decision.

"Mrs. Morozov," Roman calls as I reach the restaurant door.

I turn back to look at him.

"When you're lying in Alexei's arms tonight, remember that your parents are in a basement somewhere, wondering if their daughter loves them enough to save them."

The words follow me out into the cold afternoon air, echoing in my head as I make my way back to the estate and the man who'll probably lock me in our bedroom when he finds out what I've done.

Roman is right about one thing—Alexei will try to control this situation rather than trust me to make my own choice. The question is what I'll do about it.

The question is how much I'm willing to sacrifice for love, and how much I'm willing to sacrifice for family.

The question is whether there's any choice at all, or if Roman has already won by forcing me to choose between two different kinds of betrayal.

By the time I slip back into the house through the same service entrance I used to leave, I'm no closer to an answer. But I'm absolutely certain of one thing—tomorrow at midnight, someone I love is going to pay the price for my decision.

The only question is who.