Page 27

ROMAN

Z oya was so close, but I couldn’t go see her.

It had been an entire week of keeping my distance—staying away, not even able to check on her—because if I did, if I went anywhere near her, my cousins would accuse me of thinking with the head between my legs instead of the one above my shoulders.

I needed them to see reason.

I needed them to understand that my need to protect her, to care for her, wasn’t just because she had a tight ass and a great rack. This wasn’t about lust because she was pretty, or because her green eyes sparkled like emeralds set against the most beautiful blonde hair I’d ever seen.

No. While Zoya was the most stunning woman I had ever seen—flawless, untouchable—that wasn’t the reason I needed to know she was okay.

All week, I had been pacing the hallway outside her room, making sure only women went into her room.

Only women brought her food, helped her change clothes and bandages, made sure she stayed clean, and unchained her long enough to use the restroom or whatever she needed.

I didn’t trust the men.

Not all the guards would respect Zoya the way they respected the wives. Some of them would enjoy scaring her or try to touch her. Then I’d have to kill them—and Artem would complain about the bodies.

I didn’t believe Gregor or Artem would order her execution while she was injured. That was beneath them. But I couldn’t risk someone trying to take the initiative in a misguided attempt to earn favor.

The only man I allowed in that room was her doctor. Even then, his visits were timed, and he gave me a full report the second he left.

I wanted to get back to her.

I wanted to return to that armchair I’d stationed outside her door, to make sure no one else went in.

Instead, I was headed to the outpost building Gregor used for official business inside the compound.

Family meetings were normally held in one of the houses—in a rec room, a basement, somewhere more casual.

Intimate meetings required intimate settings and the good booze.

Places where we could smoke, drink, relax, and come to a decision as a family.

Only the inner circle was allowed in those rooms—those close enough to be trusted around the wives and children.

This meeting room was different. This was where we handled formal business with outsiders. Hiring security, planning joint ops, even the occasional sit-down with a senator or congressman. It gave the illusion of welcome without granting actual access to our home.

I knew, the second I was summoned, this was about Zoya.

I had hoped I could reason with my cousins—that we could have a calm conversation where I could make them see my side.

Gregor and Artem weren’t unreasonable men—unless the safety of the family or the business were threatened. Zoya had done both. Now that we knew she had been pulling Solovyov’s strings, the extent of the danger she’d put us in was undeniable.

Zoya wasn’t a threat—not anymore. But making them see that? That would be difficult.

When I walked into the room, Gregor’s jaw was set, his fist clenched on the table, and I knew all logic and reason were off the table.

“She’s a liability.” Gregor started right in, his words clipped. “There are only two options. We send her back to Russia penniless and reliant on her family, or we kill her. You know which one I prefer.”

“No.” I stood from my seat, my chair tipping and crashing to the hardwood floor behind me. I shouldn’t have stood. I shouldn’t have yelled.

I knew better. But when it came to her, I couldn’t think or act with my usual cold rationality.

“This is not your decision,” he snapped, rising to his feet and glaring at me.

I was sure he was intimidating to most. That glower was effective. But I wasn’t most people. I met his height. I matched his size. And from years of sparring, I knew I could take him.

It would be close—I’d lose a few teeth and take some brutal hits—but if the others stayed out of it, I had a good shot. Especially when I was fighting for her.

My hands curled into fists, waiting for him to make the first move. I was angry, irrational, but I wouldn’t strike first—unless he forced me.

I hadn’t fought my way through a bloodbath or nearly lost my mind searching for her just to have her ripped from me now.

Of course, this had to be the one issue that brought Gregor and Artem into agreement. For the first time in who knew how long, they stood united.

They both stared me down. The weight of their authority pressed down on me—suffocating.

But not nearly as suffocating as the thought of life without her.

For the first time since I was a child, I had no power here.

Ever since my mother died—and my father soon after—I had vowed never to be powerless again. Never to let anyone else’s decisions control my fate.

And yet, here I was.

I had no control, no leverage—and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that stand.

“Don’t be stupid about this,” Artem muttered, rubbing his temples like the conversation itself was giving him a headache. “We know you want her, but that’s not a good enough reason to keep her.”

I ground my teeth. How could they not understand?

Every single one of them was married—something they swore they’d never do. Not even for convenience or gain. But they had all married for love. Even if they hadn’t recognized it at the time.

Hell, they let their sister marry for love. That marriage should have come with an eight-figure dowry. Instead, she wed a penniless orphan with no name.

I didn’t begrudge Mikhail and Nadia their happiness—at least not until now, sitting here with the rest of the hypocrites trying to take mine from me.

“This isn’t about what I want,” I ground out.

Gregor scoffed, dismissive. “The hell it isn’t. You want to fuck her. She’s pretty and feisty. She’s the first woman who didn’t immediately throw herself into your bed, and now you think you get to keep her.”

The accusation stung.

I clenched my jaw, holding back a retort I’d regret.

What they were implying was completely wrong. Keeping her wasn’t about strategy, or lust, or pride.

It was her.

For the first time, I truly understood, deep in my bones, why my father had followed my mother in death.

“I won’t let you send her away,” I said quietly.

They stared at me. I took a breath, trying to rein in my fury. Threats wouldn’t work here. They were just as stubborn as I was.

I picked up my chair, sat down, and laid my hands flat on the polished wood of the tabletop. Unarmed. A gesture of peace.

“There has to be another way. We don’t kill women. And I won’t let you send her away. If she goes back to Russia, I go with her.”

“The family’s pulling out of Russia. We’ve moved on to greener pastures. You were ordered to relocate here,” Artem said, fingers steepled in front of him.

“I’m aware. If you want me here, if you want my skills, then she stays.”

Damien, Kostya, and Mikhail all groaned. I didn’t blame them. We were going in circles.

I wasn’t budging.

“Okay,” Gregor said, unusually calm. “We don’t trust her. We don’t want her near the family. You won’t work without her.” The corners of his mouth began to curl up. “I have an idea.”

Nothing good ever followed Gregor’s shit-eating grins. I knew that smile. It meant he thought he had you trapped.

“What?” I asked, wary.

“Marry her. Make her one of us. Immediately. You want her? Fine. Make it permanent. We all know how you feel about commitment.”

“Done,” I said without hesitation.

Silence.

Everyone stared at me, waiting for the punch line.

“Wait, what?” Kostya said. “You said you’d never…”

His voice trailed off.

“Call a priest. Or a judge. Get the paperwork. Then Zoya can plan the wedding of her dreams.”

“You don’t even want to think about it?” Pavel asked.

“Nope. I’ve thought enough. Call the judge.”

Artem exhaled sharply.

He leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You can’t just marry her,” he said.

“Pretty sure I can. Gregor’s satisfied. I’m satisfied. Either get on board or get the fuck out of the way.”

“It’s up to Zoya,” Artem warned. “If she says no, she’s gone.”

Silence again.

I hadn’t come this far to lose her now.

“Since when have any of us waited for a ‘yes’? I seem to remember several brides being carried to the altar, yours included. Her church language wasn’t exactly saintly.”

The others smirked, stifling laughs behind fists and coughs.

“We did that to give the women we love our last name and the protection that comes with it.”

“I’m protecting Zoya just as much as?—”

“From who?” Gregor interrupted. “Who’s gunning for your bride if she’s not an Ivanov?”

“Other than you?” I snapped. “She put her father in one of the most brutal asylums in the world. How long do you think Egor stays there? She killed one of the most ruthless businessmen in Russia. She made enemies—and then aligned herself with Los Infideles . Mateo and the others may be dead, but they weren’t the last of that organization. ”

It might not be true.

But I didn’t need truth. I needed to win.

“No,” Artem said. “She’s a threat. If she joins us willingly, fine. I’m sure the women will welcome her.”

“Maybe give Alina some time,” Pavel mumbled.

Artem glared and continued.

“But if she’s forced into this family, we’re inviting a viper into our home. I won’t have someone I can’t trust near our children.”

“He has a point,” Gregor said, still smug.

Fuck.

How was I going to convince her, after everything, to marry me?

“That, and I’ve been informed that it’s the twenty-first century. Dragging women to the altar is,” Artem lifted his fingers in air quotes, “no longer ‘okay.’ A little too caveman.”

“He has a point,” Mikhail added.

No one paid him much attention.

“That’s the deal, cousin,” Gregor said. Still grinning like he’d won.

“She says yes willingly—or she’s gone.”