Page 68 of His Forced Bride

"Your son understood the stakes. He knew what refusal would cost."

"My son was a fool who made promises he couldn't keep."

I grab Kozlov by the throat and slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the maps and make a few pins come loose.

"But he never threatened what was mine."

Kozlov's hands claw at my wrist, but I've spent thirty years building the strength to crush windpipes. "The contracts?—"

"Are void."

"My buyers?—"

"Can find another supplier."

He grunts, unable to fully speak.

I tighten my grip, feeling his pulse flutter against my palm.

His face turns red, then purple, his pale eyes bulging with panic and rage.

"Last warning,"

I whisper against his ear. "Touch anything that belongs to me again, and I'll send you back to your buyers in pieces."

I release him, and he collapses against the wall, gasping and clutching his throat.

Blood from my cut hand left streaks on his shirt collar.

"You're making a mistake."

His voice comes out as a croak.

"I'm making a statement."

He pushes away from the wall, straightening his jacket with shaking hands.

"This isn't over," he snarls.

"Yes, it is." I walk to the door and pull it open.

Oleg waits in the hallway, blocking any escape route.

"Mr. Kozlov is leaving. Escort him to the gate."

Oleg nods and steps aside to let Kozlov pass.

The arms broker moves carefully, one hand still pressed to his throat, his pale eyes promising retribution.

"Your wife's business will burn," he says from the doorway.

"All of it. Until there's nothing left but ashes and regret."

"Then I'll build her a new one from your bones."

Oleg escorts him away, leaving me alone in the meeting room with blood on my hands and the taste of violence in my mouth.

I pour another vodka and wash the cuts clean with a few drops of the alcohol and the end of my tie.