Page 15 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Kostya had been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, the kind where he could shed the weight of Bratva business and simply exist in the space between his public persona and private thoughts.

The alliance meeting with the Torrino family had run late, negotiations over shipping routes stretching well past midnight, and all he wanted was a glass of good scotch and perhaps a glimpse of his sleeping wife.

But as he approached his office, golden light spilled through the partially closed door, casting long shadows across the marble floor. His footsteps, silent from years of practice, carried him closer until he could see her silhouette bent over his desk.

Azriel.

She was holding the surveillance photographs, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face as she studied them with an intensity that made something cold settle in his chest. The leather ledger lay open beside her, pages of carefully documented transactions exposed to her curious eyes.

For a moment, he simply watched her. Even in her oversized sleep shirt and bare feet, she commanded attention.

There was something almost predatory in the way she absorbed information, filing away details with the precision of someone trained to notice patterns.

It was attractive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

“Find anything interesting?” he asked, stepping into the room.

She didn’t startle the way most people would. Instead, she looked up slowly, meeting his gaze with those smoky gray eyes that had haunted his thoughts since the first night he’d seen her. “You’ve been watching me for months.”

It wasn’t a question, and Kostya found himself appreciating her directness even as warning bells chimed in the back of his mind. “Planning requires information.”

“Planning.” She set the photographs down carefully, her movements deliberate. “Is that what you call kidnapping and forced marriage?”

“I call it collecting on a debt.” He moved closer, noting how she didn’t retreat despite the obvious tension radiating from her small frame. “Though I’m beginning to wonder if the debt was more calculated than I initially believed.”

Something flickered across her features, too quick to identify. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I want the truth, Azriel. All of it. Who you really are, what you know about your father’s business, and why a woman smart enough to graduate summa cum laude would be genuinely surprised by any of this.” He gestured toward the scattered documents.

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing the edge of his desk. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a steel he’d only heard glimpses of before. “I want the truth, too. About who you are, what this organization really does, and what my father’s involvement means for both of us.”

Kostya studied her face, searching for tells, for the micro-expressions that would reveal deception. But Azriel had always been difficult to read, her emotions carefully controlled even when she was fighting him. “You might not like what you hear.”

“I’m tired of living in the dark.”

Fair enough. He moved to the bar cart in the corner, pouring two glasses of scotch despite the late hour.

“The Nikolai family controls shipping operations along the Great Lakes, from Chicago to Toronto. We move everything from luxury goods to information, and we do it better than anyone else because we understand that true power comes from controlling the flow of valuable commodities.”

He handed her a glass, noting how her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted it.

“Your father managed one of our smaller operations, overseeing the distribution of certain pharmaceutical products to private buyers. Nothing too dramatic, certainly nothing that should have attracted federal attention if handled properly.”

“Pharmaceutical products.” Her voice was carefully neutral.

“Pain medications, mostly. The kind that wealthy individuals prefer to acquire without involving insurance companies or nosy physicians.” Kostya settled into the chair across from her, studying her reaction.

“Danny was reliable for nearly three years. Punctual, discreet, reasonably intelligent about covering his tracks.”

“And then?”

“Then he got greedy.” Kostya took a sip of his scotch, savoring the burn. “Started skimming product, selling to his own contacts, keeping profits that belonged to the family. When we confronted him, he claimed to be experiencing financial hardship. Medical bills, he said. Debts he couldn’t manage.”

Azriel’s knuckles were white around her glass, but her expression remained carefully blank. “So you decided to take his daughter as payment.”

“He offered you.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended. “Spoke about your intelligence, your education, suggested you’d make a valuable addition to the family. At first, I thought it was desperation talking. A man grasping at straws to save his own skin.”

“But now?”

“Now I’m wondering if it was a strategy.” Kostya leaned forward, close enough to catch the subtle scent of her shampoo. “Danny Hartford strikes me as many things, but a loving father isn’t one of them. Men who care about their daughters don’t offer them up to criminals as bargaining chips.”

Something raw flashed through her eyes before she could hide it. “You don’t know anything about my relationship with my father.”

“Then enlighten me.”

She drained her scotch in one swallow, the burn making her eyes water. “There is no relationship. I haven’t spoken to him in over two years. I moved to Chicago specifically to get away from him, and I’ve been supporting myself ever since.”

Kostya absorbed this information, filing it away alongside dozens of other small details that hadn’t quite fit together before. “Yet you insisted tonight that marrying you should clear his debts.”

“Because that was the deal you offered.” Her voice rose slightly before she caught herself. “You said I was payment for what he owed. If you’ve already collected your payment, then the debt should be settled.”

“Unless the payment was part of a larger strategy.”

“What strategy?” The question came out like a whip crack.

“Placing someone inside my organization. Someone smart enough to gather intelligence, attractive enough to hold my attention, and innocent enough that I wouldn’t suspect ulterior motives.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the antique clock on his bookshelf. Then Azriel laughed, a bitter sound that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.

“You think I’m some kind of spy?”

“I think your father is more cunning than I gave him credit for, and I think you’re more dangerous than either of us realized.”

She stood abruptly, pacing to the window that overlooked the darkened gardens. “If I were working with my father, would I have fought you so hard? Would I have tried to escape, argued with you, made your life difficult at every opportunity?”

“If you were well-trained, yes.”

“And if I were some kind of criminal mastermind, would I be stupid enough to get caught snooping through your private files?”

Kostya had to admit she had a point. “Perhaps. The best lies are often wrapped in truth.”

“God, you’re paranoid.” She turned back toward him, and in the lamplight, he could see exhaustion written across her delicate features.

“I’m not working with my father, Kostya.

I’m not working with anyone. I’m just a woman who got caught up in circumstances beyond her control, trying to figure out how to survive in a world I never asked to be part of. ”

The sincerity in her voice was compelling, but Kostya hadn’t survived this long by taking people at face value. “Then you won’t have any objection to proving it.”

Suspicion flickered across her face. “How?”

“There’s a gathering tomorrow night. Allied families, business associates, the kind of event where information flows as freely as champagne.

” He stood, moving closer until he could see the flecks of silver in her gray eyes.

“You’ll attend as my wife. Meet the people who matter in this world, show them that the Nikolai family has gained a valuable asset. ”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll know you have something to hide.”

She was quiet for a long moment, and he could practically see her mind working, weighing options and calculating risks. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But I have conditions.”

“You’re hardly in a position to make demands.”

“I’m in a position to make your life very difficult if you don’t listen.

” The steel was back in her voice, reminding him why he’d found her so captivating from the beginning.

“I’ll go to your party, play the role of devoted wife, charm whoever you need me to charm.

But in return, you keep your suspicions to yourself.

No more accusations, no more testing. If I prove I’m not working against you, this conversation ends. ”

Kostya considered her proposal. It was reasonable, which somehow made him more suspicious rather than less. “And if you are working against me?”

“Then I’m terrible at my job, and you have nothing to worry about.”

Despite everything, he found himself fighting a smile. Even when she was potentially lying to him, Azriel Hartford was magnificent. “Very well. We have an agreement.”

The next evening found them dressed for war, although to any casual observer, they appeared to be a couple preparing for an elegant social gathering.

Azriel wore a black dress that skimmed her curves without being ostentatious, her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon that exposed the graceful line of her neck.

She looked sophisticated, expensive, and entirely appropriate for the wife of a high-ranking Bratva member.

“Nervous?” Kostya asked as their driver navigated through the Chicago traffic toward the neutral ground where the gathering would take place.

“Should I be?”

“These people aren’t your college classmates, Azriel. They’re criminals, some more dangerous than others. They’ll be watching you, judging whether you’re an asset or a liability to the family.”

“And which am I?”

“That remains to be seen.”

The venue was a restored mansion in Lincoln Park, the kind of place that hosted charity galas and political fundraisers during the day and served as neutral territory for less legitimate business after dark.

Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over well-dressed men and women who moved through the rooms with the casual confidence of people accustomed to power.

Kostya kept his hand on the small of Azriel’s back as they moved through the crowd, a possessive gesture that served multiple purposes. It marked her as his, warned others to keep their distance, and allowed him to feel the subtle changes in her posture as she processed her surroundings.

“Lorenzo Romano,” he murmured near her ear as they approached a distinguished man with silver hair and calculating eyes. “Italian family, controls the South Side. Valentina’s father.”

“Kostya.” Lorenzo’s smile was warm but didn’t reach his eyes. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to skip our little gathering.”

“Business ran late. Lorenzo, I’d like you to meet my wife, Azriel.”

“A pleasure.” Lorenzo took her hand, pressing a brief kiss to her knuckles. “I was beginning to think Kostya was too set in his bachelor ways to ever settle down.”

“Everyone finds their match eventually,” Azriel replied smoothly, her smile polite but not overly warm. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your daughter. I hope to meet her soon.”

“Valentina will be delighted. She’s always looking for intelligent conversation, and I suspect you two will have much in common.”

They continued their circuit of the room, and Kostya found himself grudgingly impressed by Azriel’s performance.

She asked appropriate questions, offered the right compliments, and managed to seem genuinely interested in conversations about shipping schedules and territory agreements without appearing to gather intelligence.

It was exactly what he would have expected from a well-trained operative.

“You’re doing well,” he said during a brief moment when they were alone at the bar.

“Thank you.” She accepted a glass of champagne from the bartender. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”

“They’re curious about you. The mysterious woman who finally managed to capture my attention.”

“Is that what I did?”

Before he could answer, a commotion near the entrance caught his attention. New arrivals were being announced, and Kostya felt his muscles tense as he recognized the voice of his security chief.

“Danny Hartford and associate.”

Azriel went completely still beside him, her champagne glass frozen halfway to her lips. The color drained from her face so quickly that Kostya thought she might faint.

“Problem?” he asked quietly.

“I...” She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the entrance. “You didn’t tell me he would be here.”

“I didn’t know.” But that was a lie. He’d arranged for Danny to attend specifically to gauge Azriel’s reaction. What he hadn’t expected was this level of fear, so intense it was almost palpable.

Danny Hartford entered the room like a man who belonged there, his expensive suit and confident stride masking whatever desperation had driven him to offer his daughter as payment.

He was younger than Kostya had expected, probably in his late forties, with the kind of practiced charm that came from years of talking his way out of trouble.

But it was Azriel’s reaction that captured Kostya’s attention. She had gone completely rigid, every muscle in her small frame locked with tension. Her breathing had become shallow, and her free hand was gripping the edge of the bar so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

This wasn’t the reaction of a woman working with her father. This was the reaction of prey recognizing a predator.

“Azriel,” he said softly, moving closer until his body blocked her from view of the room. “Look at me.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze still fixed on her father as he worked the room with practiced ease. Kostya could see the exact moment Danny spotted them, could watch recognition and something else, something calculating and cold, flicker across the older man’s features.

“We need to leave,” Azriel whispered, so quietly he almost missed it.

“Not yet.” Kostya’s voice was gentle but implacable. “Running now would only confirm suspicions.”

“I can’t...” She took a shuddering breath. “Please, Kostya. I can’t be in the same room with him.”

The raw terror in her voice cut through every suspicion he’d harbored about her motivations. This wasn’t an act, wasn’t some elaborate performance designed to throw him off guard. Azriel Hartford was genuinely, desperately afraid of her own father.

And suddenly, many things began to make sense.