Page 27

"To help. Not as bait, not as some honey trap. As someone who actually gives a damn about him getting through this alive." She straightens. "I can redirect him. He trusts me, even manic. I can convince him Bembe's the real threat to Revna."

"You want to weaponize his illness," I state flatly.

"I want to keep everyone breathing," she counters. "Including him. If his mania's focused on protecting Revna from Bembe instead of killing you, maybe we all survive this."

The room goes quiet, everyone processing the moral complexity.

Using a sick man's delusions to solve our problem.

It's cruel and practical and might be our best option.

"He's not thinking clearly," Ingrid continues. "Yesterday, he called me, convinced that the government was using birds to spy on him. Today, he thinks you're literally Satan. His reality is completely fractured, but his feelings for Revna—those are still real. They're just amplified and twisted."

"If we do this," Runes says slowly, "and he survives, he gets help. Real help. Inpatient, medication, therapy. Non-negotiable."

Ingrid nods immediately. "That's all I wanted anyway. I've been trying to get him help for months. Maybe if he survives this, hits rock bottom, he'll finally accept it."

My phone buzzes.

Mum.

"I need to take this," I say, stepping into the hallway.

The corridor is narrow, photos of dead members watching me from the walls.

Young faces, most of them, killed in wars that seem pointless now.

"Doran." Her voice is strained. "The venue called. They need final confirmation for tomorrow. The florist is asking about delivery times. The caterer wants to know about dietary restrictions for table twelve."

"Everything's on schedule," I interrupt.

"Is it? Because from what I hear, your bride isn't even speaking to you."

"She'll be there."

"Will she?" Mom's quiet for a moment. "Doran, darling, what's your plan if she doesn't show?"

The question hits me hard.

I've been so focused on keeping her alive, I haven't considered she might simply... not come.

That she might choose to humiliate me in front of both our families, all our allies, and enemies.

"She'll be there," I repeat, but the certainty is gone.

"I hope so. But perhaps you should consider?—"

"There's no backup plan, Mom. She shows up, or none of this matters."

"The alliance?—"

"Fuck the alliance." The words surprise us both. "If she doesn't want this, doesn't want me, then the alliance can burn. I won't force her."

"Oh, Doran." Her voice softens. "You really do love her."

"More than I thought possible."

"Then fight for her. Not with violence or the way you always need to have control, but the way she needs you to fight. With honesty. With the vulnerability you've spent your whole life avoiding."

I hang up before she can probe deeper, leaning against the wall.

Eighteen hours until the wedding.

Eighteen hours to eliminate threats, fix relationships, and somehow convince the woman I love that I'm worth the risk.

Back in the office, they've been planning.

A map spreads across Runes' desk, marked with locations and times.

Red pins for Bembe's known positions, blue for our people, yellow for civilians at risk.

"Ingrid makes contact in two hours," Fenrir explains. "Plants the seed about Bembe planning something for tomorrow. Njal's already fixated on the wedding—we just redirect that energy."

"Not 'we,'" Runes corrects. "Ingrid. This only works if it comes from someone he trusts."

"I can do it," she insists. "I've talked him down before. This is just... talking him sideways instead."

I study the map, the careful planning, the pieces being positioned like chess pieces. "We're really going to do this. Use a sick man as a weapon."

"We're going to point an already-loaded gun away from innocent people," Rati corrects. "Would you rather he show up at the wedding tomorrow?"

The thought chills me.

Njal, manic and armed, crashing the ceremony.

Revna in her dress, vulnerable, exposed.

Her family gathered, celebrating.

The bloodbath that would follow.

"No."

"Then we do this." Runes stands, commanding the room. "But we do it smart. Ingrid, you'll have backup. Hidden, but there. The moment things go sideways?—"

"They won't," she promises. "I know him. Even manic, there's still Njal in there. He wants to be the hero. I just have to show him who the real villain is."

"And after?" I ask. "When the dust settles?"

"If he's alive, he gets help," Runes repeats. "That's the deal. We're not executioners. We're family."

The word hangs heavy.

Family.

These people who threatened to kill me if I hurt Revna, now working beside me to protect her.

The irony isn't lost.

"What about Bembe's timeline?" I ask. "Twenty-four hours puts us at?—"

"Two PM tomorrow," Fenrir finishes. "Middle of your wedding."

"He planned that," Rati growls. "Wants maximum impact. Either you cave and apologize, looking weak in front of everyone, or he starts his war during your reception."

"Neither's happening," I say firmly. "By tomorrow morning, this will be handled."

"One way or another," Runes agrees.

He pulls me aside as the others work out logistics.

His hand on my shoulder is surprisingly gentle, fatherly almost.

"You know why I agreed to this marriage?"

"The alliance. Protection for the club."

"That's part of it." He guides me toward the window overlooking the parking lot.

Below, I can see Revna's new Audi, Dalla's beside it.

They're here. Safe, for now. "But mostly, it was how you looked at her."

"What?"

"Five years ago. That Christmas party where she told me to fuck off." His smile is nostalgic. "You were there with your parents. Watching from the corner like you always did. But when she stood up to me, when she showed that fire... your face changed."

I remember that night.

The dress, the defiance, the moment I knew she'd own me forever.

The way the light caught her hair, the fury in her eyes, the absolute lack of fear in the face of a room full of killers.

"You looked at her like she was already yours," he continues. "Not in a possessive way—well, not just possessive. Like you'd been waiting your whole life, and suddenly there she was. That's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That this arrangement might actually work. That my daughter might find something real in all this mess." His grip tightens. "But if your pride gets her killed, if your need to control everything costs her life, I'll feed you to the gators in pieces. Understand?"

"If I get her killed, I'll help you do it."

He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "I believe you would."

Movement in the parking lot catches my eye.

Revna, stepping out for air.

Even from here, I can see the exhaustion in her posture, the weight she's carrying.

She's still in the clothes from this morning, hair pulled back messily.

My hands itch to hold her, to fix this, to make her understand.

"Give her time," Runes says, reading my mind. "She's processing. Tomorrow?—"

"Tomorrow she might not show up."

"She will." He sounds more certain than I feel. "That girl's many things, but she's not a runner. She'll be there, even if it's just to tell you off in front of everyone."

"That's reassuring."

His chuckle is dry. "You wanted a strong woman. They don't come easy."

My phone buzzes.

A text from Revna:

Tomorrow, we need to talk. Really talk. About everything.

My heart races just seeing her name on my screen.

I type back quickly:

Whatever you need. After the ceremony?

Her response takes several minutes:

If there is a ceremony.

The words are another blow, but at least she's talking to me.

I'll take uncertainty over silence.

"She's strong,"

I text back:

There will be. Even if I have to handle every threat in the entire world tonight.

She responds back within a couple of minutes:

Don't make promises you can't keep, Doran.

But I will keep it.

Whatever it takes, whoever I have to go through, tomorrow, Revna walks down that aisle.

Not because of the arrangement or the alliance, but because, despite everything, we belong together.

"I need to ask you something," I tell Runes. "About your father."

His face darkens. "What about him?"

"He made arrangements, too. Promises to the Russians that you've been honoring. How did you live with it? Following a dead man's deals?"

Runes is quiet for a long moment. "My father was a bastard. Mean drunk, meaner sober. But he understood one thing—in this life, your word is everything. You break it, you're nothing."

"Even when the deal hurts your family?"

"Especially then." He turns from the window. "But here's what my father didn't understand—deals can evolve. What starts as duty can grow into choice. The arrangement is just the beginning, not the end."

"Is that what happened with you and Fern?" I ask, testing the waters.

He chuckles. "Fern? Hell no. I knew her through Fenrir and Charm. By the gods, she helped me get Tor back from my psycho ex." His expression softens. "She changed my life, for the better."

"But Revna? She's stronger than her mother. Smarter. More stubborn. Which means if you earn her, really earn her, you'll have something worth more than any alliance."

"If," I emphasize.

"When," he corrects. "That girl's got her mother's heart. She wants to forgive you. You just have to give her a reason."

"News coming in," Mikhail announces from the doorway. "Ingrid made contact. Njal's... receptive. He's fixated on Bembe now, convinced he's planning something for tomorrow."

"Good," Runes says, but he looks troubled.

Using family, even sick family, goes against everything the MC stands for.

"There's more," Mikhail continues. "Bembe's been spotted. He's got men positioned around the city. Watching the venue, the church, even this clubhouse."

"He's making sure we know he's serious," I mutter.

"Or he's planning something bigger." Rati checks his weapon, an automatic gesture. "Man doesn't position troops for intimidation alone."

Through the window, I watch Revna pace the parking lot, phone to her ear.