Page 34 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

Thoughts of my life with the boring Leonid claw at my brain. I could— No, fuck no, I couldn’t. Because there’s no way Romanov would let me rule Volkov, and he would never accept a divorce.

“I have a marriage offer,” I say slowly. “How long do we need to stay together?”

“Good,” he says, “good. Take the offer. Twelve months will be enough, but the marriage needs to be real. You need to consummate it, live together, the whole deal. For optics.”

“You’re coming to inspect the marital bed?”

He gestures for me to sit, but I remain standing, so he rises up from his desk, the will in his hands.

“No, I won’t do that. The will says you need to be married for twelve months, but you have to convince others you’re in love, that you want to carry on the family line.”

I hear what he’s saying. He’ll accept that any marriage I enter into is real. We both know most, if not all, mafia marriages are until death do us part, but if something happens and it dissolves after twelve months, it will count. I just have to live with someone.

Then make those in the bratva and those hovering around it believe in that marriage.

But I’m not marrying Leonid.

Launceston holds out the will and I take it. My hands tremble slightly as I skim over the black print, the legalese making my temples pound. The clause is right there in front of me. If I’m not twenty-five, not married, and Dad’s gone, marriage is the only way I get control. I don’t see mention of the crest, but… that doesn’t matter.

I need a husband.

The business card from Murphy is tucked away in my black patent leather bag.

A crazy plan starts to form in the fog of my desperation.

And if I can pull it off, maybe I can kill all the birds with the one stone.

An hour later, I get a text back from the number on the business card. I gape at it in shock, my heart rocketing into overdrive.

Nine p.m. Tonight. Second floor. Don’t be late. 9653

Those last numbers… A code, it has to be a door code.

I check the time. It’s still early, and I don’t want to go home to my mess of an apartment. I have a part-time job at one of the last diners in Manhattan. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, and the pay is crap, but I manage to scrape by between the pittance of a salary and the monthly payments from the trust Mama set up for me.

And some occasional thievery.

I get nothing from Volkov and nothing from Dad. Everything goes to Romanov for Tatiana’s care. Sure, I should get my share, but as her guardian, he’s manipulated the terms of the inheritance to mean I don’t see a dime unless I do what he wants.

So thievery it is, and I’m good at it. Men don’t pay attention that they are being pickpocketed when a girl is pretty and wears a tight dress.

I call to cancel my shift for tonight and arrange to meet Maria at a small coffee shop in Chelsea. The hairs on my arms stand on end as I hurry to our meeting spot, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. But anytime I turn to glance over my shoulder,nobody suspicious is tailing me or watching. Just regular people going about their business.

How the hell do I feel so alone and vulnerable in such a crowded city?

When I arrive at the coffee shop, she’s already waiting. She’s pretty and under her long-sleeve flowery dress, no one would guess she’s a fighter. I mean, aside from the bruise and scrape on her cheek.

She flips her long blue-streaked ponytail over one shoulder and stands up, holding out a cup. “Walk and talk?”

I prefer it to sitting, feeling less like a target if I’m on the move. We head to the High Line and she just listens to the carefully sanitized version of my story.

“Man, Ava, I don’t know what the real tale is here, and I’m not sure I want to. We’ve all got our own shit, y’know? But you really want that kind of life where you’re always looking over your shoulder?”

“I do. And I need your help to get it.”

I desperately want a way to secure my future, my birthright. My bratva. And I’ll do almost anything to take control of it.

Except marry Leonid. It’s too much of a tie to Romanov. Too much of a gift I fear he wants. Total control.