3
IVAN
“No!” Yasha shakes his head. “No. I won’t let you marry that psychotic—”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice! You’re Ivan Pushkin, for fuck’s sake. There is always a way out.”
Yasha isn’t prone to idealism. It’s one of the many reasons I chose him as my second. But he knows what my job is. What my job truly is: I’m a man who knows how to make the tough calls other people are too afraid to make.
This is one of them.
“She played us, sobrat. Francia played us all for fools. The only way to save Cora now is to give her what she wants.”
“No. There has to be another way.”
“Not one we can figure out in—” I glance at my phone. “Two minutes.”
My heartbeat ramps up, matching pace with the seconds ticking past. Time is running out fast.
Jorden stirs in Yasha’s arms. She grabs his shoulder and tries to sit up, but she is weak. She can barely hold on.
“Relax,” Yasha reassures her. “I have you.”
Her head swivels to me, her gaze glassy. “Cora… You need her. She talks about… you two. Two… together.”
“Get her to the doctor, Yasha. She isn’t making sense.”
Except she is. I know what she’s saying as well as Yasha does. But it’s not possible. Cora and I can’t be together. Not in this lifetime. I’d rather break her heart and save her life than doom her to dying because of me.
“When we find Cora, she’ll be destroyed if she finds out—”
“She’ll be dead if I don’t do this,” I bite back. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I never wanted a wife.”
Yasha gives me a knowing look. “C’mon, Ivan. That was different. That was before. Now—”
“Now, I’m going to marry Francia and save Cora’s life. What’s one bride compared to another?” My words are ice-cold, but Yasha doesn’t look convinced. Neither am I. He opens his mouth to respond, but I shake my head and point down the alley. “Go. Now. Jorden needs you.”
If the situation was any different, I know Yasha wouldn’t leave. He’d stand here and fight as hard for me as I would for him. But Jorden has slipped into unconsciousness again. Blood from the wound on the back of her head has soaked into his shoulder. She needs medical attention.
So, with a drawn-out sigh, Yasha gives me one final look and then turns and carries her down the alleyway.
When I get back inside, Francia is waiting for me. “I was getting nervous you’d made a run for it,” she titters. “It wouldn’t be that surprising, I suppose. I never understood your interest in Cora.”
“Don’t you dare say her fucking name.”
The words tear out of my throat. Francia is smart enough to press her lips together and stay quiet.
“I have demands,” I add.
She arches a brow. “I thought I was the one making demands.”
“We’ve entered negotiations,” I tell her. “You made a demand; now, I’m countering. Do you want to hear it or not?”
“By all means. But know that you only have…” She looks at her watch. “One minute.”
Sixty seconds to negotiate the rest of my life. No pressure.
“If you’re going to marry me, you will play the role of the traditional Bratva wife.”
“Meaning…?”
“You are to be seen, not heard.” Though I wouldn’t mind if she wasn’t seen, either. “You have no power over any part of the Bratva—that remains fully in my control—and we live in separate wings of the house.”
She frowns. “Were you and Cora living in separate wings?”
“Cora wasn’t my wife.”
In my head, I add, She was more than that.
What I had with Cora is more than anything I’ll ever have with Francia. The fact Francia thinks I’ll ever treat her the way I treated Cora shows exactly how delusional she really is.
She hums, considering. “Is that all?”
“I also want proof that Cora is alive. Now and whenever I request it from this moment forward.”
“As you wish.” Francia’s mouth pinches into a sly grin. She slowly slinks forward, moving closer to me than she ought to dare. “I can’t demand that you love me, Ivan. But once you see how perfectly I fit into your world… once you see me carry your children… who knows what might happen?”
Not that. Not ever.
I decide right here, right now, that I will never touch Francia. Fuck my lineage. Fuck the Bratva. I’ll leave it to Yasha’s children in my will if I must. But I will never lay so much as a finger near Francia—unless it’s to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest.
As the vow crosses my mind, Francia extends her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
“One more thing.” I reach out and snare Francia’s wrist from mid-air. She yelps as my hand swallows up her finger and yanks.
“What the fuck are you doing! That is—”
“Not your ring,” I finish.
I step back and open my palm to reveal Cora’s engagement band shining in the palm of my hand. It looked wrong on Francia’s finger. It looks wrong here. It belongs in one place only.
I look up at Francia as a storm cloud settles on her brow. She’s a vengeful bitch—that much has become blindingly obvious. If I’m going to navigate this relationship, I have to play it right. Carefully. I need her docile until I’m ready to make my next move. So for now, that means forcing little white lies down her throat one by one.
“You don’t want a hand-me-down, do you?” I croon. “I’ll get you your own ring. One that suits you.”
Preferably one tied to a cement block that is well on its way to meeting the bottom of the ocean.
Revenge fantasies are the only thing that will get me through this relationship with Francia, however long it has to last. Because outwardly, I’ll have to play my part. I’ll have to ease Francia’s vindictive side and lure her into a false sense of security. Until I can find Cora and kill everyone who played a part in separating us.
Francia’s smile grows slowly. Then she nods and pulls out her phone. “I like white gold. And big diamonds. Spare no expense.”
“I never have.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” She presses her phone to her ear. “It’s done.”
Then she has the audacity to wink at me. Like this chapter is finished.
But nothing about this is done.
We are just getting started.