Page 37 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
“He threatened me. Made it very clear what happens to people who cross him.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He let me go.”
“Why would he let you go?”
“I don’t know, but he said it isn’t over.”
Diana sinks into a chair. “You need to quit. Today. Right now. Walk into Marcus’s office and resign.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Running makes me look guilty. Makes me look weak. I’m done being weak.”
“This is going to get you killed.”
She’s right. I don’t care.
Something shifted in that office. Some line I thought was solid turned out to be permeable, and I crossed it without meaning to.
Dimitri Rudenko wants revenge.
Fine. Let him try.
Chapter Ten - Dimitri
The Volkov meeting is set for Thursday at a neutral location—a restaurant in Brighton Beach that’s been hosting Bratva negotiations since before I was born. The owner knows better than to ask questions, knows to keep the private room empty and the staff deaf to whatever discussions occur behind closed doors.
I arrive deliberately late, a calculated move that establishes hierarchy before a single word is spoken.
Felix and Oleg flank me as we enter, both armed, though weapons won’t be drawn. This is diplomacy, not war.
Not yet, anyway.
The Volkovs are already seated—Viktor, the patriarch, flanked by his two sons and his daughter Elena. She’s dressed for the occasion, elegant in designer clothing that probably cost more than most people make in a year. Pretty in a conventional way, polished and poised and completely uninteresting.
Damien sits at the head of the table, expression neutral. This meeting was his idea, part of ongoing efforts to strengthen alliances and consolidate territory. The Volkovs control shipping routes we need access to; we control real estate developments they want a piece of.
An engagement between their family and ours would seal the arrangement.
I’m the offering.
“Dimitri.” Viktor stands, extending his hand. “Good of you to join us.”
I shake briefly, then take my seat across from Elena. She meets my eyes with practiced confidence, a small smile that’s meant to be demure and inviting.
I feel nothing.
“Let’s get to business,” Damien says, and the room settles.
The negotiation unfolds exactly as expected. Viktor outlines the benefits of alliance—access, protection, mutual profit. Damien counters with our own offerings, the leverage we bring. Numbers are discussed, territories mapped, profit percentages calculated with precision.
Through it all, Elena watches me. Waiting for acknowledgment, for interest, for any sign that this arrangement is acceptable.
I can’t give her what she’s looking for.
