Page 36 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
“Cousin Yuri.”
Ivan’s mouth twisted. “Of course. Mikhail wants his son to lead the European operations.”
“It’s Yuri who is contesting my succession,” Artem said. “He filed the grievance thirty minutes after Father’s body was identified.”
I stared at him. “Thirty minutes?”
Three pairs of eyes turned toward me.
“That’s not enough time for decent mourning,” I said. “That’s barely enough time to put the kettle on and perform one respectable biscuit.”
Ivan’s mouth twitched. “What grounds?” he asked.
“Stability,” Artem said.
Then he looked at me.
The air in the room changed again.
I knew before he said it. My body knew. My throat tightened. My skin went cold.
“Yuri is arguing that a Pakhan without a bonded omega or a secured political marriage is vulnerable,” Artem said. “That unbonded alphas are unstable. Too easy to manipulate.”
Marriage.
There it was.
Of course it was.
Everything always came back to that, eventually. To someone deciding a woman’s body was political infrastructure. To someone telling her this was necessary. For the family. Always for the family, and for stability and peace.
My skin tingled, remembering before my mind did. I slid my hand to the back of my neck.
My father saying I would do what was required.
Finn looking at me like I was something he owned but didn’t like.
I could still smell that house when panic hit hard enough. Leather. Whiskey. Men who thought possession was greater than love.
I turned and stared at Artem. He was going to ask me to marry him and show my throat so his family would believe Artem was settled.
Icy fingers stepped down my spine.
I could run again.
I hardly knew Artem. That was the terrible part. I knew his scent. I knew the weight of him behind me. I knew he had expanded my flat because he knew I needed time and space. I knew he looked at me like I was both a miracle and a problem he would kill for.
But I had known Finn once too.
That was the trick of men, sometimes. They didn’t arrive wearing signs.
“So what do we do?” Ivan asked.
“We go to Moscow,” Artem said. “You and I. We walk into that room and remind Yuri exactly why this seat is mine.”
Ivan smiled. “Finally. A productive meeting.”
Artem turned to Gregor. “You stay here. If needed, take Maeve to the London compound.”
