Page 23 of Claimed By the Boss
“Raise it,” I say.
He opens the folder. Sets two pages on the table and slides them toward me. I don’t look at them yet. I look at him.
“Her name is Natasha Voss,” he says. “Twenty-nine. Her father is Dmitri Voss of the Eastern Council, with thirty years of experience in the organization. Her mother is connected to the Barinov family through her first marriage. She was educatedin Vienna, speaks four languages, and has been present at organizational functions since she was seventeen.” He taps the page. “She understands this world. She was raised in it. She knows what is required of a woman in this position.”
“And,” I say.
Gregor looks at me. “And Celine Varas is a personal assistant from Queens with no bloodline connections, no organizational history, and access to your inner structure that she has not earned.”
Fedorov shifts in his seat but says nothing. Maric is still looking at the window.
“Natasha Voss,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Dmitri Voss’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
I look at the pages now. A photograph, a one-page summary of her background, a list of her organizational connections laid out like a curriculum vitae. It’s thorough. Gregor spent time on this. I respect the preparation even as I’m deciding exactly how this conversation ends.
“Dmitri Voss,” I say, “approached me eighteen months ago about a route arrangement in the north that I declined. When I declined, he took it to Petrov’s faction. He has been in Petrov’s orbit since.” I set the pages down. “You want me to marry a woman whose father is currently aligned with the faction most actively working against this organization’s northern interests.”
Gregor’s jaw tightens. “That arrangement can be renegotiated.”
“Can it.”
“With the right incentive, yes. A marriage connection between our leadership and the Voss family would bring Dmitri back. It would close the northern problem.”
I look at him for a moment. Then at Fedorov, who’s looking at the table. Then at Maric, who has finally turned away from the window and is watching me with the expression of a man who came to this meeting because Gregor asked him to and now regrets it.
“You want me to use my marriage as a trade instrument,” I say. “To pull a man back from a rival faction by handing him a son-in-law.”
“It’s how these things have always been done.”
“It’s how these things were done thirty years ago.” I close the folder and push it back across the table. “Celine Varas is my wife. That is not a negotiation. This meeting is finished.”
Gregor doesn’t move. “Zane. The council’s concern is legitimate. A woman with no understanding of this world, no protection inside it, no?—”
“Gregor.” I stand up. “The next time you bring a folder with another woman’s photograph in it to a meeting about my marriage, that will be the last meeting you attend. Do you understand me?”
It’s not a question.
Fedorov pushes his chair back. Maric is already standing. Gregor looks at me for a long moment.
They file out. Roman closes the door behind them.
I stand at the window and stare down at the city.
Gregor is right. That’s the problem.
Three months ago, I would have looked at Natasha Voss’s photograph, considered the advantages, and made the decision without hesitation.
Now the thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Celine is in the living room when I come through in the evening.
I know she registered the closed-door meeting this afternoon. She registers everything. It’s the quality I chose her for, and the quality that’s currently the most inconvenient thing about her. She looked up when Gregor and the others came out, and when I came out twenty minutes later, she went back to her screen without saying anything.
