Page 9 of Dark Prince

“Maybe you should've been gentler on him, brother,” Elena says, a hint of criticism in her voice. If the fool were still alive, we could have gotten more information out of him.”

Grigori nods his head, confirming, “He barely said a word before he died. There wasn't much time to get anything useful.”

I feel a surge of rage within me. I regret the loss of a potential source of intel, but I don't regret killing the man who tried to take Maura's life. If anything, he got off easy. The instinct to protect her, to eliminate any threat to her, overrode any rational thought of gathering intelligence.

“The man tried to kill my wife,” I say, my voice hard as steel. “I won't apologize for dealing with a threat to my family. We'll find other ways to get the information we need.”

The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air. My brothers and Grigori understand the unspoken code—family comes first, always.

“It could be a power play from a rival family,” Lev suggests, leaning forward with a frown. “The O’Malleys or the Morettis, maybe. They've always been looking for a way to weaken us.”

Yuri, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table, adds his perspective. “Or it could be something internal, a betrayal from within. We can't rule out the possibility of someone trying to move up in the ranks.”

Elena, her expression thoughtful, chimes in with a different angle. “Don't forget what’s happened in the past. There could be someone holding a grudge, waiting for the right moment to strike back at us.”

Throughout the discussion, Grigori remains mostly silent, his eyes moving from one speaker to the next, assessing each theory with a critical eye.

The more we talk, the clearer it becomes that the assassination attempt wasn't just a random act of violence. The attack was calculated, a deliberate move to strike at the heart of the Ivanov family. It wasn't just about me; it was an attempt to destabilize our operations, to send a message.

As the theories continue to swirl, I find myself deep in thought, piecing together the fragments of information and intuition. The realization that someone out there not only wanted to hurt me but also wanted to see me suffer is a chilling thought.

The room buzzes with speculation when I suddenly raise my hand, signaling for silence. "I might have an idea who was behind this," I say, the pieces of the puzzle starting to form a clearer picture in my mind.

The room falls quiet, and all eyes are on me. I know that what I'm about to suggest could change the course of our next moves and, potentially, the fate of our family.

Chapter 5

Maura

“Holy shit.”

The words, inelegant though they may be, tumble out of my mouth as I take in the sight of my new home.

It's late in the morning when I find myself standing before Luk's house, the sunlight casting a warm glow over its impressive façade. The mansion, nestled in the heart of Chicago's Gold Coast, exudes old-world charm and grandeur. It's a stunning piece of architecture, with intricate stone carvings adorning its exterior and large, arched windows that offer glimpses of the opulence within.

The building stands tall and imposing, a testament to its owner's power and wealth. Ivy creeps up its sides, softening the stone's stern lines, while manicured gardens add a touch of color and life to the stately home.

As I approach the door, my mind flashes back to earlier this morning. I had woken up in the plush, king-sized bed of our downtown hotel room, feeling a chill from the empty space beside me where I had expected to find Luk. Instead, he was gone.

On the pillow, I found a note written in his neat, precise handwriting. It explained that he had to attend to family business matters but urged me to take my time and call the driver when I was ready to come home. The word home echoes in my mind, a concept that feels both foreign and daunting.

I stand before the grand entrance, unable to shake the surreal feeling that envelops me. This new life as Luk's wife stretches out before me, filled with uncertainties and new responsibilities.

Last night was a blend of passion and a connection that I had never experienced before. Yet, despite the intensity of our encounter, I can't help but feel unprepared for the role I'm about to step into. Being a wife—especially in Luk's world—comes with its own set of rules and expectations, ones that I'm not yet sure I understand or am ready to fulfill. Though I grew up around the Irish mob, I was largely shielded from its darker parts.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside.

The entry hall unfolds before me in a display of grandeur and elegance. It reminds me of an English country manor, with its high, ornate ceilings and a sweeping staircase that curves gracefully toward the upper floors. The floor is a polished marble, reflecting the soft light filtering in through tall, arched windows. Rich tapestries and portraits adorn the walls, each telling a story of heritage and legacy.

Staff moves quietly and efficiently through the hall, their presence a subtle reminder of the life I've stepped into. The wealth I grew up in was clearly not as great as Luk’s. The staff pauses as they notice me, offering greetings with a respectful deference.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ivanova,” a middle-aged butler says, his posture rigid. “We hope you find everything to your liking.”

“Thank you,” I reply, still adjusting to being addressed with such formality and with my new surname.

“Is there anything you require, ma'am?” asks a young maid with a friendly smile.

“Just finding my way around for now, thank you,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

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