Page 6 of Scorch

From what I’ve seen and heard, Lydia and Vera are not close, but that was likely their parents’ fault. They are still sisters.

Nikko pauses, the gears turning as he considers the implications, especially given his ties with Lydia’s sister. “Alright, I see the angle. I’ll set things in motion. But remember, this isn't just about owing us; it's about aligning our families for the long term.” He needs the Ivanovs’ buy-in. After the death of their pakhan, new leadership has taken position, and Nikko is the only one who has a working relationship with the Ivanov Bratva. He’ll know how to play this.

They go on to discuss the details and how they’ll make it happen while my mind races with possibilities. There’s a faint buzzing in the back of my mind, a combination of disbelief in what we’re about to do and the need to find Timur Yudin and destroy him.

As the call ends, the atmosphere in the room shifts from tension to a more calculated focus. Mikhail looks around, ensuring everyone is on the same page. “Nikko will handle the arrangements. We need to be strategic and careful. This isn't just about acquiring what Viktor wants but about positioning ourselves favorably within the community and ensuring long-term alliances.”

“And dealing with the fucking blowback from Yudin,” I mutter.

Aleksandr nods in agreement, his mind already racing through potential scenarios. “We have to consider every move as part of a larger game. Lydia is the key piece. Not only does Viktor get what he desires, but her connection through marriage ties us to a powerful family, strengthening our influence.”

Lev, usually the quietest, seems fueled with his need to see this happen and adds, “And we need to keep this clean. No loose ends that can come back to haunt us.”

Easier said than done.

I’ve been silently listening but finally have to speak up, my voice low and contemplative. “Make sure Lydia is treated with respect in this process.”

I’ll take good care of her. Such good care of her.

My brothers nod, understanding the delicate balance of fear and favor they need to maintain. This isn’t just another acquisition; this is personal, and it has to be handled with precision.

Mikhail's expression darkens as he leans forward, the lightness of our earlier considerations gone. “While we aim to manage this smoothly, understand that Lydia will likely not come willingly. We’ll need to compel her.”

Of course she wouldn’t. She might see us, or me in particular, as a threat. She’s fiercely independent and resists being controlled or used in any of her family’s political moves or machinations. Being forced to marry me after her engagement to Yudin will likely piss her off. Who knows what she thinks about me? Given what I know about her, she doesn’t easily trust and almost never lets her guard down.

This won’t be easy.

Mikhail smiles. “You know… we can align this necessity with an old Russian prophecy known to both our families, which we can use to our advantage.”

Aleksandr, intrigued, raises an eyebrow. “A prophecy? Explain.”

Mikhail nods, a grim smile touching his lips. “Yes, the prophecy known to families that hail from Moscow speaks of a 'Scourge'—a great turmoil that one family will endure, only to be saved by an alliance through marriage. It’s vague enough to instill fear and acceptance. It’s believed that rejecting the prophesied union will bring disaster, and embracing it will restore balance and prosperity.”

I shake my head. “That’s ridiculous. We’re all too pragmatic to believe in old prophecies. No. If I’m going to have Lydia—” I pause and get my shit together before I continue. “I want it out in the open. I want to solidify our alliance with the Ivanov family like Nikko did and for the same reason.” I shake my head. “She can’t go to that monster.”

I’ll do way more than fuck him over.

I dislike manipulation and typically prefer brute force, but this situation requires a delicate touch. “I want the Ivanovs to believe that aligning with us is not only inevitable but beneficial.”

I shake my head, still disbelieving that this could work, that Lydia… could be mine.

“And if it doesn’t work?” I try to keep my tone light, pretending that what hangs in the balance could make or literally fucking break me. I fail. My voice cracks.

“It will work,” Mikhail says. “I promise you.”

When I finally leave Mikhail’s office, I’m weary but energized.

Lydia Ivanova.

I drive to my home on the Manhattan border. I walk up the brick steps on autopilot, barely noticing where I’m going or what I’m doing.

Nikita, my large, muscular Tibetan Mastiff, meets me at the door, and I scratch her ears. “Give me five,” I tell her. I need a minute before we go for a walk. I take the stairs to my bedroom two at a time and walk straight to the closet hidden deep in the back of the room.

I slip the key into the lock, and the door creaks open on its hinges. I give myself a moment to lean against the worn wood and take in a deep breath before letting my gaze roam over every damn piece I’ve collected.

A nearly empty bottle of Opulence I lifted from her locker at the gym a year ago. A lipstick-stained napkin I confiscated at a coffee shop where she met her mother a few months ago. A torn page from a notebook she carries with the simplest of shopping lists on it. A disposable, empty coffee cup with her name scribbled on the side in permanent marker. A ticket stub from a concert she snuck into when she was still a teen here in America. Her photograph from her senior year in high school and a more recent one I found online and had made into a print. Her copy of Wuthering Heights she left behind all those years ago that I’ve read so many times the pages are falling apart.

Lydia’s shrine.

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