Page 42 of Mafia King's Bride

I let the silence stretch, drumming my fingers against my thigh as he stares at me like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.

He’s mine now.

“Okay, Igor,” I finally say, placing a hand on his shoulder like a father about to offer sage advice. “You made a mistake. Aterrible one. But it’s not the end of the world.” My voice lowers, calm and calculated. “I’ll help you. But there’s a catch.”

His eyes light up with desperate hope. “What do I need to do?”

“Leave it all to me,” I say simply. “I’ll handle the investment, the handover, everything. Your name will be on the papers, but I’ll be running the show. Agreed?”

Igor hesitates, his brows knitting together as he tries to process the offer. His eyes dart to mine, searching for the catch, but there’s no hidden motive. It’s all right there, laid out plainly for him.

I control everything.

“You have concerns about my methods?” I challenge, turning slightly as if ready to leave.

“No, no,” he blurts out quickly. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you think is best.”

I suppress a smile, turning back to him with a slight nod.

That’s more like it.

“Good. Send whatever documents you have to my secretary. I’ll go over them and let you know the next steps.”

Igor breathes out in relief, like a man who just got pulled from the jaws of death. “Thank you, Dmitri. Thank you.”

I dismiss his gratitude with a wave, already bored of the conversation. “Don’t mention it. Just remember—your loyalty is the only thing I expect in return.”

He nods fervently, his grin returning. “Of course. That’s why you’re Dmitri Orlov. Your father was the same.”

My jaw tightens, the mention of my father stirring something dark and bitter inside me.

No, he wasn’t.

My father wasn’t ruthless enough. He trusted the wrong people, let himself be deceived, manipulated. That’s not a mistake I plan to repeat.

“I have a meeting,” I say, my voice colder now. “I’ll see you later.”

I turn sharply, striding down the hall as my fingernails dig into my palm.

Your father was the same.

No. My father was weak in ways I’ll never allow myself to be. I won’t let sentiment or misplaced trust cloud my judgment. This empire will be stronger, more unshakable than his ever was. And people like Igor Pavlov? They’ll be the ones who fall in line—or fall entirely.

As I reach the elevator, my thoughts flicker back to Ana.

No.

I can’t afford to think about her now. Feelings make you weak, and weakness gets you killed. I tighten my grip on the situation with Igor, reminding myself of what I do best. Control. Power. Ruthlessness.

That’s what keeps me at the top.

FIFTEEN

ANA

“Do you know what time it is?” Yelena’s voice pops into my office like a bright, yellow ray of sunshine.

I glance up from my paperwork to see her head peeking around the door, a grin already plastered on my face. “What time is it?”

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