Page 8 of Bratva Baby

I want to hurl the table aside. This is madness. But if he’s innocent, the alliance might be beneficial—wealth, connections, a show of unity. If he’s guilty, this might be a twisted way to get inside our circle. My blood boils at how cunning he is, and how he wields that cunning as if we’re all pawns on his chessboard.

Leonid cuts in, “Which daughter? Everybody knows you have one with a… reputation for being difficult.”

Thorne sniffs. “The details can be arranged later. Let’s keep it simple for now: an engagement. If you accept, I’ll prove my loyalty. If you discover I’m truly behind Pavel’s murder, you can tear me apart before the wedding day. That’s fair, no?”

Sergei mutters a curse. My guess is everyone in this room is torn between wanting to shoot Thorne on the spot or at least giving him a chance to explain further. I sense the roiling discontent in the men around the table but also the spark of intrigue.

I meet Thorne’s gaze, aware that every second drags us deeper into this conversation. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

He arches a brow. “I wouldn’t come here with an offer like this if I didn’t believe it could work. I have too much pride for empty theatrics.”

Silence falls again. Blood pounds in my temples, fueled by thoughts of Pavel’s final moments. I hate the thought of forging a bond with Thorne of all people, yet I also know the men want a solution—some path forward that doesn’t plunge us into an immediate war we might regret.

Thorne stands and adjusts his jacket. “I’ve made my offer. I’ll leave it at that.”

A few of my men look toward me, waiting for my response, as though I might push back or throw him out. I can’t bring myself to utter a word. My mind is a storm of conflicting impulses: fury over Pavel’s murder, suspicion of Thorne’s role, and curiosity about why he’d propose something so drastic.

Thorne skims the room, lingering on the stain of Fyodor’s blood for a moment before lifting his eyes. “I trust you’ll make the right decision. Perhaps we can move forward without more losses.”

He slides his hands into his pockets, and my men tense, but he doesn’t reach for a weapon. He gives a final glance my way, and his expression stays maddeningly calm.

“Marriage,” he repeats, voice echoing in the meeting space. “Consider it a token of my willingness to stand by your side against whoever truly killed Pavel.”

There, he’s laid it out. A bizarre, old-world solution that might chain our families together or drag us all into deeper conflict. My pulse still races with the gun resting by my side as I weigh whether to shoot him and end this conversation forever.

No matter what we decide, I have a feeling his offer will leave a scar.

Chapter 4 - Seraphina

I kick open Cecily’s bedroom door and glare at her like she’s the one responsible for turning my life upside down. “Tell me again,” I demand, my voice trembling with fury. “What did you hear?”

She sits on the edge of her bed and tightens her fingers around the hem of her dress. “The housekeeper was talking about a marriage proposal. She said Father intends to offer you to one of the Barkovs. The staff is in a frenzy.”

A horrible sensation seizes me. I feel betrayed, outraged, and most of all, trapped. “Did the housekeeper say when this was decided?”

Cecily shakes her head. “No. Just that Father’s been negotiating.”

I pace the carpet, trying to stifle the wild emotions surging through me. A marriage proposal? In this day and age, the thought alone is ridiculous. “He didn’t even bother to discuss it with me first.”

She rubs her arms. “What are you going to do?”

I swipe my hair back from my face. “I’ll talk to him.” Fury flares anew when I realize I’m actually going to confront my father about my own future, as though I’m some commodity he can trade. “No,” I correct myself. “I’m going to tell that asshole there’s no way this is happening.”

Cecily lowers her gaze. “Just be careful. He shot a man in the hallway last week. That’s not exactly a sign he’s willing to be reasoned with.”

I surge across the room and yank open the door. “He’s going to hear me out whether he wants to or not.”

My footsteps stomp a determined rhythm on the floors of this over-decorated estate as I make my way to my father’s office. The staff dodges me, either sensing my mood or simply not wanting to be associated with a daughter who dares defy him.

I reach the door and shove it open without knocking. Father is sitting behind his ornate desk, scribbling in a ledger like he’s balancing his empire with a pen. He raises his eyes—calm, cold, and perpetually disappointed in everything I do—and sighs.

“Seraphina, don’t you have better manners than to burst in on me like a rabid animal?”

My blood boils. “Why should I knock when you’ve apparently decided my entire future without consulting me?”

He arches a brow. “I see you’ve heard. Good. Saves me the trouble.”

I close the distance, bracing my palms against the desk. “Is it true? Are you arranging a marriage for me, just like that?”

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