Page 252 of The Devil's Thorn
I didn’t move right away. Just looked at him. Then turned my head slightly toward Yuri and gave a single nod.
Yuri didn’t say anything. He just pushed off the wall and walked to the door, pulling it open with one smooth motion.
Nikolai was standing just outside, posture straight, expression unreadable. And next to him— She stood like a shadow.
Delicate, pretty in the way that meant she’d been trained to be. Ash-blonde hair in soft waves, dark green dress tailored to fit her frame without revealing too much. Subtle. Controlled. Just like her expression.
She stepped in without a word. But she didn’t look at me. Not once.
Cormac’s smile widened like he’d just made his final move on the board. “This is Aoife,” he said proudly. “My daughter.”
Aoife stepped in like a whisper. I watched her. Not the sway of her dress, not the way she kept her hands clasped tightly in front of her, but the small details. The tension in her jaw. The way her lashes stayed lowered just a second too long before she finally lifted her chin.
And the moment her eyes met mine, she flinched. Not visibly. But I felt it. Like a pulse trying to disappear beneath skin.
She took one careful step forward, then another. Her voice was soft, barely there, almost swallowed by the stillness in the room. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Romanov.”
Her accent was clean. Refined. But her posture betrayed her—too stiff, toopracticed. Every inch of her had been coached for this moment. How to walk. How to speak. How to keep her shoulders squared even when the man sitting across from her could end her father’s world with a single word.
I didn’t stand. Didn’t extend my hand. Just watched.
“Sit,” Cormac said to her, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.
She obeyed without hesitation, lowering herself into it like it was a throne made of glass.
Yuri didn’t move. Just watched her with the same disinterest he’d give a man walking in with flowers before a gunfight.
Cormac leaned forward slightly, his tone smooth. “I raised her right. She knows our world. She understands silence, loyalty, sacrifice. Everything a man like you needs beside him.”
I let a beat pass. Then another.
“I don’t need anyone beside me,” I said, calm. “What I need is peace.”
“Then make it through blood,” he said. “It’s how men like us always have.”
“And when that peace turns to rust?” I asked. “When the alliance fades and you die and she’s still sitting in my house like a crown I didn’t ask for—what then?”
Cormac’s jaw ticked once. Just once. Then he smiled again. “Then she becomes a Romanov. And everyone else shuts their fucking mouth.”
His daughter didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just sat there like a porcelain offering. Fragile. Pretty. Forgettable.
“I’ve built this empire without marriage contracts,” I said, eyes on him. “Without promises I didn’t make myself. What I built was born from loyalty, not legacy. And certainly not pity disguised as diplomacy.”
The silence stretched. Then I shifted. Subtle. Measured.
“But I’ll think about it.”
Cormac’s brows lifted slightly—not shocked. But surprised I didn’t shut him down completely. “That’s all I ask,” he said.
He reached into the leather briefcase beside him, pulled out a cream folder, and slid it across the table.
It landed in front of me with a soft thud.
“It’s signed,” he said. “On my end. Call me when you’re ready to do the same.”
I didn’t touch it. Didn’t even look down.
“I don’t sign things handed to me like bribes.”
