Page 9 of Ruins
I raise a hand, cutting her off. “You deserve your break. Lila can assist my wife with anything while you’re away.”
The wordwifelingers on my tongue, feeling foreign in a way I hadn’t expected.
Mrs. Keen nods but hesitates, her fingers twitching like she’s debating whether to say more. “But Ican’tmiss your wedding,” she says softly.
“It’s supposed to be a small ceremony.” I keep my voice even, neutral. “Nothing extravagant.”
She sighs, but the excitement in her eyes doesn’t dim. “Very well,” she relents, but I can already see her mind spinning, filing away ways to make this wedding feel like something, small or not. “Do you have a photo of her? What’s her name?”
Something tugs at the corner of my mouth—a rare, fleeting smile trying to break free. I push past it, pulling the folder from my desk and handing her the photo inside.
“Her name is Vasilisa.”
Mrs. Keen gasps the second she sees the picture. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” she beams. “She’ll fit in perfectly here.”
I say nothing.
Because for the first time, I wonder if she’s right.
I shake my head, pushing the thought away.
Mrs. Keen disappears from the room, only to return minutes later—this time, with the photo framed. Without asking, she sets it on my desk like it belongs there.
“You should always have a photo of your wife in your office,” she says with a satisfied nod before shutting the door softly behind her.
I exhale through my nose, leaning back in my chair.
The framed photo sits there, unassuming, yet impossible to ignore.
Vasilisa’s bright smile stares back at me—unfamiliaryet… strangely settling. I let the image sit with me, fingers absently tracing the rim of my glass before I take a slow sip.
The moment doesn’t last.
The rare calm shatters as my phone rings.
Miroslav Popov has arrived.
I answer briskly, instructing the front gate to let him through.
Moments later, a knock sounds at the door. Romeo, our newest recruit, steps in, leading Miroslav into the office.
Popov steps inside—a short, unassuming man with neatly combed white hair and a stern expression. His dark suit is crisp, a sleek black briefcase hanging at his side. His handshake is firm, stronger than expected.
“The Pakhan says you’re eager to start your ownership ofmycompany,” he says, voice edged with quiet disdain.
I remain composed, offering a nod. “That’s the stipulation your Pakhan set for our alliance, is it not?”
His eyes narrow slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “Not everyone is fortunate enough to walk into power so easily.”
I meet his gaze evenly, letting the weight of silence stretch between us. “If you have an issue with the arrangement, take it up with Korsakov. I can call him right now if you’d prefer.”
I reach for my phone.
Popov’s hand snaps up, stopping me. A flicker of irritation tightens his features as he sets the briefcase on my desk and pulls out the paperwork.
He slides the documents toward me, his annoyance barely concealed. “I’ve signed my part. We just need yours. My office has already been informed of your potential arrival weeks ago, as per the Pakhan’s instructions.”
I absorb this new information in silence.
