Page 5 of Arranged with Twins
I resist the urge to scoff and try to sound pleasant. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re both intelligent adults entering into a partnership that benefits our families. That doesn’t mean we can’t find ways to make it benefit us as well. I’d prefer you be happy in the arrangement, or at least… satisfied. And I’d like the same. I have needs too.”
I expect a wink at the end of that, but he just smiles a little.
The sounds from the ballroom indicate the party is beginning to wind down. Guests will start making their departures soon, and with them goes any chance for private conversation. Tomorrow, this will all become real in ways I’m not prepared to contemplate.
I smooth my hair and check that my smile is firmly in place. “We should go back inside. Mother will worry if we’re gone too long.”
Leo nods while gently removing his jacket from my shoulders and shrugging back into it. “Of course. Shall we?”
He offers me his arm again, and I take it. We walk back toward the ballroom doors, and he leans down to speak directly into my ear, his breath warm and close. “Smile, sweetheart.”
The cockiness in his voice sends fury burning through my chest, reminding me exactly what this arrangement represents despite his seemingly reasonable words from moments before. He’s only reasonable as long as I don’t make waves, I’m sure. He thinks he’s the boss of me. He thinks he has already won.
And I know what he wants from me. A man like him expects control, possession, and the systematic dismantling of any autonomy I might have claimed for myself to make me his perfect wife. He wants a dutiful sycophant regardless of his talk of partnership. Once I’m properly “trained,” he’ll forget all about me unless he needs me at a function of some sort. The thought sits in my stomach like a stone, making me nauseated.
Shut your mouth and open your legs. I can imagine it already.
I smile anyway, hating that he already has any amount of power over me. The cameras are waiting, after all, and the show must go on.
2
Leo
The armored SUV cuts through Manhattan’s late-night traffic, its reinforced windows filtering the city’s neon glare into something softer and more manageable. I settle into the leather seat and accept the dossier Ilya places in my hands. It feels substantial and important.
Ilya speaks clearly and confidently. “Those are Vincent Cooper’s financial records from the past eighteen months. The public face looks stable enough, but underneath...”
I flip open the folder and scan the first page of numbers. Revenue streams that once flowed like rivers now trickle. Offshore investments that promised expansion instead delivered catastrophic losses. Hidden debts compound monthly while Vincent scrambles to maintain the illusion of prosperity.
The second page makes my jaw clench. There are loan documents from sources I don’t recognize, repayment schedules that would strain even a healthy business, and promissory notes with terms that suggest desperation rather than strategy.Vincent Cooper, the man who once commanded respect across three boroughs, has been reduced to borrowing money from shadows. “How long has he been operating like this?”
Ilya shifts in his seat, and the fine leather creaks softly. “Eight months, or maybe longer. The energy market collapse in Eastern Europe wiped out his primary revenue stream. He’s been covering losses with private loans ever since, and those loans come with strings attached.”
I study the numbers again, looking for patterns and clues about what Vincent might have promised in return for this financial lifeline. Desperate men make reckless choices, and in my world, reckless choices often prove fatal.
Debt is bad news, but I have some of my own.
The debt I owe Vincent Cooper is personal, though, not financial. When my parents were assassinated nineteen years ago, I was a seventeen-year-old heir to an empire I wasn’t prepared to inherit. The Denisov territories were under siege from three different rival families, each one convinced they could carve up our holdings while I grieved.
Vincent could have turned me away. Instead, he offered sanctuary in his guest wing while I learned to navigate the treacherous waters of succession. He asked for nothing in return, expected no future loyalty, and demanded no promises. He simply provided shelter because it was the right thing to do.
That debt has shaped my decisions for two decades. Tonight’s engagement announcement was as much about honor as strategy, though I hadn’t expected the complications that came with it.
I turn to the third page and freeze. Adrian Petrov’s photograph stares back at me, his familiar features twisted into something harder and more ruthless than I remember. Once my closest ally, trained at my side, and groomed to help lead the organization when my time came, he now leads a rival syndicate that’s been steadily encroaching on Denisov territory for the past three years.
I expected betrayal from enemies. I never expected it from the man who had been like a brother, so discovering he’s mixed up in this somehow is another unwelcome surprise.
Ilya watches my reaction carefully. “One of Adrian’s men was photographing the gala tonight. Not you, though. He was focused entirely on your fiancée.”
My jaw hardens. Adrian’s move is clear, and it’s a strategy I would have anticipated if I’d known he had loaned Vincent money. He knows me well enough to understand direct confrontation isn’t his best option. Instead, he’ll look for leverage, pressure points, or ways to force my hand without risking open warfare.
Sienna Cooper just became the most endangered woman in Manhattan, whether she knows it or not. Adrian will have no qualms using her against me.
I close the folder and lean back against the seat. “Place protection on her immediately. Quiet and untraceable. I want a detail that she’ll never notice but that can respond to any threat.”
“How extensive?”
