Page 25 of The Pakhan's Bride

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I shrug. "You're alive. Lev is alive. The alternative was messier."

Her eyes flick up to the camera. "So, this is it? You're my jailer now?"

"I'm your only friend left in Moscow." I tap the folder on the table. "You want to hear the report?"

She says nothing.

I start anyway. "The Baranov estate is nothing but a graveyard, darling. Your father is dead. Ekaterina is missing, presumed dead. The assets are frozen, the offshore lines are burned, and every man who could have protected you is either running or underground. The council knows what Valentin was building. No one wants to be caught backing a traitor who tried to turn Russia into his private empire. They've abandoned the Baranov name, Zoya. You are the last living symbol of a dynasty no one dares touch. And I'm the only one who still knows what to do with you."

The confusion on her face is apparent. She doesn't know what Valentin Baranov was doing. And I may have exaggerated in that I haven't told the council the extent of his plans, only what was needed for me to rise to the top. But if Zoya feels any surprise, she masks it quickly. She's not about to show me I have the upper hand, even if she's bound and gagged and outof choices. A corner of my lip curls up involuntarily. She frowns immediately.

"You seem pleased."

I slide the folder across the table. She doesn't touch it. It's evident she doesn't know what plans her father had for her, and while I'd love to be the one telling her, I don't feel like doubling down on her heartbreak and letting her know she was raised as a pig for slaughter.

"You didn't kill my father yourself," she says suddenly, quietly. "You had one of your men do it."

I nod, not denying it. "Cleaner that way."

We lapse into silence. I let it stretch. The clock in the room ticks loud enough to fake a heartbeat.

"I don't want you dead," I say finally, "but I can't let you run."

She leans forward, forearms on the table. The sleeves of her shirt are rolled back, showing the scar on her wrist. "Why?"

"Because you have my boy."

She smiles again. This one is colder. "Then why bother with all this? You could just bind me in chains and take Lev."

"He's not enough, Zoya."

She looks deep into my eyes. "Always a man of contradictions, aren't you,Markov?"

I shrug and match her word for word. "Like recognizes like, sweet girl. You're coming home with me."

"To what?" she asks, her voice trembling faintly. "A bigger jail than this one?"

I don't answer. I sip the coffee, let the silence stew. She shifts in her seat, just enough to change the angle. Her eyes scan the room, cataloguing exits, weapons, weaknesses. As I watch her, for a moment, I want to reach across the table and touch her face, just to see if it's still the same as I remember. I lean in, close enough to see the red veins in her eyes. "You're going to marry me."

She recoils, almost laughs. "Is this a joke?"

"Not a joke." I push the next sheet across the table. "You need protection. Lev needs protection. There's only one way you both survive this. You become Vetrovs and let go of the Baranov name. It will bring you nothing but enemies, anyway."

She breathes through her nose, jaw clamped. "You're insane."

"Maybe," I say, "but I'm right. The law won't touch you if you're under my name."

She chews the inside of her cheek. "What about Galina?"

"She stays with Lev. She gets a pension and a dacha. She'll want for nothing."

Zoya blinks, just once. "And if I say no?"

"I put you in a box so small you'll forget what daylight is."

Her lips part. For a second, I think she'll spit in my face. She doesn't. She sits back, arms folded, and stares at the wall. "Why me?"

I consider telling her the truth. That she's the only woman I've ever met who made me want to be less than a monster. That the last time we were alone in a room, I wanted to tear her clothes off and lose myself inside her, and I still do, even after everything. But she doesn't want sentiment.