Page 76 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

“What do you give a man who has everything?” Natalya grins, her eyes twinkling as she pulls a small, elegantly wrapped box from her purse and places it on the coffee table between us. “This is it. The perfect gift.”

My eyes flicker from her to the box. “Okay, I’m intrigued. What is it?”

“Open it and see!”

I pick up the box and unwrap it. Inside is a beautiful, antique-looking key. I lift it out, turning it over in my hand. “It’s a key? To what?”

“Oh, not just any key,” Natalya replies, almost bouncing on the sofa with excitement. “That, my dear Gabriette, is the key to the wine cellar of an old Italian vineyard that our families have done business with for generations. The vineyard is home to a particular wine Mischa has been wanting to get his hands on for years, but they only release one bottle a year, and until now, he’s never been the one to claim it.”

My mouth falls open. “Holy shit, Nat, that’s brilliant. He’s going to love this!”

She squeals. “I know, right? But here’s the deal,” she says, leaning in closer. “You have to guard that thing with your life. Mikhail has this freaky sixth sense for sniffing out surprises. I want this to knock his socks off.”

“You got it,” I say, grinning. “I’ll guard it like Fort Knox.”

“Awesome. Now, where can we hide it?”

I think for a moment. “My lingerie drawer. He never ventures there.”

Natalya bursts out laughing. “Perfect! Hide it well.”

“I will,” I promise, re-wrapping the box and standing up. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

“Me too,” Natalya agrees. “This is gonna be epic.”

The energy in the room shifts as Natalya’s smile slips, her eyes diverting to the sleek marble floor. “Let’s just hope this changes his mind about some other things, too.”

The abrupt change in her tone throws me. “Changes his mind about what?” I ask, sensing there’s something serious she’s not saying.

She hesitates, her fingers nervously toying with the strap of her purse before she looks up to meet my gaze. “Mischa’s arranged a marriage for me with some Greek kingpin,” she blurts out, as if saying it quickly might lessen the impact.

Now the conversation in Greek this morning makes sense.

“A what?” My stomach churns. I know this is how agreements are often cemented in our world, but knowing that doesn’t make it suck any less. “Natalya, that’s... That’s intense. Why would he do that?”

“Strategic alliances, political bullshit—you know, the usual,” she says, rolling her eyes but not able to mask the tremor in her voice. “Us women are nothing but chess pieces to be moved in this world.”

“That’s—Wow, I’m sorry. Have you talked to Mikhail about it? Maybe he’d listen.”

She lets out a mirthless laugh. “Mischa? Reconsider? Once his mind is set, it’s like trying to divert a river. But maybe, just maybe, if he sees what he has with you—how love isn’t the worst thing in the world—it might make him think twice.”

I feel my heart pull in two directions. On one side, I’m touched that she thinks my relationship with Mikhail could serve as a counter-argument. On the other hand, I’m boiling mad that he’d put his own sister in such a situation.

“I’ll try talking to him, Natalya. I can’t promise it’ll do any good, but I’ll try,” I say, determination filling my voice.

Her lips curl into a half-smile, a shadow of her usual vibrant self. “Good luck with that,” Natalya says, almost wistfully. “Anyway, I gotta go. Mom’s waiting.”

“Yeah, go ahead. And Natalya? We’ll figure this out. Promise.”

She gives me a half-smile, a glimmer of hope breaking through her cloudy expression. “I hope so, Gabi. I really do.”

And just like that, she’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and this newfound weight on my shoulders. How do you get through to a man who’s made a fortress out of his own will?

GABRIETTE

The drive back to the penthouse feels like a blur, and I can barely remember how I made it back. The city outside the car window seems brighter, more vivid, yet strangely distant, as if I’m viewing everything through a new lens.

I step out of the elevator and into the penthouse; the envelope clutched in my hand feels heavier than any weapon I’ve ever held. The crisp, sterile scent of the doctor’s office still clings to me, but it’s already being overtaken by the familiar musk of home—of Mikhail.

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