“They’ll require I either surrender you to Sartore custody or eliminate the threat you represent myself.” I cross the roomand settle into the chair across from her, maintaining distance that feels deliberate. “Neither option is acceptable to me.”
“So you’re here to tell me I’m running out of time.” Her voice stays steady despite the fear I see flickering in her dark eyes. “That eventually you’ll have to choose loyalty over whatever this protection arrangement is.”
“I’m here to offer an alternative.” I lean forward, forearms resting on my knees. “Marry me. You become protected under my name through Bratva code that supersedes council authority.”
The words land exactly as I intended. Diana stares at me for three seconds before laughing, the sound sharp and disbelieving. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke about operational strategy.”
“Marriage isn’t operational strategy.” She stops, processing. “You actually mean this.”
“Under Bratva code, a captain’s wife becomes family asset rather than civilian liability. Removing her requires formal war declaration that triggers consequences Sartore can’t afford. It’s the only protection that makes you permanently untouchable.”
She stands abruptly, pacing toward the fireplace. “This is insane. You’re proposing marriage as a legal shield.”
“I’m proposing marriage as the only option that keeps you alive beyond next week.” I remain seated, watching her process the reality I’m laying out. “If I withdraw protection, Sartore can pursue you legally within syndicate rules. Lorenzo will move the moment I step back. Your death becomes authorized business rather than prohibited interference.”
“I’d rather take my chances than bind myself to you permanently.”
“Then I respect that decision, and I’ll arrange for you to leave the estate with enough resources to disappear.” The lie tastes bitter. “Though I suspect you won’t survive the month.”
Her expression shifts—calculation replacing initial shock. She’s smart enough to recognize the choice I’m structuring isn’t really a choice at all. Marry me or die. The framework is brutal in its simplicity.
“You’re manipulating me,” she says quietly.
“I’m explaining reality.” I stand, closing half the distance between us. “Sartore wants you dead. The council is losing patience with protection that costs resources without strategic benefit. Marriage solves both problems by making you mine in ways that can’t be negotiated away.”
“Yours.” She repeats the word with something between disgust and resignation. “Like property.”
“Like family.”
“Is there?” Her voice rises slightly. “This sounds like you’re claiming ownership through legal structures instead of physical captivity.”
The accusation is accurate enough that I don’t bother denying it. “The outcome is the same either way. You stay alive. The method is what’s negotiable.”
Silence stretches between us. Diana stares at me with an expression I can’t fully read—anger mixed with calculation, fear layered beneath pragmatic assessment of options that have narrowed to one.
Her composure doesn’t fracture the way it did in my office. Instead, she goes very still, processing information with the same methodical focus she applied to Ethan’s encrypted files.
“Why?” she asks eventually. “Why do you want to protect me now when you wouldn’t protect Ethan?”
The question cuts directly to the contradiction I’ve been avoiding examining too closely. Ethan Clarke was a liability I calculated away. Diana Clarke is an obsession I can’t rationalize.
I close the remaining distance between us, stopping near enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “I want you.”
The admission is more honest than I intended, stripped of operational justification or strategic framing. Just raw truth that’s been driving decisions I can’t defend logically.
Diana’s breath catches. “Want me how?”
“Alive. Here. Bound to me in ways that make leaving impossible even if you find opportunities I haven’t closed.” I reach up, catching a strand of her dark hair between my fingers. “Marriage accomplishes that while solving the Sartore problem. Everything else is secondary.”
She doesn’t pull away from the contact, but her eyes harden. “You’re asking me to marry you because you want to own me.”
“I’m asking you to marry me because it’s the only way I can keep you safe from men who will absolutely kill you if given the chance.” I release her hair, stepping back to give her space I don’t want to provide. “Yes. I want you in ways that have nothing to do with operational necessity. Marriage makes that want permanent.”
The silence that follows stretches long enough that I understand she’s not processing shock anymore. She’s calculating survival against autonomy, weighing death against captivity dressed as protection.
When she finally speaks, her voice is steady. “If I agree to this—if I marry you—does anything change?”
