Page 10 of His Stolen Bride

“I won’t,” I say.

Enzo waits by the door, and I glance at him. “Food in an hour. Water now. Two men outside the room, and no one goes in unless I say.”

Enzo nods.

Alina’s eyes narrow. “You’re not worried I’ll attack your guards?”

“I’m worried you’ll run,” I answer.

“I can’t,” she snaps, then she catches herself and her voice drops. “You’ve got my mother.”

I hold her gaze. “Then act like you understand your situation.”

Her chin lifts again. “I do.”

I turn away before I do something stupid, and I walk back down the hall with the anger still hot in my chest.

I don’t go to her again that night, and I don’t go because I’m not gentle when I’m angry, and I’m angry enough to break things that shouldn’t be broken. I also don’t go because the sight of her in my house makes my body respond, and I refuse to let her become a weakness in the same week my enemies are listening for one.

Vienna doesn’t forgive a stumble.

By morning, I’ve got Sergei’s accounts stacked on my desk, and I’ve got three men standing by to answer questions I don’t want to hear.

Enzo comes in first because he’s always first, and he’s always steady. “The men are talking,” he says.

“They can talk,” I reply.

“They’re asking why you didn’t make an example last night,” he says, and his eyes stay on my face.

I flip a page. “Because I don’t do theater for my own people.”

“They’re asking why you’re marrying her,” Enzo adds.

I stop turning pages, then I look up. “Are you asking me too?”

Enzo holds my gaze for a beat, then he shakes his head once. “No.”

“Good,” I say, and I go back to the papers. “Then let them talk until they get tired.”

The accounts are ugly. Sergei paid men he shouldn’t have paid, and he ran favors without my approval, and he left debts in places that will become knives if I don’t handle them quickly. I track the payments, I flag the names, and I send instructions out in short bursts. Close this. Freeze that. Bring him in. Watch him.

By midday, I’ve got a list of Sergei’s mistakes, and I’ve got a short list of who benefits from his death. It isn’t complete, and it doesn’t satisfy me.

Alina’s name stays in my head anyway, and it annoys me because I’m working and she’s upstairs behind a locked door she thinks matters.

I tell myself I’m checking security routes when I walk the east wing, and I know it’s a lie because I head straight for her door.

The new lock is installed, and it’s solid, and I could break it in seconds if I wanted to. I knock once because I’m not an animal.

“Come in,” she says.

I open the door, and she’s standing by the dresser with a glass of water in her hand. She’s washed her face, and she’s changed into one of the outfits my staff brought up, and it should make her look softer. It makes her look like she belongs, and that makes me angrier.

“Happy?” I ask, nodding at the lock.

She lifts the glass slightly. “You kept your word.”

“I keep my word,” I say.