Page 2 of His Stolen Bride

“Am I?” Sergei reaches into his coat and pulls out a thick cream-colored envelope. He slides it forward, then pauses, waiting for me to take it. I don’t.

“Open it,” he says, and when I refuse to act on his instruction, he sighs and opens the envelope himself. He pulls out a document, folded twice, and holds it out so I can see the top page without touching it.

There’s Cyrillic, followed by numbers and signatures. I see my father’s name in his handwriting and my own name typed beneath it. My chest tightens until it hurts. “This is fake,” I manage.

Sergei’s voice drops. “Your father didn’t have the education to fake this.”

The jibe lands as it’s intended because it’s cruel and it’s accurate. My father could charm a room and smile his way out of trouble, but he couldn’t build contracts.

I force my voice to stay steady. “If he promised anything, he didn’t have the right.”

Sergei’s gaze stays on me. “He had the right because he was your father.”

My mother makes a sound that’s half sob, half anger. “She’s not an object.”

Sergei finally looks at my mother fully. “In my world, she is.”

My hands shake. “Get out.”

Sergei’s brows lift. “You want to do this here?”

“I want you to leave.”

He tilts his head. “We can do it loudly. Or we can do it privately.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to come with me now,” he says calmly. “I’m giving you a chance to talk before you embarrass yourself.”

I stare at him. “Embarrass myself?”

“You can scream, call the police, or try to run.” He shrugs once. “It won’t change the outcome.”

My mother steps closer, coming to stand beside me. Her hand grips my arm and her fingers are cold. Sergei’s eyes move over my face again, slower this time, and I hate that my body registers him as attractive before my brain finishes processing the threat. “You’re going to be my wife.”

I shake my head. “No.”

Sergei exhales, then nods once, as if I’ve responded exactly as expected. “Fine. You get a private meeting. Not here.”

“I’m not meeting you.”

He looks at one of his men. The man pulls out a phone and checks the screen, then glances up.

Sergei’s gaze returns to me. “You have twenty minutes. Put on a coat.”

My stomach drops. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t come out voluntarily, I’ll walk in and sit at your kitchen table.” His tone stays polite. “And I’ll do it in front of your mother. I’ll do it in front of your neighbors. I’ll do it while your building manager watches. I don’t care.”

I grind my teeth. “You’re insane.”

Sergei’s smile returns. “I’m patient.”

My mother’s grip tightens on my arm. “Alina,” she whispers, pleading. “Please.”

I hate that I hear fear in her voice and that it works.

I pull my coat off the hook. “Five minutes,” I snap at Sergei.